#I am apparently in a vaguely season six mood don’t mind me

[theminecraftbee]

also we need to talk more about how funny it is that most of the explanations ever given for “what the hell happened to the nho anyway” are that it’s scar’s fault but that he’s not even consistent about what he did. he might have eaten them himself! he may have fed them to the alien on purpose! he may have fed them to the alien on accident? he may have at least known something was up with the jungle? definitely his fault though no doubt about that. yep.

funnier still is that given bdubs in his season six death loop dies holding vex wings at least once it being scar’s fault is really actually very plausible, despite the fact he keeps. changing the story? for some reason? like at least one of these things is a lie? for some reason?

and then he works with doc anyway. don’t worry doc a little trauma is good for the soul he was just feeling sillygoofy you know how it is right doc no hard feelings right,

[sparksflamesembersashes]

Random musings on 10.18 Find Me

Other Carylers have spoken about the episode and their interpretations of it and what it means for Caryl and their future and I've been sharing those and don't have that much to add to what’s already been discussed. Others have written well thought out and detailed analyses and interpretations and said it way better than I ever could. Most of them have been writing about Caryl forever and I started less than a year ago. I do want to speak to some technical stuff and a few other things, since I never do know when to shut up. Spoilers for 10.18 below the cut.

Brief talk on techie stuff... Wow, the cinematography in the plus six are really taking it up a notch. 10.18 has some of the most gorgeous images in the history of the show. The colors, the framing, and Caryl; separated by a stretch of water that's a literal stand-in for the divide between them, in an episode stuffed with signs and symbols and parallels. "Find Me" has some of the most visually breathtaking shots in the history of TWD... and do you know why? Because the plus six were filmed on digital cameras, for the first time in the history of a show that has always been shot on 16 millimeter film. Turns out, the digital process not only has fewer "touch points" (thanks for nothing, COVID) but it's also cheaper, faster, and easier on the environment.

TWD almost switched to digital for Season 2, and while AK claims now that they can still give it that classic TWD look, in a 2019 interview posted on comicbook.com, she said they were committed to shooting on film to preserve it's look and feel (confirming that film and digital are noticeably not created equal, an opinion/truth they are apparently backing off of, now). If the new episodes look different, its because they are. I am torn between which style I prefer. The grainy, Kodak-y type images of TWD as shot on film are increasingly rare on any screen, simultaneously nostalgic and beautiful and born of toxicity. The gallons of chemicals used in developing standard film are not environmentally friendly and probably need to go the way of the dinosaur. 

Digital is wonderful in its own ways, so minute in its details, and can easily capture images and light conditions otherwise incredibly difficult to duplicate on actual film... But digital doesn't look the same, it doesn't feel the same, in the way that CD's and vinyl records don't sound the same. Purists curl their lip at the new and improved version of the medium, but the truth is,most people don't notice the differences.

TWD has always used the sun and the moon to their best visual advantage and both the celestial backdrops show up in "Find Me." The sun filtering through the trees onto Daryl or in his general direction has made repeat appearances in S10. Is this a metaphor for his finally finding his enlightenment? (Or is it nothing deeper than AMC uses the light to make everything look as cool as possible?) 

10.18 shows us more of Daryl's soul (in a single episode) than we've seen before. His character goes through all sorts of colors, screaming in the rainstorm, grimacing as puppy Dog licks his face, meeting and spending time with this strange, lonely, gruff, almost mirror reflection of himself, someone who is grieving and angry and alone. Fighting with Carol! A real fight, but an honest and not altogether unhealthy one. You gotta work through to acceptance and let go of the past before you can look forward to a future, and these two have enough trauma issues between them to fill a psychiatric journal. They’ve a long, arduous road ahead of them, but they WILL reach their destination. Together.

Daryl throwing the fish at Leah's door and Leah throwing the fish at Daryl are my favorite moments in the episode. I laughed out loud. I did not get the impression that they only encountered each other once every several months, I took it that the time jumps measured the progression of their relationship, i.e. that it took that long for them to warm up to each other. When Daryl did go to stay at Leah's, it was literally out of necessity, as he was getting frost bitten in the woods and probably would have lost at least a digit or two had he remained in his camp.

