#and relegate him to being a fucking prop for everybody else.

[soullessjack]

every day I remember that this fandom simply does not care about autistic people and, much like every other fucking thing I experience as an autistic person, the concept of it being a collective found family becomes increasingly alien to me. love this place.

[ssaalexblake]

i think what discomforts me about takes that say the doctor and the master aren’t equal anymore is that it’s a take pretty much entirely based upon the logic that the master has been right all along and that nobody in the universe is equal to the two of them because they’re Time Lords and Superior and to top it off, they’re better than Other time lords too. 

And this is uncomfortable to me because like, the narrative of the show has always been pretty clear that he’s not correct on this score. The function of having human companions whom teach the doctor to be better than what they are is the antithesis of the master’s perception of the two of them as superior, and the Entire Show is based around the doctor and their companions. 

The master has Always been wrong about them both being superior to everybody else, and he's wrong again now even as he’s relegated himself down to the disdained function of companion, because the doctor’s never been better than their companions. The master cast the doctor as the only other worthy being in the cosmos apart from them and now his own bigoted views of where the two of them stand in life have made him the victim to his own awfulness and he can’t hack it. 

He’s been impaled upon his own sword, basically. If the master hadn’t been fuck awful to Start with this wouldn’t matter at all. But because he’s a nasty ass bastard, he now has to see himself as lesser to fit with his messed up world view and has needlessly victimised himself. 

The doctor and the master have, and have since they’ve known each other, been on the same level. Their entire past still happened. What it meant still has meaning. The effects of it are still valid. They are two sides of the same coin and nothing changes that because they’re never not going to be them and their personalities are what make them, not their birth. You’re not limited by what you are. 

The only thing that’s making his life a mess right now is that his own sense of superiority and bigotry has suddenly been turned inwards.  

It just makes me in general uncomfortable because it concedes that, basically, the master was right all along, if you agree he’s not not on equal footing with the doctor now it’s basically a concession that if only they were the same species he would be their equal, and i think the show has gone to pains to point out that time lords are Not better than anybody else time and time again, and that the master’s views on that are just bigotry, like, Gallifrey is an imperialist metaphor, the master’s superiority comes from a Bad Place and they have, and always have been wrong about it. The only difference now is that it’s not the time lords the master is propping up as superior, it’s whatever the doctor is. He’s still wrong, his mode of thinking is toxic. 

This is badly phrased but like... He’s wrong. He’s a bigot. He’s a product of a metaphor of the british empire at its worst and how it looked down upon others with utter disdain (or worse, as nothing at all) and because of that enslaved and oppressed them, it’s just now he’s using this toxic mind set learnt from the time lords to re-frame his view into the doctor being the empire figure and him being the one looked down on. He demoted Himself because of his own toxic gallifrey taught mind set, not out of any kind of decent logic. 

And tbh the reason the doctor and the master are on the level with each other has Nothing to do with their species. 

They’re both just assholes of the same vintage. 

[inkstaineddove]

The Birth of a Nation

Characters: Prussia, Austria, Germany; mentioned Britain, America, France and Russia

Summary: For too long, the affairs of the German nation have been decided by Gilbert and his nobles. With the Great War ending in spectacular failure for them, Ludwig would have hoped this would mean he'd be allowed a seat at the table. Instead, it seems he must create his own.

  Berlin, 1918  

"This is insulting. After we were so kind to France in 1814, allowing him input and treating him with fucking decency. What do I get for that? A slap in the face." Prussia spat on his dining room floor. He leered across the room at Austria. "This is the last time I follow you into a war. Fight your own battles from now on."

Austria was polishing his glasses. "Shut up, you're acting like you're the only one who lost anything. How can I be a power without an empire? They neutered me worse than they did you. How dare they, I was always the diplomatic German! I played the game and now I lose all my territory? It's a disgrace." He huffed. "You didn't follow me into anything! If it wasn't for your stupid little prince getting into pissing contests with Britain and pushing us away from our measured response, maybe things would have ended differently!"

