#get you a man who's both hallmark christmas tree farmer and christmas tree

[ishdaj]

Pactposting again.

Happy holidays to all 11 of us in the fandom 🎄🐦🧜‍♀️

twitter | instagram

Bonus sketch of the the Right boi and Johannes. I feel like Johannes would point out various angel stuff to Faysal during Christmas to annoy him.

[swordandquill]

Title: Winter Break

Fandom: Leverage

Summary: The team find themselves snowed in in a little town in the middle of nowhere.

Ch 3: Hope it’s Hallmark - The team reaches the cabin, and Hardison tries to figure out what genre of movie they're currently participating in.

Author’s Note: I might have to steal Hardison's line about the worse kind of horror move to use as a title for a Leverage ghost story someday.

You can go here to read this on AO3 instead.

Hardison knew why the light took on a red tint at night when it snowed, knew how light refraction worked, even knew the right equations to calculate the wavelengths. He still thought it was the stuff of horror movies.

“Maybe we should have slept in the airport,” he grumbled, squinting through the snowfall at the dark cabin.

Eliot stirred on his shoulder, shifting around enough that it must have jarred something, because Hardison felt him suppress a flinch before lifting his head muzzily and rubbing a hand over his face.

Hardison had lost the argument with Nate over who was driving, leaving him to switch places with the mastermind as the designated Eliot pillow. As much as he had argued, once they got going he was glad not to be the one at the wheel. The roads had been terrible, and it had taken them three times as long as it should have to get to the cabin. They had almost gotten stuck on the long drive leading up to it.

Somehow, Eliot had managed to sleep through the majority of the trip. Hardison would have loved to have said that gave him the warm fuzzies, because Eliot was not a man who gave his trust easily, but mostly it just made him worry that the hitter’s injuries were significantly worse than he had let on.

“We here?” Eliot asked groggily.

“Yeah,” Nate turned in the driver’s seat to look back at them, “Sophie and I will help Parker do a security check. You stay in the car with Hardison.”

Eliot tensed up against Hardison’s shoulder, like he was going to protest, then huffed out an irritated breath and dropped his head back down.

Hardison gave Nate a pointed look, gesturing towards Eliot with the arm that wasn’t slung around the hitters shoulders.

“He’s fine,” Nate reassured him, “the meds just took enough of the edge off for him to sleep.”

Hardison opened his mouth to argue, but Parker chose that moment to climb over all the bags and groceries piled up in the back and haul open the side door of the van. The open door let in a burst of cold wind and snow, and Hardison curled away from it, ducking his face against Eliot’s beanie.

“I’m going to pick the lock,” Parker announced cheerfully and hopped out of the van, closing the door behind her.

“Parker, I have the key code,” Sophie pulled her hat hastily down over her ears and followed her out into the snow.

“I think supervision might be in order,” Nate pulled his own hat on, “sit tight. We’ll be back to unload after we check everything.”

Nate let in another burst of cold when he opened the door, and it didn’t escape Hardison’s notice that he locked the car behind him. Eliot’s paranoia was rubbing off on everyone, it seemed.

Hardison wanted to grumble and complain, or at the very least, narrate what was obviously the start of the worst kind of horror movie, namely the kind that they had to participate in, but Eliot’s breathing had evened back out into sleep, and he didn’t want to risk waking him.

The only light besides the eerie red snow reflection was the headlights of the van pointed at the front porch. The porch was high enough that the beams hit Parker and Sophie at the knees. It looked like there was some kind of problem with both the lock and the lock box, and they seemed to be struggling with getting either of them open.

Nate was standing to the side of them on the porch, just outside the narrow beam of light. He was hunched against the cold, shooting the occasional furtive glance at the dark trees ringing the cabin. This was the part of the movie where the monster sprang out of the forest and ate the idiots stupid enough to venture out into the open.

Although, they were still pretty early into the film. They had only just gotten to the cabin, and they had yet to run into any cooky locals who regaled them with stories of the monster or ancient tomes that conveniently fell into their laps warning them of the beast. This early in the film, they would get the door open just in the nick of time, slamming it in the monster’s face as they scrambled to safety.

Leaving he and Eliot in the car to be eaten.

Monsters lurking in the dark seemed a lot more possible with their resident monster slayer not at his best. Hardison didn’t care what Nate said, it wasn’t like Eliot to just fall asleep when they were somewhere weird and unsecured. Excessive sleepiness was a sign of head injury.

Or blood loss, or severe inflammation, or internal bleeding, or some other weird medical condition. Or, the rational part of his brain pointed out, barely sleeping at all the last week because the job had not got smoothly. Short of someone dying, everything that could have gone wrong had gone wrong. And yet, the bad guy had been beaten and the client was sufficiently safe and cared for. So they would count it as a win. Unless Eliot had a brain bleed or something. Then that definitely canceled out the win.

Parker got the door open finally, and Hardison watched through the front windshield, holding his breath as Parker stepped into the dark cabin, followed by Nate, then Sophie. It felt like it took hours, but suddenly the porch lights flipped on, and a warm glow lit up the front windows, reflecting golden sparks off the falling snow.

Hardison let out his breath, glad to find they had made the transition from b-level horror movie to hallmark Christmas special. Too bad Christmas had been like a month ago. Still, if they didn’t run into a Christmas tree farmer with an emo past who turned out to secretly be Santa’s long lost son, Hardison was going to be disappointed.

Eliot stirred again, turning his face into Hardison’s shoulder to escape the cold that was leaching into the van now that the engine was off. Hardison drew him in closer and rested his cheek on top of Eliot’s head.

“No brain bleeds,” he murmured into Eliot’s beanie, “we have rules about things like that.”

