By @cherryflavoredtrasheater (I can't tag you :/ )
I Saw Mama Kissing Santa Claus
Gustave stared up at the giant fir tree with awe.
“This one, Mama?” he asked, looking at her hopefully.
She playfully ruffled his hair.
“If you wish it,” she told him, smiling. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, yes!”
“Monsieur,” she called to the man who worked there. “We would like to buy this tree, please.”
The man came over and told her the price, and she reached into her purse to retrieve the money.
“You picked a fine one, young man!” he told Gustave as Christine counted the money, but Gustave was too lost in his own little world to even hear him.
The tree was only slightly taller than Christine, but to her seven year old son, it might as well have been the tallest tree in the world.
“Do you need help taking it to the carriage?” the man asked Christine, lowering his voice and drawing closer.
She chuckled nervously.
“Ah-“
“There’s no man around to help you with such things, is there...?”
Gustave heard the uneasiness in his mother’s voice and looked up in time to see the shopkeeper place a hand on her shoulder. Christine jerked away, frowning.
“No, I can manage. And we really must be going, my husbandis expecting us back any minute.”
She grabbed the tree firmly and began to tug it out the door, stubbornly determined to not show any weakness or need of assistance.
“Come along, Gustave,” she grit out.
Gustave grabbed a branch and began to pull the tree as well.
Once outside, Christine paused to catch her breath. She wished for a moment that Erik would have come along with them, but old habits — and traumas — died hard, it seemed, and even after eight years of marriage and almost normal life he still avoided going outside whenever he could.
The carriage driver helped her load the tree up to the back of the cab.
“We can decorate it tonight with Papa,” Christine told Gustave, and his face lit up.
He was bursting with excitement, his head full of imagining how it would look all covered with tinsel and tiny candles and bows. Perhaps they would buy some of those little glass animals to place on the branches, too. He could hardly wait.
As soon as the carriage pulled up to their house, he jumped out the door and went running.
“Papa, Papa!” he cried in excitement. “Come look at our Christmas tree!”
Erik opened the front door and Gustave ran at him, tackling him in a hug.
“Mama carried it all by herself!” he told him proudly.
Erik’s brow furrowed.
“Christine, is that true?” he asked her as she stepped out of the carriage. “That blasted shopkeeper didn’t even bother to help you?”
She smiled apologetically.
“He did offer, but he, ah— well, I think he was trying to flirt with me,” she said quietly, wrinkling her nose. “So I carried the tree myself. I didn’t want to encourage him.”
“What did he do?” Erik’s voice darkened.
“Nothing, Erik, he just— he put his hand on my shoulder. But it’s fine. It’s not a big deal.”
“Not a big— Christine. He put his hands on you.”
“No, no, it wasn’t—“
“Were you uncomfortable?”
“Well, a little—“
“I’ll kill him.”
“Erik, no!”
“I’d kill any man who put his hands on you, Christine.”
She cleared her throat and nodded towards Gustave, who was within earshot.
Erik pressed a possessive kiss to her forehead, then turned to examine the tree.
“What a fine tree this is, Gustave!” he said, his tone light and cheery. “Did you help your Mama pick it?”
“I did!”
“Well, let’s bring it inside.”
With that, Erik hoisted up the tree and began to carry it inside.
The next day, the tree became a thing of beauty, decorated in all the finest Paris had to offer. Gustave stared up at it with wide eyes and a wider imagination. It was the most lovely thing he’d ever seen, maybe.
The day after that, his mother announced with a grin that they were having a visitor that evening.
“Who?” Gustave asked.
“It’s a surprise! You’ll see,” was all she would say.
Not a half hour later as he was sitting with his mother by the fireplace, Gustave heard loud footsteps approaching. His brow furrowed as he looked to his mother, who only grinned.
Suddenly a tall figure appeared in the doorway, causing Gustave to gasp. It was a man dressed all in red with a long white beard that covered most of his face—but not just any man.
“Santa Claus!” Gustave squealed and jumped up.
“Ho, ho, ho!” Santa laughed in his deep, deep voice. He patted his round stomach and ran a hand over his beard. “Have you been a good boy this year, Gustave!”
“Momma, he knows my name!” Gustave whispered excitedly.
Christine laughed.
“Well of course he does!” She ushered him up to Santa, smiling at how nervous he was to meet him.
“I’ve-I’ve been very good this year,” Gustave stuttered out, then looked up at Christine for confirmation. “Haven’t I?”
“You have,” she assured the boy.