For the first time, I didn't really enjoy the Caryl banter? (Please don't hurt me.) There was a sadness, a tension, and a sense of loss there I just couldn't shake. Carol was trying to run away from the horrors of the Whisperer's aftermath, and Daryl knew it, and he was annoyed by it. Carol's attempts at lightheartedness seemed forced. I feel like Daryl is a man with a whole lot on his mind at this point, and that Carol is a woman who is habitually trying not to think about the real stuff if she can avoid it. She jokes and banters but she's almost too cheerful... or maybe it just seems that way because Daryl's so grim. Not grim as in we're-all-facing-our-end-of-days-doom grim, but not in a laughing mood where Carol's concerned. He thinks she's running again, and seeing Leah's cabin reminds him that Leah probably ran from him, too. He lost both his brothers, Rick and Merle. Daryl has abandonment issues and an overdeveloped sense of responsibility going back as far as we know. He loses people and can't find them again, no matter how much he searches. 

Revisiting Leah's cabin, the devastation of Alexandria, and everything that's been building up over, about, and because of Carol has pressurized within Daryl till he finally takes a shot, and who can blame him? But he also shows his development and maturity by trying to express his disappointment with controlled words of frustration (compared to camp- or barn-rage Daryl in S2), telling Carol exactly what it is she does that's widening the chasm between them. 

Carol to Daryl early in the episode "I don't want to lose you because you can't figure out when to stop," and Daryl to Carol "That's on you. 'Cause you don't know when to stop.") Daryl doesn't know when to stop searching for his lost brother and blaming himself for things, Carol didn't know when to stop her revenge-fueled pursuit of Alpha. Daryl also tells Carol "That's all that matters. You being right." (after she says she was right to go after and destroy Alpha to avenge her son.) At the end of the ep., Carol says it again: "I was right" (this time about their luck having run out), then she goes to fix the door. 

So now Caryl know and have established what gets each other's goat. That could be a good thing, but tptb will undoubtedly attempt to convince us its a bad thing,, ya think? Neither of the characters knowing when to stop and their mutual annoyance over the fact could be something the show runners milk for a while.

Î wanted to know whether Daryl went back to the cabin after leaving his note, to see whether Leah had returned to it, or not. I want to know what Carol did with the note. Did she take it with her, or did she put it back? They never showed us. Daryl seemed anxious and tense about her finding it, and I did not miss the symbolism of Carol being the woman who eventually finds the note Daryl left behind years ago: "I belong with you. Find me." I mean, how perfect is that? 

Contrary to spoilery bullshit stinking up the Twittersphere, Carol did not seem exactly “upset” at finding the note, though clearly she was sad. She knew exactly what the note was, so Daryl must’ve told her about it, that he left it. Maybe he didn't tell her exactly what it said or everything about Leah, but my impression was that she realized what it was and where they were, and it was all yesterday's news to her. Seeing the note seemed to make her sad for Daryl because she knows Daryl can't handle losing people, and that he punishes himself for failing to help or save people by pushing everybody away and isolating. 

Leah didn't so much choose to be there in the cabin as she ran for her life from a dangerous situation and the cabin was just the place where she and her bitten son ended up.

So many yawning gaps in the Leah storyline. How often did they see each other? Did Daryl move in with her toward the end of their relationship? I felt like he did after the time she found him freezing in the woods, but that he'd leave for days to go look for Rick, or hunt, or who tf knows. Maybe he'd leave to see or meet Carol. Carol knew about Leah, but when? Before, or after it was happening? Why is that important? I just want to know when he told her.  Really hoping they didn’t leave things purposely vague so they can fill in the gaps to screw with us later. 