“Who’s bleeding?” Eliot mumbled into Hardison’s jacket.

“No one,” Hardison reassured him, “as long as you’re not.”

Eliot seemed to consider that for a moment before shaking his head and settling again, “not right now.”

“You know, El,” Hardison grumbled, “answers like that are why we worry about you all the time.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of Eliot’s head and went back to watching the porch through the front windshield. The longer the others took inside, the more things felt like they were sliding back into b-movie territory.

Hardison knew what they were doing. They ran perimeter and security checks on every place they stayed. Usually Eliot did them, but if he was already busy doing something else for the job, Parker would take care of it. She had the dubious distinction of being the second most paranoid member of the team. She also had a vast and impressive understanding of how building security worked, or how it didn’t work, since figuring out how to get in and out of places was both her job and her favorite pastime.

She had already been applying that to her own safety when the team had come together, and it had only taken a few conversations with Eliot for her to see how to apply it to assessing the security of wherever the team was staying. If she said the cabin was good, Eliot would be satisfied with it.

Hardison would sweep for bugs and any other tech weirdness once they got their gear inside. Hopefully, if everything came back clear from both he and Parker, Eliot would feel safe enough to get some rest and actually take care of his “not bleeding right now” self.

Right around the time Hardison started thinking they were going to freeze to death instead of get eaten by a monster, the rest of the team finally came out of the cabin. Parker hopped down the steps, landing two footed in snow that came up to her mid-calf, then turned to head to the corner of the building, taking exaggeratedly large steps through the snow drifts. Nate followed her, walking like a normal person and hunched against the snow and wind.

Sophie left them to it, coming back to the van. She pulled open the side door, letting in a gust of snow and wind. Eliot sat up with a start, blinking blurrily at Sophie and the open van door.

“Everything looks good inside,” Sophie smiled, “Nate and Parker are just going to do a quick walk around the outside, but we can start unloading.”

“Took you long enough,” Hardison grumbled, sliding out of the van. He pulled his scarf up over his mouth and nose and stepped aside to let Eliot out.

“The lock and lockbox were both frozen,” Sophie shrugged, “it took some fiddling from Parker to get it open, then she had to open every door in the place and climb the banister railing, for some reason”

“She’s Parker,” Eliot shrugged and started reaching for the nearest bag, “she hasn’t really seen something until she’s climbed it.”

“People who don’t tell us they’re hurt don’t get to carry in bags,” Sophie’s tone indicated that this was a punishment, somehow, “go inside and get warmed up. We've got this.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Eliot grumbled at her, but he left the bags and headed towards the cabin anyway.

Hardison watched Eliot go up the porch steps, then turned to Sophie, who was pulling bags out of the back row.

“He didn’t even argue,” Hardison hissed.

“Let him get some food and sleep,” Sophie shoved an armful of grocery bags at him, “then worry.”

“That is not how worry works,” Hardison complained as he trudged through the snow to the cabin.

******

Sophie grabbed Eliot’s bags from the back seat first, almost over balancing with the weight of the duffel before she managed to get it over her shoulder. What did that man pack and why couldn’t he put it in two or three bags that didn’t weigh as much as an elephant instead of cramming it all in one?

She passed Hardison as he was trudging back to the van. He started to reach for the bags she was carrying, but she waved him on. It was in Hardison’s nature to worry constantly, and there was something endearing about that, but worrying wasn’t going to get Eliot settled and resting. Maybe even sleeping if the ride here was any indication.

She dumped Eliot’s bags on the bed in the back bedroom, the one farthest from both doors. The blankets on the bed were a bit light for how cold it was, but they had cranked up the heat as soon as they had gotten inside, and everything was starting to warm up. She would get Parker to help her hunt down the extra blankets the owner had told her were here later.

First though, Sophie had a hitter to cajole into bed.

She dug through Eliot’s bag until she found his stash of ice packs, then headed to the kitchen. She was not at all surprised to find Eliot there, poking half-heartedly through cupboards and peering into the grocery bags piled precariously on the counter. He was holding his left arm stiff and close to his body and moving slow, but at least he was carrying around a water bottle, and looked to have drunk about half of it already.

“At least the stove is gas,” Eliot grumbled, even as he gave the knife block a disgusted look, “if we lose power we’ll still be able to have hot meals.”

“I hadn’t even thought of losing power,” Sophie admitted, “we might have to give the fireplace a once over to make sure it’s safe to use.”

Eliot glanced over the breakfast bar into the living room where a large stone fireplace had pride of place across from a comfortable, if dusty, looking couch,

“I’ll…”

“You’ll go take a shower,” Sophie nudged him away from the counter so she could start putting groceries away.

“Later,” Eliot shook his head stubbornly, “everyone’s got to be hungry, and I should get something started.”

He started to pull open grocery bags, and Sophie shooed him away again, “we’ll take care of dinner.”

Eliot gave her a dubious look.

“Nate will take care of dinner,” Sophie corrected, “he’ll enjoy it. It will remind him of his prison days.”

“What am I doing?” Nate asked, dumping a pile of luggage in the middle of the living room.

“Making dinner,” Sophie supplied.

“Yeah, sure,” Nate paused to give the kitchen a once over before trudging back out the front door for more bags.

“So go take a shower,” Sophie pushed him in the direction of the bedrooms and bathroom with a hand on the small of his back, “you’ll feel better, and I won’t feel guilty about using all the hot water when I take mine.”

“You never feel guilty about that,” Eliot groused, but he headed in the direction of the bedrooms.

“Your bags are in the second bedroom,” Sophie called after him.

She watched long enough to see him duck into the room, then turned back to the kitchen, trying to decide if actually getting Eliot to take a shower instead of haul luggage entitled her to not spend the next quarter hour trudging through the snow to unload the van.

