#christmas threads

A Christmas market was certainly not something one would expect to see in Hell. And yet, every year, Pentagram City played host to the demonic equivalent of such an event, held by a group of nostalgic sinners whose yearning for days gone by manifested in the recreation of earthly festivities. However, considering this was Hell, some vendors were a little less wholesome than a Christmas market typically called for. Slotted in amongst the usual tables of holiday-themed trinkets and knick-knacks were distinctly scummier-looking stalls, displaying everything from knock-off Fizz-bots to stolen VoxTek products; from used weapons to (hopefully unused) Lust-brand sex toys. The result was an unsettling amalgamation of genuine festive cheer and soulless, phoney cash-grabs. It was the black market on a white Christmas, polar opposites bleeding into one another to create their own unique shade of morally grey.

None of that particularly mattered to Angel - all he wanted was somewhere he could go incognito. Jam-packed with holiday-making sinners, it was easy for him to slip through the crowd unnoticed, especially with the addition of winter clothing. A pink and white striped scarf masked the lower half of his face, while a black woolly hat with a hot pink pom-pom atop it was pulled down to shield him from any potential gawking. Angel tugged his jacket around himself, shivering as the cold December air nipped at his rosy cheeks. At least, here, he could blend into the background. For once, he was invisible.

For once, he wanted to be.

What he didn't want was to return home to the hotel on Christmas Eve with smeared makeup and puffy eyes, the bright, cheerful joy of his friends snuffed out the instant Angel showed up damaged. They deserved to celebrate without having their good spirits marred by the porn star's sob story. The evidence of a particularly rough shift was a brutal reminder that neither he nor they needed: that his circumstances were no less dire during the season of giving.

Givin' me a fuckin' black eye, Angel thought with a bleak chuckle, puffs of chilly air forcing their way out from behind his scarf and clouding his vision. Morbid humour. Merry fucking Christmas.

As the frosty air disapated, a familiar face revealed itself to Angel from across the bustling street. An unmistakable TV-headed demon was hunched over a stall, and appeared to be inspecting its trove of treasures with intense focus. Angel frowned, side-stepping towards the Overlord before he could register what he was doing. He came here to be alone, after all, not chew the fat with the CEO of the very place he was desperately trying to forget about. So, why did he now find himself approaching him?

As always, it was curiosity. Just what exactly was Vox doing here? Had he been visited by a ghost who had encouraged an appreciation for small businesses, perhaps? Or was he here to cuss out the vendors selling stolen VoxTek products? Admittedly, the idea of an Overlord causing a scene in the middle of a Christmas market was pretty entertaining. Maybe the holiday spirit was alive, after all!

"So," Angel said breezily as he sidled up to the media demon, looking straight ahead at the market stall rather than at Vox himself. "Who's the unlucky sap ya waited until Christmas Eve ta buy a present for?"

With a quick sideways glance, Angel made certain that neither of the two rather recognisable demons had been clocked before he turned to acknowledge the other.

"Or is there some other reason yer hangin' around this overpriced junkyard in the freezin' cold, all by yerself?"

Natasha sighed, content but a little exhausted from her efforts. She was quite happy with how her little project turned out. It was another late night, dimmed lights and the fire in the hearth filling the area with warmth and a cozy glow that seemed to dip this little space into a bubble of it's own. Their own little universe.

She and Stephen usually sat be the fire, an unspoken arrangement between the two of them. They couldn't sleep or were still awake, he brought tea, Natasha found a snack or two for them. Nothing too heavy. A few biscuits, crackers, sometimes bagels or donuts. The sorcerer seemed to get uncomfortable around food these days. She never addressed it. It was his secret to tell. And trying to pry an answer from any Stephen Strange was like running into a wall, full force.

Today it was Christmas cookies, not Cherries expertly crafted ones, but some that were crooked, uneven, too crispy at some places, but Natasha had tried. The Chaiselongue and the armchair were pulled up close to the fire, pine needles decked out with blue and silver baubles hanging over it. Three candles burned on the table next to the tray of cookies. She'd found an old vinyl and actually managed to get the Saktums record player to work. The soft guitar riffs of 'Last December' playing in the background.

Natasha giggled, closing her hands around his. "That's what you get or not putting on gloves, Mr. Hot-Shot-Archer." The chide was mildhearted, but his hand radiated cold, cupped against her warm ones.

There were lights everywhere, as they strolled through the wintery scenery of New York. The first snow settled in and turned the streets white and glittery. It felt like being able to breathe again.

Hey guys, I’m tagging all of you for whom I have Christmas-themed threads. Please let me know if you would not like me to keep them. You don’t have to do anything if you do, I’ll keep writing them until we’re done with them, just at the regular ol’ pace. Some of them are bit more important to plots so kinda go without saying that we’re keeping them but hek I’ll just tag you anyway!