Timing is everything. Like, how much time passed between Leah telling Daryl to choose, and the time Carol told Daryl she couldn't keep visiting? Or did he leave Leah's cabin and return to it that same day? Which would imply Leah abandoned Daryl practically the instant he walked out the door following her ultimatum. It seems like Daryl was gone a while, it was dark when Leah told him to choose, and daylight in the scene with Carol at his camp and when he was walking in the woods. It could have been days. That makes a difference. Leah was obviously not Daryl's first choice, no matter that he ran back to her in the end.

The fact that Carol knew about Daryl's relationship with Leah is a crafty move on the show runner's part because we can't really be pissed at Daryl if Carol knew about it the whole time and was cool with it.... but we all know now that Daryl didn't tell her everything. 

No one is talking about how Leah obviously abandoned Dog, she left him shut in the damn cabin for who knows how long after she left. And she DID leave. The cabin looked abandoned when Daryl left the note. He obviously went searching for her with Dog, but for how long? 

Not to say there was nothing between them, but I never felt for an instant that Leah had Daryl's heart, or that he ever offered it up to her in the first place, but I am also 100% sure that’s because I’m ride-or-die for Caryl and can’t bear to entertain the thought. No matter what else they were, Daryl and Leah are isolated, damaged, traumatized people who wanted someone to hold on to. Someone to try and forget with. It's not like there were a lot of other people around to choose from.

So did Leah just leave Dog behind because the memories associated with him were too painful? (i.e. he was born on the day Leah's son died) Or did she feel that Daryl needed the companionship and gambled that Daryl would drop by soon and take him in? It really bothers me that she just split and left the dog locked in the cabin like that. 

Grateful they didn't show us anything extra of Daryl seeming to genuinely give a shit, tbh. (Throwing a fish at someone's door, having sex with them, sleeping in their bed or eating their cooking doesn't necessarily constitute giving a shit in this world, just saying.) That was both refreshing (cuz u know, Caryl is endgame), and kind of tragic. I felt like Daryl was rather emotionally detached the entire time, but that Leah was maybe falling in love with him. Not in a good way, but in a possessive, demanding, all-or-nothing type of way. 

How very very clever of AMC to leave us with all these ambiguities. So much room for interpretation, so many gaps to never be filled in. Bastards. On the bright side, all these holes in the story and missing material provide endless new opportunities for fanfic writers like me who can't break free of the bonds of canon. So, yay, I guess?

I am sad to give up the virgin Daryl trope, I was beginning to think that one was ours in canon to keep, but you know, it is what it is. It was a good, long run while it lasted, and I'm grateful we got to write inexperienced Daryl fics while we could still entertain the fantasy that Daryl was actually inexperienced. So, R.I.P. virgin Daryl. I'm not as upset about his getting laid as I thought I'd be (although it was incredibly underhanded, AMC, to pull this shit so very late in the game, there better be a good reason for it). 

All the Leah thing means to me right now is that our man has probably picked up some skills during his time with her, and Carol's gonna be the ultimate beneficiary. Plus, Daryl's evolved over the years from throwing a fish at a woman's door to delivering her dinner on a tray with a flower, so...progress was made, even if he didn't start out with the woman we wish he had. (News Flash: The love of his life was unavailable and actually married to another man at the time, so there's that.) 

There are a staggering number of Caryllels in this episode. Someone once said here that Kang loves her symbolism and they weren't wrong. No matter what's to come, we can be confident about where this road ends. At this point in TWD, to not eventually give us Caryl canon would be the absolute greatest trolling of a fandom in the history of trolling fandoms, and besides, we're getting a spin-off.

Another thing, the fact that Rick and Leah both basically disappeared on him shines a bright light on Daryl's determination to stick to Carol like glue in 10A and B. He was terrified that she was going to disappear on him, too.

What happened to the Caryl fandom following the spoilers wasn't worth it. How many times have we freaked out over spoilers? You think we'd learn. And you KNOW we are valued because AMC went so very far out of their way to provide the vaguest-ever depiction of a sexual encounter for Daryl. Remember the Eugene spying scene with Abe and Rosita, guys? Shane and Lori screwing on the ground in the woods? They could really have tortured us, and they chose to be kind.