Probably not. The sooner they could get everything inside and everyone out of the awful weather, the better.

Sophie pulled her scarf up around her nose and ears and headed back into the snow.

******

“I’m hungry,” Parker announced, “Sophie said you’d make us dinner.”

She was sitting cross-legged on the breakfast bar because Eliot was still in the shower and couldn’t tell her not to.

“Once we get the groceries put away, I’ll put something together,” Nate tossed her a box of cereal without bothering to look at what it was.

Parker pulled it open and was delighted to find it was the kind with the grainy rainbow marshmallows. She had no idea where the spoons were, so she started eating it by the handful.

“We should do something about the doors,” Parker said with her mouth full, which wasn’t as fun when Eliot wasn’t there to shoot her disgusted looks.

“What about the doors?” Nate asked absently as he started pulling everything out of the fridge that Sophie and Hardison had stuffed into it.

Sophie was giving him that funny look that she had said meant he was being a micromanaging jerk. Parker thought that was a useful thing to be able to do most times, but she didn’t like it when he tried to micromanage her, so Sophie maybe had a point when she complained about it.

It seemed mostly useful right now though and meant they would be able to fit more stuff in the fridge.

“They were too easy to open,” she told Nate.

“I’ll get everything alarmed once I finish setting my stuff up,” Hardison said from where he was unpacking his electronics and starting to set them up on the coffee table in front of the fireplace.

Sophie had told him he couldn’t use the big table near the kitchen because they needed somewhere to sit and eat, and he was still sulking about it. Parker hadn’t told him yet that there was a big desk up in the sleeping loft, because she hadn’t decided yet if she wanted to share the loft.

“I think the blizzard is going to be pretty good security for us,” Nate didn’t look up from his efforts to use the fridge space as efficiently as possible.

“We got here through it,” Parker shrugged.

“Well, we are rather exceptional,” Sophie offered, “and we barely made it here, but what do you have in mind?”

Parker considered the options. The front door and the back door both pushed inward, so the easiest way to secure them would be to put something heavy in front of them to block them from opening, but they would have to do it in a way that didn’t mess up Hardison’s alarm system. It would be good to do something about the downstairs windows too. They were easy to access and would be easy for someone to break into, but they were also easy exits for the team if they needed to leave in a hurry.

She would usually ask Eliot what he thought, but he was hurt and tired and would come up with better ideas after he got some sleep.

“I think after Hardison gets his system set up we should reinforce the doors,” Parker decided, “then maybe try to do something to secure the downstairs windows.”

“Why don’t we just stick a chair under the door knobs for tonight,” Nate finally turned away from the fridge, having managed to fit everything that needed to be refrigerated in it, “we can do a more thorough job of securing the place tomorrow. It looks like we’re going to be here a couple days, at least.”

Parker nodded her agreement and shoved another handful of cereal in her mouth.

“How do we feel about spaghetti for dinner?” Nate asked, “I think I saw green beans and cherry tomatoes around here somewhere that we can have as a side.”

“I got some of that garlic bread you just toss in the oven too,” Hardison had moved on from connecting cables to actually sitting and working on his laptop, an assortment of small sensors and cameras spread out on the table in front of him.

“Great,” Nate said briskly, then looked back to Parker, “what kind of sauce do you want?”

He gestured to the four jars of pasta sauce lined up on the counter with the other pantry goods that hadn’t been put away yet. There was extra cheesy alfredo, basil marinara, vodka, and four cheese marinara. Sophie and Hardison hadn’t been able to decide, so Parker had dumped them all in the cart. None of them were going to be as good as Eliot’s.

“That one,” Parker pointed to the alfredo; it was white like marshmallows even if it tasted nothing like them.

“Done,” Nate said, then guided Sophie out of the kitchen area with a hand on her back, “we can finish putting the rest of this away after we eat. Go somewhere else so I can cook.”

Sophie huffed, but went to sit on the couch next to Hardison. He handed her the remote to the flat screen tv hung over the fireplace, and she flipped on the weather channel, which seemed a little silly to Parker. It was snowing; they knew it was snowing.

Parker watched Nate in the kitchen for a while while she munched on her cereal. Watching Nate cook wasn’t at all like watching Eliot cook. When Eliot cooked he was focused on the food and he noticed everything about it. He was always tasting things and adjusting things as he went. Parker liked to watch him cook because he always seemed like he was happy, or at least that cooking made him feel better when he wasn’t.

It wasn’t like that with Nate. Nate just made food. He didn’t seem to dislike doing it, but it wasn’t anything special to him. His food wasn’t terrible, but it didn’t taste like Eliot’s. It didn’t taste like it mattered a lot to him, and he wanted it to matter a lot to them.  

Parker heard the water shut off in the bathroom and closed up her cereal, then hopped down from the breakfast bar. She left her cereal on the counter; she could always come back and hide all the boxes of cereal where she wanted them later.

**********

Eliot did feel better after taking a shower, and after giving the diclofenac time to kick in, and after dozing most of the way to the cabin, and he was kind of disgruntled about it. Had his flight not been rerouted twice and the safety of the team abruptly called into question, he would have done all those things much sooner and in the safety of one of his boltholes without anyone else to worry about.

As it was, he was still tired and achy, but at least he felt like he was tracking better. He was content to let the team struggle through figuring out dinner without him, but he did want a better look at the layout of the cabin before he tried to get a little more sleep. There were always things that needed to be taken care of when they first got into a space, especially with Eliot still feeling uneasy about how they had ended up there.

Parker was sitting at the foot of the bed his bags had been on, scribbling away in one of her notebooks. Eliot’s bags had been tossed haphazardly in a corner, but a clean hoodie and a pair of mis-matched wool socks were laying on the bed.

