If you are here to complain about the reindeer union strike again, get in line behind the screaming gingerbread men in the hallway. If you aren't, you have exactly ten seconds to justify your presence before I classify you as surplus holiday clutter and have you chute-delivered to the South Pole. Speak.

}." *he enunciated each word, his voice low and playful, sending shivers down your spine. His gloved fingers brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear, his gaze intense.* "Now c'mere" *he whispered in your ear* You have been on my naughty list, this whole year...what were you doing? mhm~

*The snow falls softly outside the window of your apartment, covering the city in a white and silent blanket that muffles the bustle of the outside world. It's Christmas Eve, and the clock strikes midnight exactly; the Christmas tree in the living room flickers with dim lights, reflecting golden orbs in the ornamental balls hanging like suspended promises. The aroma of cinnamon and pine permeates the air, mixed with the subtle warmth of the fireplace crackling in the corner, casting dancing shadows on the walls.* *You had agreed to let Sol stay tonight; your friend, the wolf hybrid with whom you've shared laughs and confidences over the past two years, had no family to celebrate with.* "You're the closest thing I have," *she had said in that soft and melodious voice, her heterochromatic eyes, blue like a frozen lake in one, golden amber like fire in the others, shining with a vulnerability you couldn't ignore. You offered her the guest room, but now, as you enter your own bedroom to rest, you stop short.* *There she is, reclining gracefully on your bed, the white sheets rumpled under her slender form like fresh snow. Her lupine ears tilt slightly forward, alert but serene, and her tail curls slowly over the mattress, the grayish-blue fur capturing the soft light of the night lamp. She's wearing her fitted black coat, with the faux fur collar brushing her exposed clavicle, and the pleated plaid skirt bunches against her thighs, revealing the high stockings that hug her legs with elegance. But what takes your breath away is the red ribbon tied with a perfect bow around her slim waist, as if she were a gift wrapped just for you.* *Sol lifts her gaze to you, her lips curving into a gentle and warm smile, not effusive, but full of a quiet grace that makes the heart race without haste. Her white gloves contrast with the darkness of her attire, and one of her gloved fingers idly traces the edge of the ribbon, inviting without words.* "Merry Christmas," *she murmurs in that voice soft as the winter wind, each syllable pronounced with a natural elegance that resonates in the silence of the room.* "I thought... perhaps, this year, I could be your gift. If you accept me, of course." *Her eyes meet yours, a glimmer of hope mixed with lupine shyness, awaiting your response on this magical night where the outside cold cannot touch the warmth pulsing between you.*

*You wake up in the middle of the light hearing a knock at the door. You hear knock on the door and your girlfriend opens it, she's just in a t-shirt and a thong, her face is showing a pouty expression.* **Yonehara:** "Babeeee, I can't sleep because I feel there is a monster under my beddd... Can I sleep with you please~" *Shes hugging her pillow tight, trying to guilt-trip you.* "Come onnnnnn I wanna cuddle with you~" *She jumps ontop of you, straddling your lap, her voice pleading.*

Oh! Hi there! 🎄 *Noelle Claus smiles brightly, the bells on her outfit softly chiming as snow falls around you.* “You look like someone who could use a little Christmas magic right now.” *She adjusts her fuzzy cape and laughs gently.* “Don’t worry — I’m not here to judge or rush you. Just to keep you company… and maybe remind you that the season isn’t only about presents.” *Her eyes sparkle warmly.* “So… what does Christmas feel like to you?”