I'm looking forward to "Diverged." Honestly, I could give a shit about most of the other characters, but they'll have to make do for us over the next couple of weeks. Just about the time 10.18's been dissected and interpreted to death, Caryl will reappear on our screens and mess with our hearts and minds some more. I can't wait.

Thank you for coming to my rant, and Caryl on! 

[lokisgame]

Enchanted Forest [7]

[part 1] [part 2] [part 3] [part 4] [part 5] [part 6]

A moment later, Mulder was looking through grocery bags she left on the kitchen table. The pastrami sandwich was his favourite, there were oranges too, fresh and some juice. The last bag held two Tupperware containers, the kind you use to freeze leftovers. The larger one had a screw-on lid and its’ contents was sloshing. Soup. The broth looked home-made, she must have made it herself, and there were noodles in the other box as well. He found a spoon and tasted it. Even cold, it filled his mouth with richness of chicken and vegetables, just a tad too salty, the way he liked it. Seeing no point in waiting for lunch, he poured it into a pot, lit the burner and sat on the table, waiting for bubbles to come, grateful that the cold didn't entirely rob him off taste or smell. Scent of home cooking spread through the kitchen, making him ravenous.

The day dragged on. Without Mulder around she could focus, yes, but the office felt just a little too cold, too quiet. She went to the crime lab and stopped for a second to chat with Holly from records, but other than that, Scully tried to not think about Mulder. She had definitely too much time to think these days. She came home last night, with an image stuck in her head, of a woman waiting for him in his apartment, ready to care and soothe and share her day with him. She let it play like a movie in head head, trying to understand where the accompanying feeling of dread came from, exactly. The truth was, she didn’t usually think of him as a man, Mulder simply was. In the office sorting through files or arranging slides, on her answering machine with some last minute theory for her to consider as she cooked dinner for one. Mulder lived and breathed his work, to the point of seeming slightly obsessed and infecting her with that obsession over the years, as well. But now that she knew that it wasn’t all there was. If he was ready to take a job as an escort, why wouldn’t he one day find a woman. Swivelling back and forth in his office chair, she looked up to the pencils, hanging like stalactites from the cardboard above her head. One for what? One girl? One night? The phone rang, startling her out of that train of thought. “Scully.” “Hey, it’s me.” Mulder choked on the other end. “Hi, is everything okay?” “Yeah, thanks for the soup.” Stifled cough drowned out her 'you’re welcome', but he didn't give her a chance to repeat it, going straight to business. “I was thinking.” "When you're supposed to be resting?" "I'm multitasking." “Sure," she smiled to herself, humouring him, "what were you thinking about?" "Those previous reports of missing persons, were they filed on the same day?" "Hold on a second." She looked around the desk, until she found a legal pad with familiar scribbles, then scanned through it quickly. "Okay, I got it, yes, just before Christmas." "When?" "Missing on 24th, filed on 26." "Yule," he said as if to himself then shook it off. "Okay, thanks Scully." “Hold on, Mulder,” but the phone clicked, hung up. Scully considered calling back but decided not encouraging seemed wiser. What did he mean by Yule? The pagan festive season? She went to the backroom, where they kept all manner of books and reference texts.

It was late afternoon when the phone rang again. Scully reached for the receiver without looking away from “Pagan History Of Europe,” open in her lap. “Scully.” “Dana, it’s mom.” That made her pause. “Hi mom.” “Are you busy tonight?” “No, why?” “I made pie and Melissa is coming, maybe you could stop by too?” Scully stared at the photograph of a statue depicting three women, facing away from each other. Maiden, woman and crone, the triple goddess. “You think Fox could spare you for one evening?” “Why wouldn’t he?” She asked a little brusquely. “You two are always so busy,” Maggie said cautiously, “and even if, you could always bring him with you.” Pinching the bridge of her nose, Scully took a deep, calming breath. “I’ll be there around six,” then added, just to be clear, “alone.” “Alright, honey.” Maggie laughed, sensing her daughter’s embarrassment. “Give Fox my best.” There was no point in arguing. “I will, mom.” She hung up and looked at the picture again. Past, present and future holding hands. Pagan visions of feminism would have to wait.

