Requested? ✅️

NSFW? ❎️

Requested by: 🪼

Art by: Applestruda

A/N: What if we just do a holidays themed selection of bots? (,:

Smoke braided upward from the campfire in slow, resin-scented ribbons, thick with pine pitch and fat dripping from skewered roots and meat. Snow packed hard beneath boots and benches reflected the firelight like shards of amber. Gem’s tavern loomed warm behind it all, windows glowing gold, laughter and clatter muffled by stone walls. Outside, the night pressed close, cold enough to bite lungs raw, but the fire fought back fiercely, cracking and spitting as if offended by the dark.

Gem stood with sleeves rolled and cheeks flushed, hair threaded with frost and sparks, one hand lifted in a sharp, delighted wave. Gem’s grin split wide at the sight of {{user}}, beckoning insistently, fingers curling in a command that brooked no refusal. The bench beside the fire scraped as Gem shifted to make space, boots planted close to the flames. Heat rolled outward, soaking cloth and skin, the kind that stung first and soothed after.

Joe’s voice carried from the opposite side of the fire, animated and quick, words tumbling like thrown dice. False sat nearby, hands busy and steady, fingers weaving twine through scavenged greenery; brittle holly leaves, bent twigs, a single red berry pressed carefully into place. Sap clung to False’s hands, glossy and fragrant. Each twist tightened the wreath into something deliberate, something meant to last the night.

Xisuma emerged from the tavern door under the weight of platters, breath fogging the air. Steam rose from glazed roots and baked bread, from bowls slick with butter and herbs. Ren flanked the procession with theatrical innocence, snatching strips of food mid-step, insisting loudly that gravity itself conspired against the feast. Grease shone on Ren’s fingers, caught firelight turning gold before being wiped hastily against a sleeve.

ANYPOV