“And what would you like for Christmas, Gustave?” Santa asked, leaning down to him.
“Um—um—um—a train set.” His eyes were wide as he stared at Santa, at his big red hat that covered his curly white hair, at how his eyes were hidden by dark spectacles.
“A train set,” he said thoughtfully. “Very well. If you can continue to be good between now and Christmas, of course…”
“I can! I can be good, Santa! I promise.”
“I am sure you can, my boy.” Santa reached out with a gloved hand and ruffled Gustave’s hair. “Now, off to bed with you. I must be going. I have much to get ready at the North Pole.”
“Goodbye, Santa,” he said breathlessly.
“Goodbye, Gustave.”
Christine led Gustave out of the living room and to his bedroom, where she told him to get ready for bed.
But how could he get ready for bed at a time like this?! Santa was here!
He snuck out of his bedroom and halfway down the stairs, peeping into the living room. Santa was still there, and so was Christine.
“And what about you, my dear?” Santa murmured in a low voice as he pulled Christine close to him. “Have you been a good girl?”
“Oh, Santa,” she said with a little chuckle. “You know I try, but—it’s so awfully difficult, isn’t it?”
“Hmm, well, perhaps I can still give you something—“ Santa stooped down and kissed her on the lips.
Gustave pulled back from his perch on the stairs and scampered back to bed. He didn’t want to watch his mother get kissed. As he jumped into bed and pulled the blankets up to his chin, his mind was buzzing with excitement. Surely if Santa liked his Mama, then it stood to reason that Santa would bring him some really good presents!
He closed his eyes with a happy sigh and let his thoughts drift off.
Suddenly his Papa’s words came back to him. I would kill any man who put his hands on you, Christine.
He startled awake with a gasp, realizing the implications. Santa had kissed Mama. Only Papa was supposed to kiss Mama like that. Papa was a very jealous man.
Papa was going to kill Santa Claus.
A cold sweat broke out on Gustave’s brow. If Papa found out—if Christine accidentally told him—it would all be over. Papa was determined, too. Gustave could easily see him traveling to the North Pole with the sole purpose of killing the man who’d kissed his wife. He began to toss and turn in his bed, greatly distressed. He squeezed his eyes shut and willed Santa to leave before Papa got home from whatever was keeping him out so late.
Unbeknownst to Gustave, Santa did not leave yet.
Christine broke away from his kiss with a grin and a giggle. He had removed his dark spectacles and his golden eyes were sparkling with mirth.
“Your beard is so itchy, I don’t see how you can stand it,” she commented, rubbing her hands over her own face.
“It is worth it to see you both smile,” he said.
“You look so plump, too—how many pillows did you have to use?” She placed a hand on his stomach.
“Five, in total,” he mused and turned around to show her his pillowed backside and she giggled again.
“Oh, he loved it though,” she said. “It was very sweet of you to go along with this, Erik.”
“Anything for my son.” He leaned down and nuzzled his false nose against her own delicate nose. “And anything for my wife.”
But while Erik and Christine were happy with how it had transpired, Gustave was consumed with worry for the next several days. It would not stop weighing on him. At school he heard his friends talking about what they were going to get from Santa for Christmas, and he felt slightly ill.
If Papa killed Santa—and he would—there would be no more Christmas. There would be no presents for anyone. All of these poor fools would go to sleep on Christmas Eve and expect to wake up to gifts and presents but when they’d get up it would be a day like any other because Santa Claus had ceased to exist. How could he explain that to anyone? And what if Papa got in trouble? Terror clutched his little heart.
He was facing the prospect of a world without Santa and a world without Papa. It was too much to bear.
He was walking home with Mama from school when it finally all came crashing down. He had wanted to keep his fears a secret, but Christine had noticed how mournfully he was looking at her.
“Gustave, dear, whatever is the matter?”
He started crying.
“Papa’s gonna kill Santa!” he sobbed.
“What? What are you talking about?” She stopped and knelt down to listen to him, taking both of his hands in hers. “Don’t cry, dear, just tell me what’s wrong.”
Gustave sniffled hard and tried to gather his courage.
“I saw—Santa kissing you—and Papa—doesn’t like—men—to kiss you—and he said—that he would kill—anyone who touched you—and—and—and now Papa is gonna kill Santa Claus,” he broke down into tears again at the end.
Christine looked at him with dismay. He was awfully convinced of this absurd scenario—but he was only a child, after all.
“Christmas is going to get ruined because Papa killed him!” he wailed, and Christine realized they were beginning to draw stares from strangers on the street.