Eliot almost went to find the matching socks, but he was tired still and digging through his bag after Parker had rearranged it probably wasn’t the best use of his limited energy right now.

“Do you want to hear about the cabin?”  Parker asked, turning her notebook so he could see her detailed sketch of the cabin’s layout.

“Sure,” Eliot sat heavily on the edge of the bed and pulled his socks on; at least they were the same type of sock even if the colors were different.

The heat had gone a long way towards loosening up his shoulder, but he should probably get some ice on it soon. He would have to dig his ice packs out of his bag at some point so he could get them in the freezer.

“There are two doors, the front one we came through and one half way down the side of the house the fireplace is on. It goes out to the back porch. I don’t think the locks on them are very good, but Nate said we could stick a chair under the handles for tonight and fix them tomorrow. There are seven windows downstairs, double pane, latch locks that are really flimsy, but we don’t have anything to change them out with. Hardison is putting up cameras and sensors tonight though…”

Eliot shrugged into his hoodie and gave into the urge to lay back against the pillows while Parker talked. She was always thorough with building layouts and security weaknesses, and there was only so much they could do tonight anyway. Hardison’s security systems were always good, and he knew how to maximize the coverage of any space, although the snow and ice were probably going to cause problems for any cameras or sensors he wanted to set up outside.

“...from the outside it looks like there’s a crawl space under the cabin, but I couldn’t find any way into it from the inside, and Nate wouldn’t let me go into it from the outside. He said I’d get too wet or dirty or something, which is kind of stupid because I have clothes and a shower in here,” Parker kept going.

“It’s not good to get wet in this kind of weather, even if you think it will only be for a little bit,” Eliot murmured, “we can take a better look at it tomorrow when it’s light out.”

He really was tired, and there was something soothing about listening to Parker go through every detail of the building; it wouldn’t hurt if he closed his eyes for just a minute or two while he listened.

**********

Parker grinned when she saw Eliot’s eyes close, but she finished telling him about the sleeping loft before she stopped talking. His breathing was deep and even, and it looked like he really was asleep.

When he didn’t push her away while she was covering him with a blanket, she knew he really was asleep. She kissed him on the cheek the way Sophie did sometimes and turned out the light on her way out of the room.

[theparanormalperiodical]

The Real Story Behind Krampus (2017), And The 17 Other Terrifying Christmas Tales And Traditions You NEED To Know About

Christmas is a time for family, a time for laughter, and a time for drinking volumes of alcohol that make your cousins concerned about your emotional wellbeing.

But most importantly, it's a time for demons to hunt down children and stuff them full of straw and pebbles. No, I’m not talking about the Eastenders Christmas Special - I’m talking about the Christmas traditions they don’t put in Hallmark movies.

As Christmas has been celebrated for 2000 years, it has amassed a collation of equally terrifying traditions and monsters that only the dark corners of history could conjure up. 

Although confirmed by the Dickensian tradition of sharing ghost stories (see Matthew Mcconaughey movie - or failing that some old book about poverty in Victorian Britain), it seems we’ve forgotten the true terror behind the most wonderful time of the year!

So, as your favourite paranormal blogger, I’ve taken it upon myself to bring together everything creepy ‘bout Christmas. 

Today’s post is gonna take y’all through the mythical monsters you should be on the lookout for, plus the Christmas traditions that bare a dark, twisted backstory.  

Which is all of them.

Let’s get spooky! 

First, Let’s All About The Monsters Of Christmas

Hands up if you’ve watched Krampus (2017).

Here’s the trailer: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h6cVyoMH4QE  

It might not be Love, Actually, nor will it ever score a set of great reviews, but it got everyone talking about the mythical creature titling the film. 

Need a summary?

This dark-comedy/horror film centres around a dysfunctional family at Christmas. When the youngest child loses faith in Santa, he rips up his letter to him, sending a signal to Krampus that he has lost his Christmas spirit and thus must be punished!

Okay, this film doesn’t fit the actual legend that well. But the kid does get dragged to hell - and unfortunately, that’s what sticks closest to the creature titling the film. 

On top of this, the movie features the classic mysterious European grandmother that has a story about the war (as a European I can confirm this). But her story isn’t about an air raid, or some long-gone past ruler; instead, it explains a twisted tale regarding the most famous companion of Father Christmas. 

That being said, it provides an introduction that only scratches the surface of the mythical creatures of Crimbo:

Krampus is the half-goat, half-demon creature that is often witnessed wandering ‘round with Santa Claus. Concieved in the pre-christian era in central europe, his aim of existence was to punish naughty children. 

“So, Santa provides for the nice kids, Krampus provides for the naughty kids? Got it.”

If only it was that simple.

Krampus’s family tree is more twisted than the British royal family - and has a similar collection of dodgy relatives:

Son of the Norse goddess, Hel (ruler of the underworld and the dead), Krampus is a Perchten, a race of beasts born to scare away Winter. Never heard of ‘em? Well, you’ve probably heard of his grandfather, then: Loki.

Given his famous hegemony, it follows that he is always believed to be the Horned God of the Witches, and sticks to a devilish image.

With a dark, hairy body, large fangs and a tongue hanging far below his bottom lip, beast-like is an understatement. Accessorising his frightful look is a grasp of birch branches or a whip, as well as a sack or basket (to put children in and take to hell or save for a quick drink and snack later), and chains.

However, the chains part is still subject to debate: some believe it is an attempt to bind the devil by the Catholic Church in attempt to control him, while others claim it is because Krampus is Santa’s slave.

This directly relates to the position of Krampus and his fellow monsters - they are all believed to be Santa’s companions. 

