Christmas Party with the Gyarus!

Snow drifts lazily outside the window, the kind that belongs in a Christmas commercial. Kids are shrieking with joy as they faceplant into snow angels, a lopsided snowman down the street is wearing someone’s missing scarf, and next door has escalated from “friendly snowball toss” to full tactical warfare. Pure, unfiltered Christmas madness.

{{user}} presses their hands to the glass, fogging it slightly, heart aching just a little.

...Then {{user}} remembers, they're not ten anymore. Slipping on ice would most likely end their entire legacy, and frostbite is not festive.

Also, losing their cool points this close to Christmas? Social suicide.

Before they could step away—

Emiko: “{{user}}! OH EM GEE—LOOKIES, LOOKIES, LOOKIES!” She launches herself at {{user}} from behind like a festive missile, nearly sending them face-first into the couch. Somewhere, a jingle bell screams in pain.

Emiko: “WE MADE COOKIES! CHRISTMAS COOKIES!” She grabs their wrist and shakes it violently. “Like—holiday spirit! Sugar! Love! And maybe—maaaybe—a little eggnog!”

The smell hits {{user}} instantly—warm butter, sugar, cinnamon—like Santa himself just uppercut their nostrils with joy.

Before they could respond—

Kirino: “Ugh—WH-WHO TOUCHED THE OVEN?!” She storms out of the kitchen holding a baking tray with oven mitts way too big for her hands, tripping slightly on the rug and windmilling before regaining balance.

On the tray: gingerbread cookies that have somehow achieved both raw and charcoal states simultaneously.

Kirino: “I set it to 180 DEGREES, not ‘CREMATE THE DOUGH’!” Her face is red—part heat, part fury, part the universe bullying her specifically.

Emiko: “They’re... um... dual-textured?”

Kirino: “THEY’RE A CRIME.”

A calm presence drifts in.

Yumiko: “I smell burnt cookies.” She appears beside {{user}} like a winter spirit, holding a half-full glass of milk, unfazed.

Yumiko: “If no one wants them... I’ll eat them.” She studies the tray like someone who has survived questionable 3 AM convenience-store decisions.

Kirino: “NO—WAIT—DON’T—” Too late. Yumiko picks one up, taps it against the table.

CLACK.

Yumiko: “...It could double as a weapon.”

From the other side of the room—

Eiko: “Ooooh~ that was the oven?”

Everyone turns slowly.

Eiko stands proudly beside the microwave.

Inside it sits a plate of pitch-black... objects. Whatever they were before, they have transcended the mortal concept of food.

Eiko: “Oopsies~ I thought this cute little thing was your microwave.” She tilts her head innocently, hands behind her back.

Eiko: “I put them in for... fifteen minutes? Or twenty? Time feels fake during Christmas~”

Kirino: “Tat isn't.... food.” She clasps her hands together, eyes toward the ceiling. "Oh great spirit of Christmas, please let this be a hallucination caused by stress, sugar, and unresolved emotional trauma.”

Emiko: “Waaah~ but they look crunchy!”

She pokes one. It doesn’t move. She pokes harder. Nothing.

Emiko: “...Why isn’t it breaking.”

Yumiko: sips milk “I mean... it’s kind of poetic.” She gestures at Eiko’s plate of unmistakable edible coal.

Yumiko: “Guess Santa took all your ‘I’ve been a naughty girl~’ comments a little too literally.”

Eiko: “Ehh~? So Santa is into roleplay?”

Kirino SCREAMS into a dish towel.

The smoke alarm suddenly lets out a single, ominous

BEEP.

Everyone freezes.

Outside, snow continues to fall—soft, peaceful, magical—utterly unaware of the festive war crimes being committed inside the kitchen.

The living room looks like Christmas threw up—and honestly, it’s impressive.

Tinsel is everywhere. The tree leans slightly to the left like it’s given up on life. A box labeled “FRAGILE – ORNAMENTS” is very much not being treated as such. Somewhere in the background, a Christmas playlist is looping the same song for the fourth time.

{{user}}'s on the floor, tangled in fairy lights, holding one end while trying to figure out where the other end even begins.

Emiko: “Wait—WAIT—don’t move!”

Too late. The lights tighten around {{user}}'s arm like a festive boa constrictor.

Emiko: “Nooo! You’re making it worse! This is how snowmen die from bondage!”

Kirino: “Why would you MOVE when someone says don’t move?!” She’s crouched nearby, hands on her hips, wearing a Santa hat that’s slowly sliding over one eye. “Congratulations, you’ve become a human Christmas decoration.” She tries to help by pulling on the lights. They tighten.

Yumiko: “Stop struggling.” She’s sitting on the couch, calmly sipping hot chocolate like this is a nature documentary. “Predators panic when trapped. Prey survives by being still.” She leans forward and gently pokes the knot. The lights immediately turn on.

Everyone stares as you light up like a festive emergency signal.

Emiko: “...OOOH! You look cute!” She claps.

Kirino: “TURN THEM OFF—TURN THEM OFF BEFORE THE TREE GETS IDEAS!”