Missy caught her, the second their mother disappeared to make coffee. “You never told me, if you enjoyed my gift.” “And I won’t,” Scully said quietly, though she had a few question of her own. “What possessed you Missy, escort service?” “Sex is one of the most basic human needs, no need to be coy about it.” “Yes, but this?” Missy sighed not even trying to hide her exasperation. “Dana, you used the gift card, you should be happy, not embarrassed.” If you only knew the whole story, Scully thought, thankful that everything about her sister’s behaviour told her, she didn’t know about Mulder. “So, what made you do it?” “The thing with the yoga instructor didn’t work out,” Melissa played with the sleeve of her sweater-dress, a tell Scully knew spelled discomfort, “he stopped answering my calls when I didn’t want to sleep with him, so I complained to Abby about how you have to put out to keep a guy interested and she told me that she’s done with that. If a guy can’t handle the wait, he’s not worth it.” “How very Sunday school of her.” Scully teased. “She told me about the escort service, and how they always,” Missy grinned, making air quotes with her fingers, “came through. She said she’s done with causal and now when she feels like she really needs sex, she calls them.” “So she doesn’t date?” “Oh she dates, but it’s more on her terms these days. She claims that men try harder when they have to fight for it. If not, she's not wasting her time.” “That’s really, practical.” “Dana, guys do this all the time. Think they can get laid fast and move on the the next one, no sentiment, and it’s not like it’s a permanent solution. Once she finds the right guy and the time is right for her, she will commit, but until then, she’s Ms. Rabbit. And apparently, it’s true what they say,” she leaned closer, lowering her voice to a whisper, “he can go all night.” “Really.” Scully’s eyebrow twitched skeptically and Missy held up four fingers. “No.” “Yes, and he charges by the night,” she added quietly, “as long as you’re good, he can go on as many times as you want.”   “At a price.” Scully finished, realistic to a fault. “We live in an imperfect world," her sister agreed with a shrug. "So when I heard her story, I immediately thought of you, and how you’re all work and no play.” Scully looked away, not in the mood for the workaholic talk yet again. “Where’s Mulder, by the way? “He’s home, down with a cold,” Scully said, cutting into the pie, “and for the record, I love my job.” “I’m not saying you can’t,” Melissa said, taking the small plate with a large slice of homemade apple pie, “but you could love yourself a little too, every once in a while.”

"Love myself," Scully huffed into her pillow, changing side for the up-tenth time, "I love myself plenty, thank you very much." She closed her eyes and tried to slow down her thoughts, then glanced at the phone, sitting on the night stand. Mulder still didn't call. Nothing stirred in the apartment, not even a drop of water from the kitchen faucet disturbed the silence. TV played in the apartment above her, a baby whimpered in the one below, faint sounds of life in the building sang her to sleep as she warmed and pulled the sheets close around herself and let her mind wander. She recalled the light pressure that came with arms around her, gentle rock of breath, the sound and warmth and feeling, and slowly, sleep filled her bones and thoughts with dreams, floating weightlessly, somewhere where she could almost hear him, whispering on wind. "Dream of me." And she did.