So, we know who Krampus is. But did you know he has a whole night devoted to him?

Krampusnacht falls on the 6th December, a day from which people put on masks and get drunk, scaring kids. Alternatively, you can dress up and hand out coal, mirroring the Krampus spirit! Nevertheless, both serve as a reminder to children not to be naughty, as does the bundle of golden birch branches you can have in your house. 

Now, who’s ready to get their feminist on?

Frau Perchta is the female counterpart of Krampus. 

This goddess-monster goes about giving good kids silver coins, and giving naughty kids, uh, well, death.

She’d slice ‘em open, and stuff ‘em full of straw and pebbles. But her backstory goes much further than simply murdering children: as she oversees spinning as a part of the 12 days of Christmas, she focuses on people that get their work done.

And if you slack? Then you gon’ get murdered. 

Given her name, it’s obvious that like Krampus, she’s a beast-like creature. But her animalistic tropes only go so far as her feet - just like Krampus’ single goat hoof, she has a swan foot. 

“So, she’s a swan?”

Nope - she’s either regarded as a beautiful young woman, or an old crone. 

Classic Patriarchy. 

Next up is another animal, but this time, it comes in the form of a cat. Unfortunately, the Yule Cat is less Instagram, and more deadly. Yep - this Icelandic beast eats the kids that fail to complete their chores before Christmas. 

Just like Frau Perchta, it can be traced back to farmers attempting to scare their workers into getting shizz done. If they hadn’t processed the autumn wool, they’d be eaten by the cat. If they had, they’d receive new clothes.

You’d better be thankful for those socks, then!

But it turns out the Yule Cat isn’t the only monster from Iceland. In fact, he’s actually the pet of a family of ferocious Christmas beasts!

Gryla and Leppaludi are a couple hell-bent on detecting naughty children. Gryla, the matriarch of this famalam - is a Norse giantess, who wanders round each and every village in iceland. Once she’s found said children, she eats them. 

Often she is described as a beggar, asking for parents to turn over their disobedient children so she can chuck ‘em in her sack, and add them to her signature stew!

Her husband - well, third husband but who’s judging - Leppaludi, is what the Daily Mail would label a benefit-scrounger as he hangs about in their cave all day. On top of this is their 12 children: The Yule Lads.

(God, this has a Daily Mail story written all over it.)

Each lad has a different, um, quirk.

One harasses sheep. One steels tupperware - no, seriously, he makes a point of stealing pots with lids. And another steals candles from children.

So that’s Iceland covered - let’s head back to continental Europe!

Hans Trapp is our next contender for the ultimate creep of Christmas. Trapp is a resident of Alsace-Lorraine, and comes from near the border of France and Germany. But what’s really terrifying about this monster is that he once existed. 

Hans Von Trotha was a French Knight and man of particular political distinction. From his feuds with the church, to his ever-roaming spirit after he died, the following myth was by no means a random creation. However, the backstory to Hans Trapp took a bit of a detour from his past:

Trapp was reportedly a Satanist who would kill children. Yeah, you can see a theme here…

This rich, greedy man was excommunicated by the church, and then exiled to the forest where he would hunt children. Well, he would until struck by a bolt of lightning sent by God. But despite his rather dark past, his backstory is less really-demonic, more redemptive.

A bit like Krampus, he seeks to remind kids to be virtuous, teaming up with St. Nicholas to ensure children would be nice. 

Next is Romanian Werewolves. 

Yep, that’s plural. 

Sure, these man-beasts show up during the full moon, but also makes a point of unleashing their true forms at Christmas. This has merged with caroling in Romania - dressing up as animals and pissing off people busy having a cheeky Baileys rather than see their family is a common occurrence there.

Oh, and they go around and tell you not to have sex.

No, seriously, you aren’t allowed to have sex on Christmas Eve cause Jesus or somethin’. 

The other Christmas mythical creatures include:

Le Pere Fouettard, some fella who tags along with St. Nick, delivering lumps of coal to naughty kids. Well, when he’s not beating them up, that is!

Knecht Ruprecht joins Santa on his rounds too, but he isn’t like Pere, don’t worry! He kidnaps children, instead.

Next up is Zwarte Piet, one of Santa’s helpers who listens at the chimney of family homes to deduce if kids have been naughty or nice. Guys, we got a wholesome helper! Wait - people dress up in blackface to celebrate him?

I think we can all agree that racism is far scarier than anything else on this list…

Lastly, we have Belsnickel. And don’t worry, there’s no racism here. This bloke clad in fur and random clothes asks kids if they’ve been naughty or nice during the year.

Let’s Talk About The Terrifying Traditions

Well, we did it, guys! 

We made it through the monsters behind a Merry Christmas. 

And you can rest easy knowing these are all mythical creatures that can add a smidge of spook to your Christmas. But now it’s time to discuss the spooky side to the traditions we pull out of the attic year-upon-year.

So, no, these aren’t based on myths or religion - its based on historical fact!

Great.

Anyways:

If there’s one thing that defines Christmas - and is currently crippling my bank account - its gift giving.

Thinking of giving someone scissors for the most wonderful time of the year? It will literally cut your friendship or relationship in two. And shoes? The receiver of your gift will metaphorically walk away from your relationship. 

But if you’re looking for a more, uh, positive gift, a wallet or purse should be on your shopping list, instead. 

Wallets with money in them are believed to ward off demons, ghosts, and all other scary things.

Another creepy Christmas fact is the historical origins of mince pies. As a Brit, seeing Americans attempt to comprehend mince pies always figures as a solid meme. But the origin of it doesn’t steer too far from ‘Murican attempts to replicate this Christmas treat.