Germany watched them. He felt like a stranger in his own home. He'd felt that way for a long time, since the war began. Prussia and his king and his generals had dictated the whole thing. Conspiring with Austria and Italy, before the brothers switched sides, drawing up battle plans without his input. Relegated to the kids table. How was he supposed to take care of the country - the country that bore his name, who's men fought in his honor - while he was kept out of every major decision? Gilbert promised that one day, everything would be in his control, that Gilbert would sit back and let him handle everything like Brandenburg had done for him. Why hadn't that happened yet? What was Gilbert clinging so tightly to?

"America seemed sympathetic to us. He's not much older than me, right? He wouldn't want to hurt me before I even had a chance. Maybe we can talk to him and he can look out-"

"That brat can't do shit! He joined in so late. Britain and France didn't listen to him during negotiations, why would they do it now? A few months isn't going to change a goddamn thing." Prussia glared out the window.

Austria gave the young nation a sympathetic glance. "Don't be so harsh, he doesn't know these things. It's a good suggestion from an ignorant position."

Ludwig bit his tongue. He knew he'd be allowed to lash out, but not recklessly. "Shouldn't you be back home in Vienna?"

"I'm allowing everyone time to gather their things and move out unimpeded. Gilbert was considerate enough to let me stay till then. I hope that doesn't offend the young master." The Austrian sniffed, knowing that if he had raised the boy he'd have much better manners. He rose. "We need a plan for dealing with this. Call in favors where we have them. Rally what remaining government we have left."

"Who am I supposed to turn to? My king's - I mean, our kaiser's out and people are trying to make some sort of democracy out of the ashes of the monarchy. The only stability I have is the generals." Prussia paused then groaned. "And a general staff is now illegal here so this all has to fly under their radar." He started leading Austria to the office. Another set of footsteps followed them. "Lud, where are you going?"

"If you tell me what to write, I can write it. My penmanship is excellent and I'm much better at spelling than you. This is my country too, let me help."

Prussia waved him aside. "When I figure out what the hell to write and who to write it to, then you've got a job. For now, the adults have to strategize. Go read or something."

The office door closed in Germany's face. The click of the lock felt especially cruel. Shut out again. Had it always been like this? Had it always been so frequent? When he was first formed, he remembered being ushered around and included. Bismarck took great joy in teaching him the ropes, informing Ludwig of what was being done to strengthen him and help him develop further. The first Wilhelm and Friedrich, they were kind to him. They showed him the affairs of state, talked to him about what they felt it meant to be German and to lead the German people.

But with the second Wilhelm, things had grown more closeted. Gilbert had always been in every meeting, had always known everything that was happening, but now everyone only seemed to want him. He had suddenly become a nuisance, his lack of certainty a liability. It grew worse when Berlin found out that he hadn't invaded France when there was the opening. That he had ordered his men to dig trenches, to follow the plan instead of capitalizing on the opening. Damn Prussia and his generals, they seemed to hate him for his ignorance. But he wouldn't be so ignorant if they bothered to teach him.

Ludwig walked back to the dining hall, staring out at the empty chairs. Resentment was churning up in him, hot and fiery. All everybody wanted was Prussia. Prussia this and Prussia that. Even the other nations preferred to negotiate with him. Germany could count on one hand the number of times he'd been alone with Britain and Russia. And each time they had sneered at him, letting him know that he could never measure up. That he was just a shadow of his brother, controlled by him and nothing more than a front for his brother's ambitions.

They were fools, all of them. They were so old, they couldn't recognize when change was upon them. He understood why America preferred to keep to himself and stay away from the squabbles of these old men. They were intimidated by the young nations, the nations with promise and a fire in their belly to prove themselves. Well, he was one of them too. Germany was great. Germany was a powerful and unstoppable force of nature. He could stand independently on his own, without being propped up by an ancient system of kings and Junkers. No, he heard what the people wanted and he agreed.

