My Girlfriend is Santa Claus & Together We Must Stop the Christmas Apocalypse Based on a True Story

Frozen to the bone, Peter and Yuzuka spilled into the workshop entrance along with a hurricane of arctic wind and snow. They dripped sweat, frost, and penguin blood. Together they unraveled scarves from their faces, unfastened their jackets, and yanked off their snow boots, and left everything in a puddle on the floor. You may be thinking, ‘hey, what about the ceasefire negotiated with the Penguin Queen?’ Worry not! A ceasefire does not necessitate a complete halt to all acts of genocide, like the name might imply, but rather it serves as a suggestion for less genocide. So Yuzuka and Peter had acted well within the range of the allowed treaty, and carefully selected their feathery targets as to not offend the South Pole sovereign.

“Killed the hell out of those little penguin fuckers today!” Yuzuka made a gesture like a fist going up an ass, and and it wasn’t until she slapped her muscley forearm that Peter understood this was a weird North Pole version of a high five.

“Yeah we did!” And he hit his arm against hers.

“Hang up your jackets!” Yumeka, the French maid elf, yelled.

“Why?” Yuzuka asked. “Someone else will hang them up for us.”

“Yes!” the French maid shouted. “That someone is me!”

As Yuzuka stripped down to her sweat soaked tank-top, and her abs radiated with sex infused steam, Yuika(?) stole into the room— and stole Peter’s attention away with a platter of snowman shaped macarons. They were masterfully decorated with sugar crystals and derpy snowman eyes, and the Iron Chef elf happily hand fed one to Peter. Yuzuka watched the romantic moment unfold before her with equal parts disgust and jealousy. Are you seriously going to get upstaged by a macaron?! A macaron?! They’re not even real cookies! They’re just egg whites and almond flour! Unpalatable garbage! For centuries nobody liked these things— not until some French guy added food coloring and turned them into cutesy instagram bullshit! So the muscly elf stomped outside, half undressed and drawing her hunting knife, and came back moments later with a polar bear liver bleeding all over her hands and the floor.

“Hey Peter,” she said. “Say aaaaah.”

“Are you trying to bloody kill him?” Yuika shouted. “That’s poisonous!”

“It’s a delicacy,” Yuzuka said.

“It’s raw!”

“That’s what makes it a delicacy! Here comes the airplane! Reeeeeer!”

But Peter was saved from Yuzuka’s blood-soaked romantic feast, and from certain food poisoning, all thanks to Santa Claus. The red clad general marched into the room, prepared to engage in serious business. Her serious face was written all over with seriousness. It was serious time.

“Peter, for tonight’s banquet please don your chevalier uniform. Princess Peppermint will be dining with us tonight. It’s very important. She supplies us with all the peppermint we use in making candies and cookies. So be on your best behavior.”

“Okay.”

“Peter, perhaps you don’t understand the seriousness of this dinner.” Santa stepped closer to Peter, and her eyes were wide and unblinking as though her gaze could impale him. “The Princess holds a monopoly on all peppermint in the North Pole. If someone upsets her we may not be able to make any candy canes for next year. Is that clear? Do. Not. Upset. Her.”

“Okay!” Peter was offended. “Have I upset any of the girls here at— okay, don’t answer that. I get your point now.”

At the appointed hour of Princess Peppermint’s visit, Santa and Peter shivered together out in the cold. They stood waiting for her chariot’s arrival. Along with them were all the Master Elves and a hundred others. Peter wore parts of his ridiculous Musketeer costume, opting for his normal jeans instead of the crotchety pantaloons and silk stockings. Santa flung out her pocket watch and studied the ticking hands as if they were a time bomb counting down to a disaster. She tapped her boot nervously and then whisked the watch back into her coat pocket like a golden yo-yo.

The royal carriage careened out of the dark night with a wang-jangle of sleigh bells and sparkler-stuffed lanterns. The vehicle was made of buttercream frosting and candy striped sugar— a giant cake on runnerspulled by glittering horses. The driver and several others hanging off the side of the carriage looked to Peter like Oompa-Loompas, only more terrifying. They were slender dwarfs with pale blue skin, clad in glistening knight-like armor. They clutched spears that were taller than Peter, and in their tiny hands seemed even longer. More of them followed up the rear, riding plump little ponies. Their helms were forged into a likeness of tragic metallic faces. Santa’s brass band, conducted by Tchaikovsky, welcomed them all with a fluttering waltz.