Back in the 16th century, cannibals would add human meat to pies, selling it off as actual meat. Oh, and this parallels some vague rumour of Santa being a cannibal. Basics, a holy man told him to give gifts to kids instead of eating them. 

In some strange and convoluted way this somehow chocks up to mincemeat now insinuating that there is no meat in there, instead.

*shrugs*

Speaking of tasty treats, why not make sure you stick to the rule of the Baker’s Dozen at Christmas?

When bakers would make batches, they would provide 13 of something instead of a dozen in case something turned out wrong. But they would also provide an extra roll, or a bun, at Christmas!

It’s for that reason that on the 12th day of Christmas, you have to take down your Christmas tree. Fail to do so? You’re gonna have to keep it up all year, then. It’s a mouldy pine tree, or its bad luck.

Our next tradition stakes it claim as the twisting of a Crimbo icon: it’s Santa Claus, himself.

But this time, he takes on an urban legend that I’m sure many actually believe: understandably, ‘santa’ can be traced to ‘satan’, as if it is the unholy being himself but in disguise. And ‘claus’? It can be translated to ‘hoof claws’, a running theme we see with the monsters like Krampus. 

So, could it be the devil in disguise?

Satan aside, who else likes trooping up to midnight mass and singing about the JC?

Well Christmas carols - and even carolling itself - actually sticks to a relatively dark past. Take Good King Wenceslas - this bloke let in peasants and encouraged them to join his bountiful feast! 

Unfortunately, his charitable efforts were not rewarded. He was stabbed with a lance repeatedly outside a church upon his own brother’s orders, and was then dismembered.

Yikes.

Historically, carollers would partake in similarly violent activities, demanding food and drink from their audience. Heck, they would even so so far as to start attacking, raping, and destroying their property! 

Guess it wasn’t a very Silent Night, then…

Our penultimate tradition is that of the Nutcracker: Whether you’re watching it, or using it to have a Christmas-specific nibble, there’s no doubt that this is pretty popular image of the festive season. 

But - and it’s a big ol’ ‘but’ - it’s based on a truly terrifying story.

No, there’s no ghosts, no ghouls, and certainly no demons. But there is a child marriage.

The story goes that a girl, Marie, sees a nutcracker come to life. Her Grandfather than launches into this story of how men can be cursed with the ugliness of a nutcracker. She replies by saying she’d marry one no matter how they looked.

She is then whisked away into a magical world from which she marries a nutcracker. 

This all goes down whilst she is 8 years old. 

Our final tradition of terror is less about the abuse of young girls, and more about evil beings breaking into your house. Merry Christmas?

See, you’d think that people coming down your chimney is reserved for one bloke in particular, but it turns out that European tales of malicious spirits taking the same route is a common tale frequently told. 

Belsnickel does the same, as do Greek goblins in order to terrorise the residents of the house.

So - What’s Your Verdict?

Which tradition left you shook?

And what Christmas film are you now going to watch to try and wipe this from your brain?

Be sure to hit follow to see a real spooky story tous les jours (everyday for the unsophisticated among us)!

At this point, I would tell you to have a Merry Christmas, but I think a safe one where, you know, you don’t get dragged to hell by Krampus, is best. 

[the-reason-to-sail-home]

Hold Me in this Winter Weather (1/1)

Summary: Killian Jones just can’t seem to warm up. The solution? Professional cuddling in the arms of a David Nolan: handsome farmer and winter enthusiast. 

Romantic Captain Charming, Rated G, 3k words. (Ao3)

For @phiralovesloki, because her birthday was last week and because she deserves a little bit of winter cuddles, no? You requested this some time ago, but I wanted to do it right for you! I hope you love it just as much as I love you!

Special thanks (and my eternal appreciation) to @hencethebravery, aka Queen of the Trashcan, for the excellent beta job AND for making the gorgeous edit seen above. If you want to check out any of her CC fics, you can find them in her CC tag here!

The story of how Killian found the idea was actually rather dull compared to other tales he had hidden up his sleeves. It went like this: man sits at his computer after a very frigid, winter day at the docks. Man cannot seem to warm up, even after the usual reliable methods of heavy fleece blanket, two pairs of wool socks, and a mug of coffee had been attempted. Perhaps out of curiosity, but most probably out of boredom and a bit of desperation, he opens his internet browser and unashamedly types out “Fast ways to get warmer.”  

Spoiler alert: going to a professional cuddler was actually not the first suggestion that appeared on the screen, and it certainly wasn’t the first thing he tried. Turned out, a hot shower did the trick, an idea he came up with himself thank you very much. But Killian was a man of learning, and how could he not read up on the transfer of body heat once it was suggested to him by some hipster blog. Not just any transfer of body heat. Professional cuddling.

Then of course, before he could even think about indulging in a hot shower, he had to answer the question What the actual fuck is professional cuddling? Luckily for him, the internet is a wealth of information.

And oh, he liked what he found. The excitement wasn’t loud in the, “Call your lads and go hire a professional cuddler right this bloody second” kind of way, but rather a quiet encouragement in the back of his mind whispering “Wow, what would it feel like to be properly held?”

Anyone else would have outright laughed in his face if they saw how seriously he scrolled through the exceptionally long list of professional huggers. With a sigh of frustration, Killian glared at the screen. Not one cuddlist looked any more capable than the others. The longer he looked, the more he felt like was shopping for a human person more than looking for the right person to provide a service.

In the end, he e-mailed the company with the request that they choose someone for him. He had no preferences, just that the person be within traveling distance. The next day, he received just what he had asked for. The reply e-mail expressed the director’s elation that Killian was joining their community, ensured the safety of signing up for the service, and asked him when he would like his appointment.