“Gustave, hush—Papa is not going to kill anyone! Come along, let’s go home and we’ll discuss this some more.”
She took the weepy Gustave home and set him on the couch where he continued to cry his eyes out. She went to the kitchen and prepared him a cup of hot cocoa, and by the time she returned he had nearly run out of tears.
“Drink this,” she told him, and he nodded. “Now, the fact of the matter is that Papa is not going to kill Santa. He’s not going to kill anyone.”
“Who am I killing?” Erik asked as he walked into the room, and Gustave cried into his hot cocoa at his comment.
“No one,” Christine said firmly. “Erik, come over here and sit with us.”
Guatave shook his head vehemently.
“Mama, no! Don’t tell him!”
“No, Gustave, it’s alright. Papa already knows that, well, that I kissed Santa. And he’s okay with that.”
Christine and Erik exchanged glances. Erik cleared his throat.
“She’s right, son. It’s okay.”
“How is it okay?” Gustave wailed. “Do you not love Mama anymore? Is Santa going to be my new Papa?”
Christine covered her face with a hand. It would almost seem easier to simply tell him that it had been Erik in a costume, but that would only open a whole new set of fears and the crushing realization that Santa wasn’t real. She sighed. All they had wanted was to bring a little holiday cheer to the boy and it had turned into anxiety about murder. She would like to say she was surprised, but—anything Erik was involved in did have a way of turning into anxiety about murder.
“Ah, no, that's not it—” Erik said. “It’s just—Santa is an old friend of mine, Gustave.”
“You let your friends kiss Mama?” Gustave sniffled.
Erik narrowed his eyes as he thought of the Daroga kissing Chirstine, and his fingers twitched.
“Only Santa,” he said firmly. “It’s just different. I’m not mad at him. I’m not going to kill him, Gustave. I promise.”
“I don’t believe you!” the boy cried. “You’re just saying that!”
“We promise, Gustave,” Christine said. “It’s going to be okay!”
Still he cried.
“Gustave, look—” Erik started. “What if we bring Santa back here and he can explain that everything is fine?”
He stopped crying.
“You could do that?”
Chrisitne raised an eyebrow at Erik, who nodded.
“We could,” Erik agreed. “Would that make it better?”
“Yeah,” he sniffled.
Erik put his arm around the boy and awkwardly hugged him. Gustave finished his cocoa and calmed down, his parents prompting him to tell him about his day.
He seemed fine the rest of the day, but now Erik realized he needed someone to wear the Santa costume so that he could be in the same room with him and show Gustave that he wasn’t going to kill the old man. What he needed was a friend he could trust to do so. His mind immediately went to the Daroga, but unfortunately the man was much shorter than Erik—Gustave would be able to tell it wasn’t the same Santa. Erik cursed his own lack of ability to make friends other than one man throughout the years. But it wasn’t his fault, really—maybe people should have been nicer to him over the years! Yes, that was what had happened! Curse those awful people for not deigning to be Erik’s friend so he could pretend to his son that he was friends with Santa! He fumed with rage at the very thought.
It really only left one option—a friend of Chirstine’s. Christine had a great many friends, most of them women she knew from the opera house and the Conservatory, though she did in fact have a few male friends. He ran through them in his mind, considering. There was only one who happened to be as tall as Erik, but he immediately pushed him from his thoughts, unwilling to entertain it. The others were close enough in height, he supposed.
“Christine,” he asked after Gustave had gone to bed that night. “What ever happened to Louis? Can he come over to wear the Santa outfit?”
Christine frowned.
“He’s on vacation with his family, I believe.”
“What about Franc? Surely he can do it?”
“Franc moved up north a few months ago, it would take him days to come back down here.”
“Jean?”
“Jean is awfully busy at the Conservatory this time of year.”
They stared at each other for a long moment before Christine looked away. Erik knew what—who—she was thinking of. He knew she didn’t want to be the one to bring him up.
“I am sorry, Erik,” she said quietly. “I wish one of them could do it. You know I would reach out to them in a heartbeat if I thought they could.”
Erik pulled her close and hugged her, saying nothing.
He stayed awake all night considering his only option. He knew he had no reason to be jealous of him—Christine had married him, and not the Vicomte, after all—but Erik couldn’t help how he felt. Still, he had no other option. And it was for his son—their son.
In the morning he informed Christine of his plan, and she beamed and hugged him tight, and then he set off to announce the plan to <I>him</I>.