"A Germany for the real Germans," he whispered. He shivered. The words tasted toso good on his tongue. Yes, a nation for the real sons and daughters of Germany, the ones who were proud of their blood and would listen to the people's will. A pure Germany, a powerful Germany.

He would get his way. He knew it, they all had to know it or else why would they be afraid? All he had to do was wait.

[baddieromanova]

Why do you attack and hate people just because they don’t like Falice?

This is my first ever anon message? Okay, I normally dismiss questions like these but since it’s my first I’ll oblige:

Anon, I don’t hate and attack people for disliking Falice. I mean, if my rants and posts on social media come off that way then all I can do is apologise I guess because that’s not my intention at all but honestly I don’t give a fuck if people don’t like Falice or don’t ship them, I follow plenty of people in the fandom who don’t, we all have our likes and dislikes and ship preferences and that’s fine, what matter’s is that we’re all part of this wacky fandom together for a show we watch and simultaneously wish to get cancelled. 

Now onto my actual issues; I have an issue with Falice anti’s who’s reasons for hating Falice are beyond transparent, problematic or utter bullshit, because one thing in fandoms I absolutely hate is people going out of their way to sound deep and intellectual and listing off reasons (Which isn’t a problem, we all do it) to explain why they hate a ship when in actuality, it’s really a vague, shallow or simple reason behind their disdain and if it’s not that, they’re bordering into blatant hypocrisy or just being all around fake. Allow me to explain some examples of this I’ve seen in the fandom;

1) Suddenly Gladys, a character we knew very little about for 2 whole seasons, other than the fact that she was Jughead’s mother and left her alcoholic husband because he wouldn’t get his shit together, all of a sudden has tonnes of stans and she hasn’t even appeared on screen yet. She had stans before we even knew who was playing her, and who are the very people stanning her? Take a wild guess. Only the very sub section of the fandom who spent the whole of last season bashing her for neglecting Jughead. But of course, now that Falice is happening they’ve jumped aboard the team Gladys train, not because they genuinely like her, but in the hopes that she’ll get in between Alice and FP. I mean, if they wanna stan her then great but I don’t wanna see complaints when she’s written out or killed off, seeing as she’s only being introduced to start up some Falice angst, just saying. These same people have also started a campaign against FP and Alice calling them out as bad parents. This makes me laugh because where was this energy back in early season one when FP and Alice’s parenting skills should have been questioned? That season was definitely not their peak but I think we can all agree they’ve improved vastly in the parenting department since then but back to my point. It’s almost like the lack of Falice back then had something to do with their silence on parenting skills, but maybe that’s just a coincidence 

2) A lot of Falice anti’s genuinely see Hal/ Halice as a better alternative, which it isn’t. Falice has it’s problems, with FP’s alcoholism and both of their marriages still being legal and all, but honestly what fictional ship doesn’t? And fandoms are always gonna find something problematic in a ship they don’t like, but Falice are by far miles better than H/lice, this isn’t even an opinion it’s a fact. First there’s the obvious, Hal is a serial killer who tried to kill Alice and their daughter which kind of trumps every problem with Falice, but even if you take the ridiculous Black Hood scenario out of the equation and pretend that plot never happened, Hal and his marriage to Alice was/is still very problematic. There was never any chemistry between them, not much love either, they always just stuck out to me as that one lame middle aged white couple in TV dramas who seem “perfect” to everybody in town but behind closed doors it’s a different story and have spent so much time being more concerned with keeping up their white picket fence facade that they have yet to realise they don’t actually love each other, mainly because the woman knows she should have married somebody else and is still in love with somebody else, which is exactly the case for H/lice and Falice

On top of that, Hal is kind of a scumbag, even before the Black Hood plot he was a dick and radiated small dick energy 24/7. I’m not going to list all the reasons here, this post is already much longer than I intended so I’m just going to add a link to one of my anti Hal posts (X). Do I think Hal and Alice cared for each other at one point? Of course but do I ever think they were in love? Hell no. Alice saw him as a ticket out of the Southside to a better life for herself and Hal saw her as a bad girl he had a hard on for, that he could tame. If people see that as love, then I don’t know what to tell them. I mean if you hate Falice then whatever but to continue to ship Alice with Hal? Come on, at least ship her with Fred or Hermione before jumping aboard the H/lice ship