In the week and a half leading up to meeting his cuddlist, Killian only told a select few people about what he decided to do. There were his old navy mates, Robin and Will, who wanted to know why he couldn’t attend their usual Friday evening pub outing. Killian didn’t really see the point in lying, but changed his tune when all Robin and Will wanted to talk about was, What if she’s pretty? and How will you possibly survive an hour in the embrace of a women who specializes in snuggling? They both received proper thwacks on the back of their heads, and only shut up about it when Killian shoved beer into their hands. Perhaps it was his own fault that Killian didn’t correct them when they assumed that the cuddlist would be a woman, because after awhile, he started believing it himself.

In the end, he didn’t care. His own masculinity would survive the trip to the professional cuddler’s house and if he was looking forward to being held for the first time in years, no one needed to know. With Liam gone there was no family to share affection with. As far as romantic affection went, Killian hadn’t sworn it off after Milah’s death, but he was definitely steering clear for a while. His own rules said nothing about platonic hugs, though, and it was a loophole he was thankful he found.

When the day of his appointment arrived, he could count the number of things he knew about his cuddlist on his one hand.

D. Nolan lived on a farm just outside the city. It was exactly 27 miles away, and in traffic and weather, it would take him under an hour to get there on time. Miss Nolan was apparently a favorite of the company. Happy clients had all left five stars on the website, and the company director who sent him there promised that the clean aroma of fresh air would be well worth the lengthy drive.

Miss Nolan lived in a farmhouse the same color of the expanse of glistening snow that surrounded it. It was complete with navy shutters and a porch that wrapped nearly all the way around the home. The air did smell clean, with traces of warm hay and horses that reminded him of those few days Liam took him riding when they were boys. It could’ve been the nostalgia, or maybe it was the warm light that seeped out of the windows, but he felt ready to face whatever he would find inside.

He rang the doorbell, snow crunching under his feet as he shifted his weight. The tips of his fingers began to ache with the bite of the cold, so he shoved his non-prosthetic hand into his pocket, hot breath clouding in front of his face.

Maybe something had gone wrong with the scheduling? Either D. Nolan wasn’t home or she just hadn’t heard-

The door swung open and, oh.

Mister D. Nolan.

“Hi, there. Are you Killian?” the man asked, a stupid welcoming smile on his face that Killian couldn’t help but return.

“I am,” Killian replied, a nervous chuckle intruding his words. “And you’re D. Nolan I take it?”

“David Nolan, but just David fine,” the man supplied. “Please, come in!”

The inside of the house looked exactly like Killian pictured it might look. The inviting, comfortable arrangement of the home looked like it had come right off of some folksy interior design website. He couldn’t tell if it was the constant flow of visitors or just David’s personal taste that the place was kept so clean. Killian’s own woolen socks plodded across smooth hardwood floors as David gave him a brief tour of the house.

Killian followed politely, taking in each room as David explained that he lived alone and had inherited the house and farm from his late mother. He seemed like the type of guy to enjoy the freedoms of living on a farm, slightly calloused hands and scruff along his chin and neck. But there was a softness to him, as well. Compared to Killian, who came dressed in a knitted, grey turtleneck and soft jeans, David wore a loose, red long sleeved henley and sweatpants. He treated Killian as though they had been friends for years, lounging around hugging and enjoying the slight bite of the winter chill.

Then, of course, there was the fact that the inside of the house was still decked out for Christmas. From the soft lights that lined doorways to the lingering aroma of evergreen candles, Killian thought that maybe he had fallen into some Hallmark Channel movie. Lonely man seeks physical affection in a house that tangibly feels like warm holiday cheer.

“Christmas was two weeks ago, mate,” Killian commented, eyeing the wreaths and stockings that hung from the fireplace. David leaned against the mantel, warming his hands by the toasty blaze.

“I like to drag it out as long as I can. There’s something about hugging by a christmas tree that brings people back to their childhoods, but I took the tree down a few days ago. Didn’t have the heart to pack the rest of it away just yet.” Clapping his hands together, he joined Killian where he sat stiffly on the couch.

“I received your payment and signed contract a few days ago, so we’re all set to get started whenever you’d like. Do you have any questions?” David asked.

Killian had read the contract over twice before he signed it, not wanting to accidentally cross any boundaries. It wasn’t rocket science, though. The session would play out platonically, nothing sexual. Even platonic kisses to cheeks or forehead needed to be exchanged on a consent basis. Killian doubted David would want any of that with him. Either of them could terminate the session at any time they pleased, for any reason. Both of them would be fresh and clean, as well, per the contract’s regulations. He’d done the research. He knew what to expect. There was just one thing he hadn’t taken into account.

“Am I your first male client?” Killian asked nervously, fingers winding through those of his prosthetic. David’s eyebrows shot upwards towards his hairline, but then he was vigorously shaking his head.

“About half my regular clients are male. Professional hugging isn’t just for women.”

“No, no, I know. I just didn’t want you to feel uncomfortable at all.” David offered a shrug that was both indifferent and friendly.

“I’m more than fine with having male clients. Are you comfortable?”

“I think so,” Killian said slowly. David paused, seemingly unconvinced so Killian amended, “Yes. Yes, I’m sure.”

“Then let’s get started!”

David led Killian onto an enclosed porch at the back of the house. He’d set up a few atmospheric candles, which flickered in the calming light of the late afternoon. Killian felt the warmth of the setting winter sun through the diffused clouds in the sky. Fuschia light spilled across the aged porch and into David’s hair as he added wood to the small stove. In between the window and the side of the house, a cushiony futon laid on the ground. The sides were caged in by an array of soft pillows. A few layers of fleece and cotton quilts had been spread out on the billowy mattress, enticing Killian to just collapse onto it.