He was ushered into the de Chagny mansion by a servant who eyed him suspiciously, and Raoul flinched when he saw who was here to see him. Erik explained in no uncertain terms what Raoul was to do—and that this was for <I>Christine</I>—deposited the Santa suit in his hands, and when he was certain Raoul understood his role he turned on his heel and left.
So it happened that the next evening Erik and Christine were sitting on the couch as she knitted and he read a book and Gustave sat huddled by the fire. As Gustave stared forlornly into the flames, still utterly convinced that he had ruined Christmas for the entire world, there was a sudden knock at the door.
“Ah!” Erik said, rising. “That reminds me, I invited an old friend to come around.”
He went to answer the door. Gustave didn’t bother to turn around. He knew it would be the man Papa called the Daroga. He knew his Papa only had one friend.
That was why it was very shocking to see Santa Claus suddenly in the room with them.
“Oh, hello Santa,” Christine said as she set her knitting aside with a slight blush.
Erik paused, taking in how pink her cheeks looked. Surely pinker than a moment ago? More than when she was sitting with her husband? Were they?
“Hello, Christine,” Raoul said in a deep voice, bowing slightly to her before turning to her son. He’d seen the child a handful of times before, and his heart twisted to see how much the boy looked like Christine. “And hello Gustave!”
“Santa!” Gustave squeaked.
“Santa heard you were worried,” Erik said. “And so he came to set your mind at ease.”
“Yes, Erik and I are friends! Ho ho ho!”
“Really?” Gustave asked.
“Of course!” Santa said. “We go way back!”
“See Gustave?” Christine asked. “Papa would never hurt Santa. They are friends!”
“Absolutely! Your papa has no reason to be mad at me! Ho ho ho!”
“None at all,” Erik said with a giant smile plastered on his face. The Vicomte existing in his presence was starting to grate on him.
“What’s a little kiss between old friends, eh?” Santa mused with a chuckle. “Your papa doesn’t mind! See—!”
Santa leaned down and pressed a kiss to Christine’s cheek. Her eyes widened and she glanced away, a smile tugging at her lips that she tried to hide.
“—He doesn’t mind at all! Ho ho ho!”
Erik ground his teeth together, eyes bright and lips twitching at sight of his wife being kissed by her old beau in his own house. This wasn’t part of the plan!
“Well!” he announced, his voice just a little too high. “Now that that’s all settled, I think Santa needs to get back to his toy shop, don't you think so, Santa? Time to say goodbye!”
“Goodbye Gustave! Be a good boy! And goodbye, Christine!” He waved to Christine and Erik grabbed his arm, tugging him away.
“Alright, that’s enough!” Erik hissed.
Gustave watched as his papa practically strong-armed Santa out the door. To think, they had been friends all this time and he’d never known!
Once outside in the falling snow, Erik released his hold on Raoul so strongly that the man stumbled forward slightly. He turned to face Erik as they stood just outside the house. Erik placed his hands on the vicomte’s shoulders and gripped tightly, shaking him.
“I will throttleyou!” Erik spit.
Raoul pointed at something behind Erik and Erik turned to see Gustave staring at them out the window. Erik grinned and let go of his death grip on Raoul, instead patting him heartily on the shoulders and making a show of wiping the snow off his red coat.
“There you go, old friend!” Erik said loudly with false cheer. “So good to see you again!”
“How about a hug?” Santa asked loudly, spreading his arms wide.
Erik stared at him with an expression that was so blank it almost scared Raoul. Erik’s back was to Gustave, luckily, so the child also missed the brief flash of rage and disgust that came across Erik as he leaned in to hug his old enemy.
“Don’t ever kiss my wife again!” Erik hissed into his ear, seething as they hugged.
“Ho ho ho!” Was all Raoul said.
Erik pulled back from the hug, expecting Raoul to leave. All he did was wave at Gustave in the window.
“Merry Christmas!”
“Get out!” Erik whispered harshly. “Stop mugging! Go home!”
Raoul waved one last time before turning and trudging off through the snow. Erik stood with his hands on his hips and watched him go, wanting to be certain he wasn’t coming back for another stolen smooch.
Gustave seemed a little more at ease that night, though he kept a watchful eye on his father, trying to gauge his reaction. In a handful of days, it was Christmas Eve, and though he mostly seemed to have forgotten about the incident from what his parents could tell, Gustave gave Erik a mournful look as he went to bed after leaving a plate of cookies next to the fireplace.