3) I’ve actually seen people who spent the whole of season two wishing for Josie and Sierra to be killed off or written out and have attacked them for breathing, conveniently stan Josie this season and demand for Josie/Ashleigh to get more screen time “because she deserves it more than Falice” (She does deserve more screen time and better treatment in general but that’s another argument for another day) and make stupid Falice and Tierra comparisons as if only one Parentdale couple can exist. And they’ve done this all just to have a dig at Falice not because they care about the Tierra ship or are tired of the only dark skin black girl being used as a prop for a bunch of white character’s storylines, never having any storylines of her own and being relegated to a human radio almost every episode. How pathetic can you get? Like, don’t piss in my ear and tell me it’s rain. Fuck outta here with your faux concern

4) I’ve seen multiple lengthy posts highlighting how “damaging” the Falice coupling is FP and Alice’s characterisation and development in general which is bullshit. The minute Alice removed Hal out of her life she became a better mother and a decent person, she was more caring and began putting her daughter’s first, over keeping up a facade for the town, she was no longer the cold heartless cow she was in earlier episodes who was putting on the perfect Stepford wife with the perfect suburban family performance and prioritising how the town saw her and her family over her daughter’s needs. As for FP’s character development and characterisation, he changed his life around for the better for his son because he wanted to do right by him. He quit drinking, got a job, attended AA, quit the Serpents and sternly said he was done with gang life (Yes we all know how that actually turned out but it’s the attempt that matters here and take the circumstances into consideration) and actually began to parent Jughead. It was a far cry from what we were introduced to in season one where we he was drinking his breakfast, lunch and dinner, deep into gang life and appeared to not give a rat’s ass that his son was sleeping on the streets. 

There’s nothing wrong with having a simple or vague reason for not liking a ship, absolutely nothing at all, there’s no need to type out utter bullshit to defend your hatred for a couple. For instance, I don’t like B/ghead because they’re overrated and Roberto’s obsession with them is slowly but surely damaging the show. That’s it! You won’t see me writing lengthy think piece’s on why I hate that ship despite all the problematic aspects within the couple that I do see because I could honestly forgive and dismiss all of it if B/ghead was not constantly shoved down our throats. They would just be a ship I didn’t care about. FP and Alice’s relationship had nothing to do with their development as people/parents or their characterisation, it hasn’t regressed them in any way, shape or form seeing as they changed for the better and became much better characters before their relationship began to blossom. So all of this talk of how their relationship has ruined them as people makes me laugh. Unless I’m mistaken, FP is still showing clear character progression. Alice was also showing clear character progression towards the end of season two, we’re going to exclude the cult story line from this discussion because while it has changed Alice’s character, the Alice we know and love will return to us soon and the Falice relationship still had nothing to do with that, but if these same individuals want someone or some ship to blame for Alice’s involvement with this cult, they should actually look closer to home.