When the carriage door swung open, Peter approached to help the princess down. True to her name, Princess Peppermint was a sugary swirl of a girl. She was young and human-like except for her long, cotton candy pink hair. Her royal gown was white and red and candy striped. Her skirt was fluffier and frillier than any petticoat ever fashioned by a cosplayer, and her two skinny legs stuck out from it like a ballerina’s from a tutu. Her corset emphasized nothing— it only hovered precariously over her deliciously fast chest. Peter reached his hand up to her and she looked at him.

“Don’t touch me, you peasant!” Princess Peppermint shouted. “My dress is worth more than your house!”

Peter pulled his hands away and held them up in the air as if he had guns aimed at him, and he looked to Santa to see what the next move was. Princess Peppermint leapt down from the carriage and kissed Santa on both her cheeks. The dwarf knights dismounted, and followed after her. Their spears clicked and clacked and ratcheted into pogo sticks, and they expertly hopped together in a military procession.

More songs and good cheer followed them to the dining hall. Peter took his normal seat beside Santa and turned around to find Princess Peppermint glaring at him.

“What do you think your doing?” she shouted. “That’s my seat!”

“I always sit here,” Peter said. Santa very subtly shook her head no at him.

“I, Princess Peppermint, hereby demand that you remove yourself from my seat or else my Spearmints will escort you to the dungeons! Is that what you want? Would you like to see the dungeons? They’re very cold! Pneumonia is all but guaranteed!”

Stone-faced and silent, Peter stood up. He pulled the chair out for the princess and she graciously fixed her frilly skirt and sat down. Peter took another seat on Santa’s opposite side.

“That thing is insolent,” Princess Peppermint said to Santa. “It didn’t even apologize.”

Peter leaned forward so he could make eye contact with the swirly lolita from hell.

“Excuuu~se me, princess,” Peter said sarcastically, in case the tilde didn’t give the tone away.

Santa boot flew into Peter’s leg under the table.

“Princess Peppermint, this is Peter,” Santa said. “He’s our chevalier, here to protect us from harm. The prophecy says he will prevent the Christmas Apocalypse.”

“The prophecy, huh?” She held out a goblet and a waitress hastily filled with wine. “What nonsense. I’ve never seen an apocalypse before. So that must mean they’re not real.”

“Also, Peter is a boy.”

“A boy? What’s a boy?”

“It’s the opposite of a girl.”

“Oh, so he’s a freak. That’s nice.”

They were served dinner, and it was perfect as usual, but not to Princess Peppermint’s liking. She tasted the mint sauce for the lamb, then said that it was horribly lacking in flavor. She reached between her breasts and pulled out a small phial of peppermint extract and began sprinkling it on top of everything: the lamb, the biscuits, the penguin stew, the stuffing. Master Elf Yuika saw what she was doing to her carefully planned meal, slammed her fists on the table, and stood up with a steak knife as if she were going to gouge out Princess Peppermint’s eyes. The princess did not notice this boiling fury raging on just a few seats down.

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“You know, boys are very special,” Santa said. “But what makes them special is hidden below the surface. Boys can help create heirs.”

Princess Peppermint’s eyes opened from bored indifference to highly intrigued. She studied Peter closely and for the first time smiled at him. Peter looked confused at what Santa was talking about.

“Heirs?” she said. “He can truly build me an heir?”

“Indeed he can.”

“You know, Mr. Pee Sir—”

“Peter.”

“Whatever— I’ve been asking Santa for an heir for centuries. For you see, I am the last of my peppermint-kind. No father, no mother, no sisters, nor brothers. Aside from my loyal Spearmints, I live completely alone in my Candy Stripe Castle. Unfortunately, without an heir I can never ascend the throne to become Queen Peppermint.”

Princess Peppermint buried her face in her hands and gently wept at her own misfortune. Cute, hiccuping sobs— a couple boos, a few hoos. Peter actually sorry for her as she gasped for air amid the tears, but then she abruptly paused, looked up at him to see if he was buying it, and then resumed sobbing. And like that, all of Peter’s sympathy was gone. Without saying a word, Santa handed Peter a napkin, and then Peter handed it to Princess Peppermint— even though Santa sat between them. She dabbed the corner of her eyes and recovered.

What followed was absurd beyond all absurdities. A bargain betwixt Santa and Princess Peppermint. One that would benefit both of them, and solve the decline of the poor princess’ lineage. Only Peter would be on the losing end of their shady deal.