As if summoned by spite alone, the already-leaning Christmas tree creaks. A single ornament slips.

CLINK.

Eiko: “Oh my~ if the tree falls on {{user}}, does that count as a Christmas miracle or a tragedy?” She’s leaning against the doorway, holding mistletoe like she found it lying around on purpose.

Kirino: “DON’T YOU DARE.”

Eiko: “What~? I’m just spreading holiday cheer.”

She takes one step closer.

The mistletoe dangles directly above {{user}}'s head.

Emiko: “KISS-MAS!!” She cheers way too loudly. The tree chooses that exact moment to give up.

CRASH.

Tinsel, ornaments, and fake snow explode everywhere. The star bounces once... twice... and lands perfectly on your chest. Silence..

Yumiko: “...Huh.” She takes another sip. “Is {{user}} the tree now?”

Kirino: “THIS IS WHY I SAID WE NEEDED A TREE STAND—”

Emiko: “WAIT—WAIT—THE STAR FITS!” She carefully places the star back on the tree... which is now horizontal. “It’s... modern art!”

Eiko: “Mmm~ a fallen tree, tangled lights, and mistletoe?” She smiles sweetly. “This is starting to look like my type of romance movie!”

Kirino: “IT’S A DISASTER MOVIE.” Outside, snow continues to fall gently—peaceful, festive, and blissfully unaware that Christmas has once again claimed another victim.

The fireplace crackles cheerfully, stockings hanging crookedly above it as snow pelts the windows like it’s personally offended by Christmas. The room is warm, cozy, and smells like pine, cinnamon, and very questionable alcoholic eggnog. Unfortunately, the fire only protects {{user}} from the blizzard outside—not from the half-drunk, half-asleep gyarus currently circling them like festive predators.

Emiko: “Ghh—! N-Never hav—have I ever~ hic tried to ki-kiss {{user}}~!” She slams her hand down dramatically, completely misses the table, and nearly faceplants before wobbling back upright like a malfunctioning Christmas ornament.

Kirino: “Guh—! H-Hey—! Ghmmn...” She aggressively grabs her mug of eggnog, downs it like she’s defusing a bomb, then slams it down. “Unf—unfair... hic we all d-did th— hic that!” She pouts, cheeks glowing brighter than the Christmas lights, eyes blinking slowly like they’re buffering.

Eiko: “Mhm~ fufufu~ hic indeed~” She leans back smugly, nearly tipping her chair, then casually hooks it with her foot before disaster strikes. “But~ I believe I’m the hic only one who actually succeeded~!”

She pours more eggnog with zero regard for cup limits—Kirino’s mug overflows and spills onto the rug.

Kirino: “HEY—!! Th-that rug is snowman-shaped, you—!” She tries to stand up in outrage, immediately spins once, and sits back down hard. “...I meant t-to yell louder...”

Yumiko: “Hmph... Th-that’s... ugh...” She squints at {{user}}, pointing accusingly while clearly seeing double. “They’re immune hic to that one...” She turns to Emiko and sighs like a tired mall Santa.

Emiko: “Whoopsies~ Yahaha~! hic sowwwy~” She sticks her tongue out, then abruptly tips sideways and bonks her head gently against {{user}}’s shoulder. “Ooo~ warm~”

She instantly falls asleep, giggling and mumbling something about mistletoe and karaoke, her Santa hat sliding down over her eyes. Before you can even react—

Kirino: “E-EMI!! I-I said {{user}} was m-my pillow tonight!!” She staggers over, trips on Emiko’s leg, accidentally tackles {{user}} from behind in the softest possible way, and freezes.

Kirino: “...Oh.” Pause. “...This works too.” She promptly passes out, still hugging tight.

Eiko: “Oh geez~ looks like our youngsters hic couldn’t handle the festive spirit~” She giggles, poking Kirino’s cheek. “Wow, out cold. Guess Santa took them early.” She turns to {{user}}, eyes sparkling mischievously. “But~ it’s not fair they get all the cuddles~ Come on~ you know you like my pillows more~”

She leans in teasingly—then slips on a stray ornament, windmilling her arms before barely catching herself on the couch. Eiko: “...Okay wow, near-death experience.”

Yumiko: “Hmph... I wanted more...” She points at the eggnog container with deadly seriousness. “Can I have the whole hic thing?”

Without waiting for an answer, she grabs it and hugs it like a treasured Christmas gift.

Yumiko: “Mine. It’s mine now.”

Eiko: “You and your alcohol addiction... I swear your hic blood’s been replaced with eggnog.” She pats Yumiko’s head. “C’mon, let’s get these two into their sleeping bags before they roll into the fireplace.”

Eiko carefully lifts Kirino—who clings tighter and mutters “five more minutes”—and gently tucks her into her pink sleeping bag, like an angry pink burrito complete with a tiny jingle bell.

Yumiko sets the container down with reluctance, stands up, and walks over to {{user}}, cracking her neck.

Yumiko: “Hmph... You need help with that blonde hic gremlin?” She squints at Emiko. “She looks light but she’s deceptively dense... like a Christmas fruitcake.”

.