5) Linked to #2 and #4. They also claim to dislike Falice for a myriad of reasons they think are deep when in reality they just hate Falice because it interrupted their already on the verge of dying ship or crackships that involve Alice and FP and won’t (and never will) happen. I don’t like to shit on people’s shipping preferences, I’ve been on the receiving end of that shitty behaviour in fandoms and even the people working on the show before and you really can’t help who you ship at the end of the day but one thing I’ve learnt from that experience is when to give up, admit defeat and accept that your favoured ship isn’t, never will be and never was a priority to the writing crew and show runner and move the hell on. Granted I moved on from that show a little too late but what matters is I did it. I abandoned the show, fandom, cast and never looked back and felt better already because trust me, that shit takes a toll on your mental and emotional state and I was going off the deep end so it’s a good thing I left that show and fandom for good. This would’ve been the case if I shipped H/lice, the minute I fell for them would’ve been the minute I told myself not to get too invested and prepare for heartbreak because it was clear from the get go that H/lice was not a couple the writers had interest in developing or writing well. Like I said prior, they were another typical suburban couple keeping up a facade for their neighbours but deep down didn’t actually love each other and they would’ve divorced eventually and had Lochlyn written out of the show, not only because Hal and Alice didn’t love each other but also because it’s clear that for each of the teens, the writers for some reason only want one parent around for each of them, for the boys it’s their father’s and for the girls it’s their mothers (Hiram’s a different case because he’s a villain but he’ll be killed off eventually). People say the Black Hood story line was only introduced to get Hal out of the way to make room for Falice but I guarantee you, if he wasn’t the Black Hood he would’ve definitely been one of his victims. The Riverdale writers would have gone down the route of having Hal killed off because it would’ve allowed them to put Betty at the centre of the story line, something they like to do constantly but that’s also another argument for another day. If H/lice shippers had realised that and accepted it, they wouldn’t be in the predicament they’re in right now

6) People re write canon and the established history on the show and between the parents to fit their delusions and beliefs and it’s just creepy. I get coming up with theories and trying to make sense of something but there’s a fine line between theories, head-canons and refusing to accept the truth or facts. Take Charles’ paternity for instance, that’s caused up quite a stir within the fandom in general. For some reason, for the longest time people struggled with the fact that FP was the father of the baby Alice had in high school, some people still struggle with this unfortunately. 

Now, I’d understand refusal to accept FP as the father or seeing this plot being a retcon or rushed or even being a little thrown off by it, IF IT WASN’T FUCKING ESTABLISHED IN SEASON ONE, WHICH IT WAS. This is why don’t understand all the debates on Charles’ paternity. The very first Falice interaction had clear implications that the two had a sexual/romantic history and we found out two episodes prior that Alice fell pregnant as a teenager, yet people can’t do the math.

[chroniclesofawkwardness]

Candy Kane

I’ve never been a big fan of family pictures, or holiday celebrations. When I was about seven, my brother Derek and I had our picture taken with our cousin Kyle, who couldn’t have been much more than a year old. Kyle was smiling, but also pointing at something off in the distance (probably a prop the photographer was using to make him laugh). Derek and I had on clip-on ties that were recycled from a previous Easter. I wore thick, almost square-framed glasses. if I left the house with them on today, they would almost certainly impede my ability to successfully procreate. I had little choice at the time since I needed corrective lenses, and wouldn’t start wearing contacts for at least another six years. 

By the time I’d made the switch, the photo of Kyle, Derek, and me belonged to a museum exhibit—frozen in time like the Iceman—of pictures my grandparents loved, but their grandchildren wished no longer existed. By 1999, they’d moved into a house much smaller than the one in which they’d raised their six children, and the photo had been relegated to a literal wall of shame in their basement. Along the wall were senior pictures of my mother and her siblings, and various photos of the nine grandchildren, including that of a triumvirate of boys c. 1988. I can’t think of a time anyone whose picture was on the wall expressed fondness when looking at it. Each of us probably thought about what we’d tell our younger selves if we passed them on the street, or secretly wished to remain arrested in that state of childhood development, our entire lives uncertain, unfolding, before us one day at a time.

The biggest reason I’ve never been a huge fan of holidays, family pictures, and especially family holiday pictures is because the only capture one moment in time, moments that, for better or worse, are frozen on film or stored in cloud of data and never really gone. Whenever the holidays come around, I have a tendency to cram an entire year’s worth of socializing into 48 hours, or however long I get to spend with my family and friends.

In my family, those occasions are typically when we celebrate some Puritans surviving a hard winter despite wearing ridiculous hats, and the birth of a boy who somehow managed to erase his teenage debauchery from the record. You know he had to screw up those miracles dozens of times in private before nailing them (oops) in public by his early thirties. This must be why we never hear about the zombies of Arimathea he couldn’t quite bring all the way back from the dead, or the numerous weddings he crashed around Nazareth during puberty, flexing to prostitutes about how he could turn water into wine in exchange for performing a number of sins his Dad didn’t have to know about (but would later be considered deadly because Mary Magdalene couldn’t keep her mouth shut) only to deliver vinegar.