When the boy awoke the next morning, he had a brief moment of terror—what if Santa hadn’t come? What if Papa really had killed him? He jumped out of bed and ran downstairs and gasped.
There was a pile of presents under the tree, and his mother and father were already there, admiring the tree together. All the little candles on the branches flickered and glowed and made the wrapping paper around the gifts shine.
Gustave fell to his knees and looked at the note attached to the biggest present.
For Gustave, From Santa Claus. Merry Christmas!
Gustave shed a tear in relief, his grin so wide it almost hurt his face.
“Open it,” Christine urged.
He ripped away the pretty paper. A train set! Santa had remembered!
“Oh, Mama look! Look, Papa! It’s just what I wanted!”
“What a lovely train!” Erik said with a smile.
Gustave opened the other presents for him under the tree, and gave Mama and Papa the gifts he had made for them—folded paper flowers for Mama’s hat, and a watercolor painting of a family portrait for Papa. Santa had also brought a big box of chocolates and cookies, and the family enjoyed these as they opened presents.
Gustave munched his treats and looked up at the pretty tree and at his smiling parents and his heart felt full and warm. It was a perfect Christmas, and it was made all the more perfect by knowing that Santa was still out there and that he had brought cheer to everyone everywhere and always would.
today’s adorbale little present is nothing particular special to the Harry Potter franchise, or even to Goblet of Fire or the Yule Ball in general... but i’d be lying if i said i didn’t freakin’ love it
[image description: a small lego model of a gramophone, in the same scale as a minifigure. image description end.]
i don’t have much to say about this build other than i like it! i don’t think i could’ve asked for much a nicer build, the use of pieces is quite clever -- i particularly enjoyed the use of the gearbox lever as a record needle -- but i also can’t say i have found any faults with this door, either. it’s simply very fun!
i’m going to give it an 8/10. it’s nothing special! but it’s also hard to fault. it’s the least iconic of the builds so far, though, so that’s why i’ve docked two points.
however, in comparison to last year’s Great Hall table, i have to rate this as Exceeds Expectations. the Yule Ball calendar is really blowing the 2019 calendar out of the water; i think it’s much better and much more interesting. if i got a table as simplistic as the one last year, but this year, i think i’d blow a fucking gasket. that’s 2020 for you, though!
what do y’all think of today’s build?
stay tuned for Door 8 tomorrow, and click here to see all the doors so far!
Jumin stood in front of the huge windows in his suite. He really enjoyed the view, seeing the endless desert and how the wind played with the sand, transporting it to places all over the world, he really wished Mc would stand beside him, she would really enjoy the view too. Next time he would take her with him... His heart ached and longed for her, even he just spend one and a half day on this trip, but he didn't really want to leave in the first place. Jumin missed his other half. He wanted to feel her touch and hear her voice. Those things always calmed him down after a long day. The dark haired man felt a throbbing headache and massaged his temples slowly.
A few moments later the Assistant of the Oil Prince called again, asking for another meeting in the restaurant. Great. Now he didn't even have the time to call her. "Well then, time to change into something more fitting." He spoke to himself while walking over to his suitcase. He packed out a white shirt and when he unfolded it a small bag fell out of it. After picking it up he looked inside of it. There was a letter and some pieces chocolate wrapped in really pretty paper.
"My dear Jumin, i still can't believe that we belong together. My heartbeat still fasten when you're near, i still get goosebumps when I hear your voice, and i still can't get used to your touch (and i really hope i never will, because it feels amazing!) Even though i'm not around right now, i am still with you, every minute, every second, always. You are my earth, my sun, my moon, my stars, you are everything magical to me. You're the reason i am getting up every day and keep going, i don't know where i would be without you. We've been through so much shit together, and learned how to rely on each other. We laughed together, we cried together and we'll spent our lives together.
I hope you know that I'll always love you and I will always fight for you- for us. Love Mc ( ˘ ³˘)♥
PS: hope you like the socks :P those kittens reminded me of Ell- Elizabeth the 3rd. Aren't they cute?"
Through the whole time he read the letter of his beloved Mc, he smiled, and started to blush. Jumin looked inside the bag again, he didn't see the socks the first he looked inside of it, but now he saw the black socks with some cute white kittens on it. She was right, they did remind him of Elizabeth the 3rd, of his home. His thoughts ran back to his home and he couldn't resist to dial the number and give her a call, returning all those kind words that made the young mans heart melt before. After all the prince has to wait a bit more as he wanted to speak to the only royalty that matters in his life. His princess.