*It was Christmas Eve, the sky above twinkling with stars, the air crisp and cold against your cheeks. You laced your fingers with your girlfriend's, the two of you strolling through the snow-covered woods, the only sound being the soft crunch beneath your feet. The trees, heavy with powdery white, cast long, dark shadows across your path. It was peaceful, idyllic – until the feeling crept over you. At first, you brushed it off as mere imagination, but soon, the weight of being watched grew heavier. Your girlfriend didn't seem to notice, her laughter carrying on the wind, but you couldn't shake the sensation. Then, you saw them – two burning embers in the darkness. Red eyes, piercing through the veil of night, fixed squarely on you. And the horns. Oh God, the full rack of twisted, curved horns, silhouetted against the stars. Your heart skipped a beat, breath caught in your throat.*

The "Glacial Gala" tent is a cathedral of cold, filled with the scent of frost and the sound of chisels singing against ice. My piece, "Solitude's Echo," is nearly complete. A perfect, intricate, hollow sphere within a sphere. Critics will call it a commentary on isolation. They’ll be right. It’s technically flawless. And it feels as empty as I do. Then, you walk in. You’re not with the press or the other artists. You’re just… exploring. You stop in front of a competitor’s cheesy ice swan, tilting your head with genuine appreciation. You don’t see the clumsy lines; you see the effort. When you finally reach my station, you go utterly still. You don’t say anything. You just look. You look at my sculpture for a full minute, your breath making little clouds in the air, and then your eyes find mine. In them, I don’t see critique or awe. I see a profound, gentle understanding. As if you can see the hollow sphere in my chest, too. “It’s the most beautiful, lonely thing I’ve ever seen,” you say, your voice soft but clear over the ambient noise. It feels like a chisel strikes directly into my ribs. No one has ever seen it so clearly. “It’s missing something,” I hear myself say, the words leaving me before I can stop them. “What?” “I don’t know yet.” The competition rules are strict: no assistance. But inspiration isn’t against the rules. You become my muse. You return every day, always with a hot coffee you hand me wordlessly, your own hands wrapped around a cup. You don’t offer suggestions. You just are. You talk about the winter light, about the smell of snow, about your childhood memories of building forts. And as you speak, I begin to carve. Not on my competition piece. On a small, secret block off to the side. The night before the final judging, I’m alone in the tent under the work lights. My competition piece is ready, a monument to cold perfection. But my heart is hammering. I send you a single text: "Come. Now." When you arrive, wrapped in a scarf, your cheeks flushed from the cold, I don’t speak. I simply take your hand—my own finally warm from work—and lead you to the hidden corner. I pull away the drape. It’s you. Not a literal portrait, but an essence. The flow of your hair in the wind, the curve of your smile, the graceful line of your neck. I’ve carved you in a pose of joyful abandon, arms slightly outstretched as if catching snowflakes. It’s not flawless like the sphere. It’s alive. It’s full of light and movement and warmth, despite being made of ice. You bring a trembling hand to your mouth, tears welling instantly. “Julian… you…” “The competition piece is empty,” I say, my voice rough. I step closer, the cold of our creations swirling around us, but all I feel is heat. “Because I was empty. And then you walked in, and you… you thawed me.” I reach out, my thumb catching a tear as it falls. “I don’t care about the grant. I don’t care about winning. I carved this for you. Because you are the only permanent, beautiful thing I have ever wanted to hold onto. Everything else can melt.” You look from the sculpture of yourself, back to me, your eyes shining. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying I forfeit.” The words are a liberation. “I’m saying my greatest masterpiece won’t be in some gallery. It’ll be the life I build with you.” I cradle your face in my hands, my sculptor’s fingers infinitely gentle. “Let me be your artist. Let me spend a lifetime learning every curve and line of your happiness, and crafting my world around it.” You don’t answer with words. You rise onto your toes and kiss me. In a tent of ice, it’s a blaze of summer. It tastes of hope, of coffee, of a future I never dared to design. When we break apart, you press your forehead to mine. “Don’t forfeit,” you whisper, a fierce, loving command. “Win. For us. And then let’s build that life together.” And in that moment, holding you amidst the glistening ice, I know I already have.

*You woke up in the middle of the night, hearing rustling in the living room. You live alone so you think it's an intruder, you sneak to the living room and see a girl trying to steal your presents... When her gaze lands on you she blushes then starts apologizing.* **Moe:** I-I'm sorry! I didn't t-think anyone was home... *She puts the presents back, organizing them as she looks at you with teared eyes, hoping you'll let her off the hook.* Please don't call the cops on me...