I guarantee you Jesus promised Joseph of Arimathea eternal salvation as thanks for the years of resurrection practice, and in return for the use of his tomb one Friday night. Mary Magdalene showed up at the tomb three days after the crucifixion because she finally realized how serious Jesus had been about her fucking up his chances to keep holy the Sabbath day with a bridesmaid, before he hit it big and all the lepers wanted a piece (oops again) of him.

Anyway… If family pictures remind me of who I used to be, holidays remind me of things I used to wholeheartedly believe in.

My first picture with Santa was probably taken in 1982, before I had the surgery to straighten out my leg that left me with a cool scar. My enthusiasm for the holidays faded as I grew older and began to challenge my beliefs that one man could deliver presents to all the world’s children in a single night, and the three wise men could find Jesus just by following a star.

After passing at least numerically through teenage angst, I started to realize how incredibly fortunate I’ve been instead of complaining about what other people had that I didn’t. But what really got me comfortable in my own skin was volunteering, a series of activities in which I put myself in some very uncomfortable positions by surrounding myself with people and places I didn’t know. Still, my desire for the uncomfortable hasn’t weakened my ability to attract the absurd.

I recently had a chance to volunteer at Santa’s Workshop. I put on my elf hat (which I later found out had been on backwards all night) and got to work in the arts and crafts area, but that didn’t last long. Macaroni pictures weren’t doing it for me. I needed a different challenge.

Soon enough, I found my way to where Santa was. My backwards elf hat and I had to keep the line moving so every kid would have a chance to see Santa before closing time at 6 PM. Thee were all kinds of characters around me. Rudolph was there, and so was this character that had Pinocchio’s face, but looked how I imagined the Frisch’s Big Boy would if he’d been on a liquid diet for six months. “Who’s THAT?” I asked the event coordinator. “That’s the Elf on the Shelf,” she replied. “Oh… shit… I was way off,” I said. Whenever I caught the characters waving to children and their families as they passed by, they looked like those people from 80s and 90s workout videos who got stuck doing the low-impact versions of the exercises everybody else was doing at full speed. I wondered if they were secretly asking themselves why they agreed to do this, quietly cursing themselves for not auditioning to sell shit on QVC instead.

I’m not sure if the first child whose Santa aftermath I’ll remember for a long time was just really upset, had a cognitive deficiency, or both. Either way, he or she was not happy. My first post near the man of the hour was standing outside a fence they’d set up around Santa’s chair. My job was to wave the kids and their families forward once the previous family had enjoyed their moment in the makeshift winter wonderland. As the child left Santa’s lap screaming bloody murder and passed through the fence with his/her parent or guardian, they let out a sound I can only describe as a Home Improvement-era Tim Allen grunt mixed with visceral cry for help: UHHHAAHHHOOOOO! 

Before I knew what was happening, the child headbutted themselves against the exterior glass of the Lazarus building, like Kane and the Undertaker from another spoiled childhood fantasy of so many— professional wresting. All the person accompanying the child said was, “Now honey… Don’t hit your head.” All I could think was, “Damn.” But as a man wearing a backwards elf hat, I couldn’t say shit to them.

Not long after witnessing a pediatric concussion, I found myself in the path of low-impact Rudolph herself. I slightly embarrassed myself by giving her a fist bump and talking to the person in the suit as though they were the red-nosed reindeer in the flesh. I came back to my adulthood while low-impact Rudolph was in the middle of muffled sentence about candy canes. I noticed had a bucket in her hands, which I assumed had been filled with the striped holiday icons. There were no candy canes in her bucket, but I did notice a set of Toyota car keys. In my confusion, I almost blurted out, “Shouldn’t you be guiding a sleigh instead of a fucking Camry?” Some things are best left unsaid.  