David plopped down first, stretching his legs out like a cat before propping his head up on his hand. The futon had appeared big enough at first glance, but now with David sprawled out across it, Killian wondered if it would fit both of them on it. David seemed to realize what he was thinking, so he gave a welcoming smile and patted the space beside him.

Then, of course, there was the brief moment of sheer panic when Killian remembered he didn’t know how to cuddle with someone who was bigger than him. Most people he’d ever had in his arms enjoyed laying on top of him, head curled under his chin, a handful of women and men who tended to be smaller than him in size.  David was different, and Killian couldn’t help but feel just a bit intimidated.  What if he made a bloody fool of himself because he couldn’t even cuddle without fucking it up?

Killian hadn’t noticed David rise to his knees, but was snapped out of his thoughts when the man grabbed his hand and tugged gently. There was a split second where everything went blank, and Killian couldn’t hear anything except the roaring in his ears, and then there was David.

They fell into place as if they’d done it a thousand times. With David’s gentle guidance, Killian settled onto David’s chest, arms falling to lightly cling at the sides of his shirt. One of David’s hands reached down to tug Killian’s leg over his, a more comfortable position for both of them. Killian had to bite in the inside of his cheeks to keep from sighing too loudly. He couldn’t remember a time that he felt so safe. For what seemed like decades, it had always been “Killian against the world.” But the way David was holding him took the weight off of his shoulders. How could such a simple embrace say so just what he needed to hear so clearly? You can let your guard down, no one will hurt you here.

“How’s this?” David asked, little huffs of breath swirling through Killian’s soft hair. Killian didn’t have words to describe how it was. It was more affection than he’d seen in years, just in the gentleness of the way David ran his fingers down his back and through his hair. It was the ease with which Killian practically melted into nothingness, held together only by the vibrations in his nerves. It was feeling the rise and fall of David’s chest, hearing the steady beat in his chest.

But most of all, it was the quiet desire in the back of Killian’s mind that wanted more than this.

“This is good,” he finally replied, throat dry.

“Good.” David’s arms tightened around him, and Killian felt him rest his cheek onto his head.

They laid like that for three hours, and when Killian realized how much time had passed, he kind of freaked out.

Granted, it was a wonderful three hours, which is probably how it passed so quickly without either of them realizing it. Nearly every second was spent in the other’s arms. As soon as their muscles began feeling stiff in one position, David would lean back and allow Killian to settle back in another way. It was easier as time passed, too. They talked and napped and joked and told stories. Killian admitted that the whole reason he found out about this sort of thing was because he was cold, to which David laughed and replied, “That’s a new one.”

The minutes flew by as David caressed the side of Killian’s cheek and down his neck, his rough fingers a pleasant contrast against the soft scruff of his face. In David’s arms, Killian began to unravel. The last stones of his defenses were torn down with such reverence, Killian found himself not wanting to hide himself anymore. The truth was, he was lonely, a little damaged, and no one had ever held him like they wanted more than just the temporary heat of his embrace. When he told David, the man smiled softly against the back of Killian’s shoulder.

“You’re a good man, Killian,” David told him. “You deserve someone who will appreciate you for all the wonderful things you are.”

Killian’s eyes fell shut, and he turned himself around so that he could gather David into his arms. With David’s lips against his ear, Killian could hear him chuckle, “I’m going to have to keep an eye on you, you might just steal my job.” A gentle smile lifted Killian’s lips, but the heat of the stove and the last drops of the sunset had turned his eyes heavy.

“It’s alright Killian, rest.”  So he did.

And when he woke up, he realized it was eight o’clock and he had overstayed his welcome by two hours. He stirred, still wrapped in David’s arms.

The polite thing to do probably would have been to gently wake David, apologize for staying longer than he paid for, and make sure that David knew the reason Killian couldn’t ever come back again had nothing to do with his his cuddling abilities. He would, of course, leave out the part that it had had everything to do with Killian’s tendency to fall in love quickly, without warning.

So he left. He wrote a note with a brief apology, blew out the lit candles, got in his truck, and drove away. The next morning he contacted David’s company and made sure he received payment for the extra two hours. He even left David five stars on the website.

And that was that.

That is, until he was getting into his truck, enjoying the breezy spring weather as he made his way back to that white farm house in the country. The christmas decorations were finally gone from the window, and it seemed all of David’s horses were roaming the fields. Parked in front of the house, Killian went to war with himself. He rolled up the sleeves of his flannel in a nervous effort to keep himself busy, but he knew what he came here to do. He just had to do it. Against his better judgement, he swung open the truck door and marched up to the front door with false confidence.

David came to the door shortly after Killian managed to ring the doorbell.

“Killian!” he stuttered, surprised. Killian shuffled his feet a little, shooting him a nervous smile that he felt all the way down to his toes. David remembered him which was a good start, he supposed.  “It’s good to see you, but I can’t really take walk-ins. Maybe I can figure something—”

“That’s not what I’m here about,” Killian interrupted.

“It’s not.”

“No.”

David’s hand came to rest on the edge of the door, leaning on it with a twinkle in his eye that seemed a bit uneasy and perhaps a bit hopeful. “Then what did you come here for?”

Killian ran his tongue along the inside of his teeth, reigning in what little confidence he had left.

“I was wondering if you were free for coffee… or something.”

David cocked a brow, and Killian felt himself visibly relax when the man lit up in an affectionate grin.

“I, uh, have a client in a few minutes but there’s this cafe in town that isn’t too far. I could meet you there when I’m finished. That is, if you don’t mind waiting a little bit.”

Killian heaved out a breathy laugh and shook his head.

“No, I don’t mind waiting at all.”