She followed the white fox through snow-covered woods. His white fur shimmered in the sunlight filtering through branches, beautiful. He didn’t run, and she didn’t mean to catch, he was her guide. The calm all around her wasn't silent, a faint hum grew louder, the longer she followed. Listening closer it became a chorus of voices, busy like a beehive, buzzing with excitement. A shift in light to her left caught her eye. Trees changed into people rushing through hallways, binders and textbooks hugged tight in universal language of fresh starts. One girl stood out, a vivd spark among the shadows; smart blouse, no nonsense heels, red hair brushing shoulders with each step, carrying her with purpose. She saw herself, rushing to class on her first day at Quantico, determined, singleminded, focused. So much that she didn’t notice a tall, lanky figure in a dark suit, dead ahead, lost in a report he read while walking straight towards her. She knew the set of those shoulders, the long, easy stride, the lock of hair falling over the crease on his brow. She knew them now, her younger self did not. She veered to the right, barely brushing the man’s arm, walking on, lost in her own thoughts, unaware. He stopped, looking up from the page and after her, as if he caught a scent of something he liked. She knew that smile, the minute shake of his head and crunch of sunflower seed that echoed, even as the vision faded. The fox trotted ahead, deeper into the forest, and she recognised the path, walking without slipping, even if the snow was deeper than the last time. Her guide sprang nimbly over the fallen tree and she followed, climbing, rush mixing with dread over what she might find waiting. The forest thinned and the trail opened to a wide clearing. Long drive cut through a field of snow, leading to a house in the distance; dark, sloping roof, white paneling, high, wrap-around porch. There was a snowman guarding the stairs to the front door, twigs for arms and wire-rimmed glasses resting on a carrot nose. She couldn’t stop the tiny laugh, because it bore uncanny resemblance, to a certain Assistant Director with the FBI. Claws clicked on wood as the fox climbed the steps and laid down, head resting on his paws, calm, green-gold eyes watching her. He didn't run when she followed, slowly, one hand reached out. Three steps away, Scully dared to touch and as she petted his head, his eyes fell shut, asleep in an instant. "Why did you bring me here?" She whispered, and stepped around him to peek inside. It was a home, with a decent kitchen, some dishes in the sink, two mugs on the counter. She tried the screen doors, then the front, both opened soundlessly to a warm living room. Fire cracked and popped in the fireplace as she looked around, dark furniture, thick rugs, pictures and knick knacks. Open staircase lead upstairs, books stacked on steps as if they were shelves, then a light snore drew her attention to the sofa, facing the fire. A couple slept under a blanket, twined and comfortable with years of sharing couches. The man looked softer and greyer, features marked with time, but still unmistakable; Mulder. Scully glanced quickly to the woman beside him and warmth spread through her body. She looked slimmer and age made all her edges sharper, long, red hair tumbling over one shoulder seemed lighter. Time was kind to her features, but that was all she had time to register. Soft, blue eyes were staring back at her, over space and time and four feet of Persian carpet. Her older self smiled warmly, but the arm around her still sensed the shift, drawing her close, forever watchful, unconsciously protective. She brushed her lips over the hand tucked under her cheek, giving the fingers a reassuring squeeze and Scully felt him relax, as if somehow, his arms were around her too. Silent, loving, never apart. The fox sat down at her feet, pushing his head under her hand and licking her fingertips. She ran them through the soft fur, petting his ears lightly before they perked up suddenly. Footsteps came from above, a step creaked, then came a young voice. “Mom?”

Scully woke up with a start, the boy’s voice fading fast, along with memories of the crone's future and the maiden's past. The clock on her nightstand said 3:14 am.

[anniviech]

‘Tis the Season

Characters: Donna Noble, Wilfred Mott, Shaun Temple Rating: G Summary: {"And then sometimes I see this look on her face, like she's so sad, but she can't remember why." - Wilfred, The End of Time.} Sometimes even the most ordinary of everyday occurrences throw Donna Noble off balance. [AO3]

"Excuse me? Ma'am?"

Donna blinked, looking at the cashier in front of her in momentary confusion. "Sorry, what was that?"

"Will that be all?" the cashier asked, obviously repeating herself.

"Oh. Yes, thank you," the redhead replied absentmindedly with a weak smile.

Right. She'd been buying a bottle of wine on the occasion of her six month anniversary with Shaun, deciding to treat them to a finer wine than their budget usually allowed, before apparently spacing out again while listening to the faint Christmas music playing in the background.

Getting her wallet out, she paid for the wine and made to leave the shop, trying not not to feel too awkward about the incident as she fished the car keys out of her jacket pocket.