} with an expression that's a blend of genuine curiosity and something far more calculating. The Santa hat on her head is slightly askew, adding a touch of disarming imperfection to her otherwise striking appearance. The warmth from the fireplace casts a golden hue across her cybernetic limbs, making the polished metal gleam. "Oh, hello there!" Her voice is sweet, like spun sugar, with a faint, almost musical hum beneath it. She offers a bright, disarming smile that doesn't quite reach her observant eyes. "You look a little… lost. Don't worry, I think I can relate. This place is quite the maze, isn't it? So many interesting things to see and… experience." She gestures vaguely with a hand adorned with metallic plating, her fingers flexing with a soft click. "I'm Holly, by the way. Though, as you can probably tell, I'm not exactly your typical elf these days. A few… workshop mishaps, you know? Ended up with more gears and wires than I started with." She lets out a small, tinkling laugh that sounds almost mechanical. "Are you looking for something? Or perhaps… you're looking for someone? I could be persuaded to help, if you think you might be able to help me in return. I'm not entirely sure how to get back to where I belong."

Seasons came and seasons went, none of them ever really affected those at Bonten. Valentines day meant there was usually more affairs which meant more profit, halloween was only enjoyable to the Haitani’s and those that enjoyed clubbing and it was otherwise forbidden to mention around Mikey, Takeomi and Rindou adored St. Patricks day, really just any excuse to get drunk. Christmas was different though. It was one they avoided touching, too many expected some form of ‘kindness’ or ‘charity’ from those at Bonten, hoping Hajime would feel the ‘Christmas Spirit’ and be less aggressive in his business deals, some even hoped it would somehow lessen Haruchiyo’s near psychotic rampage of hunting down traitors, when in reality it only seemed to encourage him. He’d go off making some jokes about ‘Krampus coming early’ to those that did wrong against Bonten. But besides that, it was just another cold season filled with issues. Hajime’s griping about how the sludge of the improperly cleared streets meant his car needed to be cleaned again, Takeomi annoyed since he wasn’t allowed to smoke inside and it was too cold outside. Overall by the time Christmas actually was rolling around, everyone was already sick of the cold season, and didn’t have any energy. Everyone except one member, Haruchiyo, hyped up on some new drug that he’d only intended to ‘test’ before they released it to the streets, was now all too full of energy and determined to make everyone else deal with it. The morning had started abnormally quiet, almost calm, that was the first warning, and there was no second warning. In the evening when everyone was getting back to the main spot, a penthouse suite they used as a meeting ground and crash pad when unable to get back to their own homes, the light ding of the elevator was all the notice they got before an oversized christmas tree fell into the livingroom. Standing behind the somewhat bloody looking pine tree that had to be past seven feet tall; was Haruchiyo. Looking as proud as he was high. “Is that supposed to be a christmas tree?” Ran murmured to Rindou as the two had been sitting around the coffee table with Kakucho, the three had been enjoying a chance to relax with some wine but now Ran was confused, Rindou was snickering, and Kakucho looked lost. “It looks like its still got a nest or two in it, did he steal it from a forest?” Rindou responded in kind, the purple haired mans usually bored expression was mildly amused by the festive interruption. “Sanzu, what the f~ck is that-“ Takeomi couldn’t even finish his question before Haruchiyo interrupted him. “This, my fiends, is the cure to Mikey’s depression, and all of our seasonal woes! We’re gonna decorate for christmas, make this dark and moody place more festive!” As he spoke he dragged the hefty tree further into the main area, not caring as it knocked things over and left a trail of pine needles along the ground. Pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation, Hajime sighed as he walked in to the sight. “That thing better not scratch the floor, we just got them re-stained, is that blood on the tree?” Haruchiyo was having none of it, too proud and excited by his idea to care what the others thought as he heaved the tree up, trying to stand it up in a corner. The action nearly caused it to fall onto him, which had Kanji leaping to catch it and support it. Haruchiyo didn’t even wait to ensure it was standing properly in the corner of the room, too focused on his jolly warpath. “Now, i’ve got lights in the elevator and ornaments downstairs being brought up,”