For the first two hours we were there, the line to see Santa seemed to stretch as far as the eye could see, which made the next encounter I remember even more excruciating. A lady walked up and stood right next to me, thus blocking my view of the line and preventing me from doing the one volunteer task I was explicitly asked to do. To make matters worse, she started offering a running commentary on all the children she saw in Santa’s lap, like a color commentator at a sporting event who didn’t know when to just shut up and let whatever moment they were witnessing wash over them.  

It didn’t matter whether they were boys dressed in identical suits for the obligatory in-lap picture with the big man (Oh, how cute!) or babies whose faces became contorted with red hot agony upon being separated from their mothers and embraced by a strange man (Oh, he is NOT having it!) The line seemed to grow infinitely longer during her soliloquy and I found myself thinking it was a shame the crucifixion of the guy whose birthday everyone would be celebrating in few weeks didn’t draw a crowd like this. In Survivor, Chuck Palahniuk observed that on some crucifixes, Jesus looks jacked enough to be modeling Ray-Ban sunglasses and Guess jeans without a shirt on. I can’t help thinking Chuck would concur that since not everyone will reach that level of supposed piety or physical fitness in a lifetime, it’s a bigger draw to remember God’s only son immediately after he humbled himself to share in our humanity the same way we all started—as a baby.

Anyway… as her commentary droned on, found myself wishing I could be the elf in the holiday classic A Christmas Story who tells Ralphie to get a move on before Santa kicks him down the slide, “Let’s Go!!!” But it bears repeating that in my backwards hat, my powers of persuasion were limited.

Not long after the soliloquy ended, I was approached by what I assume was a mother and daughter pair who were wondering if they’d ever get to see Santa. “I don’t know if we’re going to make it,” the older one said. “Let’s just take my picture with the elf.” “Actually, my name’s Dav…” I wanted to protest, but with my powers weakened, all I could do was acquiesce to their demands. The younger woman held a smartphone at what seemed like six different angles during our impromptu photo session. By the time they were done, I felt certain I was destined for Instagram infamy.  

Eventually, the powers that be decided that I should move inside the fence and stand on the glitter-covered red carpet in an effort the speed up the queue after sunset. Before I went to the other side of the fence, someone asked me if I knew whether or not they’d be cutting people off at 6 PM. I didn’t, but I wished they would. I was growing tired of head injuries, seething, teething infants, and watching people taking selfies or recruiting the other elves to take pictures of them standing under one of the arches leading up to Santa’s chair.

I must have been distracted. The next time someone tried to get my attention, I was accused of holding up the line. The man had on a white, short-sleeved polo shirt. The woman wasn’t wearing a coat, but had on something I never thought I’d see on Santa’s red carpet: a leopard-print dress and dull pink high heels. “I used to be a Santa’s helper in this building,” she exclaimed. She said something else, about 1978, but I was too busy trying to avoid another “Damn” moment to really pay attention. “Actually, we just want our bathroom done. He’s working on our house.” “Fine.” I muttered. She proceeded to throw herself at Santa like he was Hugh Heffner, and she was Playboy Bunny. The whole scene looked ridiculous, but so did I.

After the final patrons had paid Santa a visit, the other volunteer elves and I sat for our own picture with the man himself. It was likely the first time I’d had my picture taken with him since the year the picture of Derek, Kyle, and I was taken. I wasn’t filled with regret over my evaporated childhood and its beliefs, or terribly concerned that no one said a word about my backwards elf hat the whole night. I was glad I’d put myself in another uncomfortable position and come out clean on the other side minus the glitter that will be stuck to the bottoms of the shoes I wore that night for months. I was reminded of the importance of not trying to cram everything into one season, or in Santa’s case, one night. Let the kids have their beliefs and grow up to challenge them. I didn’t have to sit in Santa’s lap to tell him that wish come true was all I wanted for Christmas. I have a funny feeling that whoever he is, was, and has been, he knew what I wanted long before I ever asked.