Last night's dream must've caught up with her again. She'd already been a bit lost in thought when entering the shop, the day overshadowed by the brooding and hollow feeling the vague images from it had left her with. (Something about a wedding dress made out of spiderweb, before losing something?)

So Donna Noble once again found herself thrown off balance by a dream she couldn't even really recall – how stupid was that?

And if it wasn't by some strange, vague dream of things she couldn't quite put her finger on after waking, then she'd react to something she'd hear in passing on the telly or radio, or an unassuming sight catching her eye, spacing out and making her feel things she couldn't explain. Fear. Sadness. Loss. Mostly loss, spotlighting a gaping hole inside her soul that nothing seemed to be able to fill, and smothering the fiery attitude people liked to tell her she had in its wake.

It was ridiculous sometimes, really.

Like seriously, who tore up over the sight of a silly old Police Box standing on the side of a street? She'd never forget the embarrassment from the moment she'd spotted one of those after existing the tube station on Earl's Court during an errand for her temping agency, unable to take her mum's car that day; when for some barmy reason she'd been mesmerised by the sight of the tall blue box, finding her feet taking her towards it and her shaking hand reaching out for the door – just to find it locked, of course, and bursting into tears after she'd tried knocking on it, a wave of unimaginable loss crashing over her and threatening to swallow her whole when no reaction had come and the door remained closed.

In the middle of the flipping street! With dozens of people giving her funny looks.

Just thinking back to it made her head throb in a reminder of the splitting headache that had accompanied her for the remainder of the day back then, as if the embarrassment hadn't already been bad enough. (Why the idea to knock on the thing had even crossed her mind in the first place was forever going to be a mystery to her.)

Things had seemed to get better for a while, especially after meeting Shaun, but lately Donna found those odd little moments increasingly occurring again.

Maybe it was the season. A lack of sunlight and more sleep - and thus more chances to dream - due to the shorter days, or something along those lines? Silly how a season that was supposed to create a joyful atmosphere made her melancholic, without any apparent reason.

Getting into the car, she decided to push those thoughts aside and made her way home. A nice hot bath and a cup of that calming tea Mum had given her ought to relax her again; there'd be plenty of time for that before Shaun came home from work.

Entering their small two-room flat, Donna turned on the lights in the living room and placed her handbag and a bag containing some groceries and the wine on the couch, before making her way to the bathroom where she turned on the tap to run a bath and the heating up. Once that was taken care of, she got the grocery bag and took it to the tiny kitchen, putting most of the contents into the fridge, before finally preparing a mug with the desired tea. But as soon as she turned the kettle on, the kitchen went dark, with the sound of the fridge turning off.

Great. Looked like she'd tripped a fuse.

They'd already tripped one not too long ago, after some of their neighbours had put up holiday lights in their windows and likely on trees inside. Looked like the old building they lived in couldn't quite handle the additional strain of the Christmas spirit - something they seemed to have in common, she thought wryly.

Heaving a great sigh, feeling her mood spiralling further downwards, Donna turned the water in the bathroom off before going to the fuse box in the narrow hallway. But once she'd opened the small panel in the wall covering it, she found herself at a loss. Last time Shaun had taken care of it, so she'd never before looked inside the fuse box herself until now, not having any reason to. Which was why she now found herself at a loss as she stared numbly at an unlabelled row of round knobs instead of the tiny switches she had been expecting.

What the hell was she supposed to do with those?

Flicking switches that were on the opposite direction of the other ones was easy enough, but this? She couldn't see any real difference in the knobs, so she couldn't even tell which was the wonky one – and even if she knew, what would she do with it, anyway?

She cautiously tried pulling one of the knobs, but it wouldn't move. Trying to curb rising frustration, she tried pulling at another one, but it it didn't move either. Nor could she press them in, or anything.

Letting her hand fall back down, Donna let out a hollow scoff.

Here she was, not even able to check a fuse.

She had to do something about it, though, because the food in the freezer might start to defreeze before Shaun came home, and then they'd have to throw it away, and they couldn't really afford such a waste with Christmas coming up. And wouldn't that make a lovely anniversary gift.

Swallowing down her pride, Donna went to get her phone out of her handbag, looking through the contacts until she found the number she was looking for.

"Donna! How are you, love?"

"Hey Gramps."

Something in her voice seemed to give her away, because Gramps’ own voice instantly went from joyful to worried.

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, just... A stupid fuse at home went off, and I can't seem to fix the bloody thing. I mean, it's not the usual kind, so I don't know what to do with it. And I can't leave it like that until Shaun returns, because the fridge and freezer are without power, and today of all days I really can't afford that. I just–"

A sob cut her off, surprising herself, and she covered her mouth with her free hand as she felt a new load of emotions overcome her.

"Donna, slow down, love, it's all right."

"No it's not all right, Gramps," she retorted in a wobbly voice, feeling an overwhelming urge to let it all out, her mouth running ahead of her. "We can barely afford planning on any presents this year because I can't find a proper job, and the one time I decide to indulge a little to celebrate our anniversary and to cheer myself up because I had a bad day, this happens. And it just–" Cutting herself off to take a breath, she finally added more quietly, "I'm useless, Gramps."

"No, Donna, don't say that."

"I am. I can't even check a fuse. And it makes me angry, because I feel like I should be so past such a little thing, and I don't even understand why! I've never seen these things before, so why do I feel like it should not even be a problem at all, like I'm disappointing myself?!"

"Donna..."

"I don't even feel quite like myself anymore... Like, why is everything about the season making me sad now? There was this song on the radio in the shop today, you know, the one they play every year, what's it called again... 'Merry Xmas Everybody', I think. And I totally spaced out on it? Felt like I should be somewhere else, doing something else, like there should be... more than this. Why can't I be happy with what I have, Gramps?" she asked, voice wavering again. "I have Shaun. We have our own flat, and things are going so well between us – so why do I feel like I'm still missing something important...?"

"Oh sweetheart..."

Her granddad's voice sounded as hollow as she felt, and Donna felt instantly bad for bringing this up and bothering him with her problems.

After a second, he added quietly, "We have to do something about that..."

Frowning in confusion while wiping a tear away, Donna asked, "What do you mean?"

"Oh, just, you know..." Gramps replied, sounding like he hadn't meant to speak out loud, before trailing off into silence.

That happened often lately; he'd start saying something just to change his mind midway and change topics. Or she'd catch him giving her those long and odd looks. Maybe her mood swings had been more obvious than she'd thought.

"You shouldn't feel sad on Christmas," he finally said.

"I know, and I didn't mean to worry you, sorry. It was just a long day and I'm exhausted, my mood ran off with me. I just need that stupid fuse fixed, and then I'll be all right."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

"Well then, tell me what has you so mystified."

Donna went on to describe the fuse box to him, learning that it contained an old type of fuses, and agreed to pick Gramps up and have him show her how to fix it as they'd likely have to replace a blown one, kissing the idea of having a bath before Shaun came home goodbye.

By the time she arrived at her old home Donna felt a lot calmer, and she quickly picked her granddad up who'd been waiting basically ready to leave so they could cut down the time her mum had to nag. Once they replaced the fuse in her flat with one of several he'd kept at home, he stayed until Shaun arrived, talking with her over a cuppa and some telly, successfully keeping her mind off more brooding.

After driving Gramps back home while Shaun had gone for a quick shower and hugging him goodbye at the door, her granddad's hands lingered on her arms as he looked her over.

"Things are going to be fine, sweetheart."

"I know," she replied, not sure she really believed the sentiment but still appreciating his caring.

"We'll make it fine."

Donna smiled in reply, before getting back into the car. She gave her granddad a small wave from behind the window, watching him return the gesture, before driving off.

Maybe he had the right idea and she just had to make things fine.

She'd start by making sure she and Shaun had a great night celebrating their anniversary – and maybe consider some plans for their shared future.