#merry little minuet

[transfemgeorgecostanza]

In light of Sheldon Harnick's passing, here's the man performing his own "Merry Little Minuet" (music & lyrics, for the revue John Murray Anderson's Almanac)

[kittypatch]

Seems like nothing much ever changes but it does continue to get worse.

[lincolndjarin]

Not So Secret Santa

javier peña x fem!reader

this is a part of the @pedrostories gift exchange!!

summary : you get the only person you didn't want for your offices secret santa.

warnings/tags : 18+ mdni, enemies/friends to lovers, canon divergence, steve is your boss/close friend, reader and javier have a complicated relationship, reader is insecure, brief mentions of alcohol, porn with plot, smut, light angst, javier and reader fight physically but it's very light with no actual injury, masturbation, semi-public sex, p in v, idk how to properly tag this but javi likes boobs in this so he touches boobs, unprotected sex (don't do this, wrap it this holiday season), use of a makeshift gag, rough yet very loving sex because it's christmas and christmas magic means i can write what i want.

tldr : you and javi have sex in his office and you put his tie in his mouth to shut him up.

word count : 4.4k

✦ : merry christmas @taro-666 !!! i'm your secret santa !!! i hope you're well this holiday season and i hope you enjoy this fic !! i haven't written much peña, despite how much i love him so i hope i did him justice and i hope you have a wonderful holiday <3 <3 (also sorry this is a little late (20 minuetes left before midnight so we're good). i was out with family all day and was only just now able to get to my laptop, i promise i didn't forget about you lmao)

no use of y/n, reader has hair and painted nails & javier sort of half picks her up at one point, nothing else is described besides clothing.

lovely dividers by @saradika-graphics

“Please, Steve, I’ll give you a week's pay.” You lean across his desk, genuine desperation in your voice after an hour of begging. 

“Not gonna happen.” He doesn’t even bother looking up from his computer.

“A month.” Your voice is starting to pitch up, something similar to anguish in your tone. Your offer finally gets a reaction out of him as his eyes widen, head tilting up.  

“Jesus, you can’t be serious.” He’s examining your expression, trying to determine the sincerity of your claim. 

“My entire Christmas bonus.” 

“Okay, stop.” He sighs, giving you a sympathetic look. “We’re not allowed to switch.”

“When did you become such a stickler for the rules?” You cross your arms in front of your chest. 

“It’s just a secret Santa. He’s our friend, whether you like it or not, you two are close and this shouldn’t be this big of a deal, now go, please, I need to finish up here so I can leave at a reasonable hour.” He loosens his tie as you sigh. 

“It’s not just a secret Santa, Steve. It’s an opportunity for him to tell me that I once again didn’t do something right. No matter what I get him, it isn’t going to be good enough.” Even as you’re saying it you can see that he isn’t going to change his mind about this. 

“He’s a dick to everybody. That’s inevitable, it just means he’s comfortable with you.” He’s already turning back to his work. 

“Please, Steve.” 

“No.”

You glare down at him, giving him your angriest look as his gaze tilts back up to meet yours. 

When it’s clear that he isn’t going to switch you turn and leave, slamming his office door in the process. 

“Don’t forget, I need you here early to help set up for the party!” His muffled voice seeps out into the hall as you walk away. 

Once you’re out in your car and far away from prying eyes you unfold the damned slip of paper you’d drawn earlier today. 

Javier P. 

Of course, you got stuck with fucking Peña, a nickname you’d given him a few months ago. He absolutely hates it but the entire time you’ve worked for the DEA he’s gone out of his way to bother you. Sure, he’s your “friend”, in a strange, complicated way. But he still drives you up the wall with his constant need to one up you and the way he’s constantly making passes at women around the office. 

And it’s not like you have any problems with him sleeping around, lord knows you’ve had a fair amount of one night stands, but he just has to hit on every woman you work with. 

Every single woman, except you. 

You’d never admit it of course but a part of you will always be self conscious about that fact. It doesn’t help that Javier absolutely adores bothering you at every possible moment. He loves nothing more than to pester, annoy, and mock you, spending nearly half his day leaning over your desk despite the million complaints you’ve sent Steve about his persistent partner. 

He’ll sit on your desk, doing an endless amount of things to cause you distress. Like crowding you with his cigarette smell and vanilla cologne as he tells you you’re filling papers wrong, or telling you what colors to paint your nails, or solving your cases before you can even get to them, or teasing you about your shitty car. Today he wouldn’t stop bothering you about your weekend plans like he doesn’t already know exactly where you’ll be. 

“Are you doing anything this weekend?” He’d asked with that devastating smirk and eyebrow raise combo. 

“I have to go buy my secret Santa gift, just like everyone else.” You’d turned away, avoiding eye contact as he scoffed. 

“What about Saturday?” He continued to pry, you wanted nothing more than to shove his perfect ass off your desk. 

“The Christmas party, Javi. Just like everyone else.” You had sighed, squeezing the bridge of your nose as Emilia had walked past your desk. Javier immediately forgot your entire conversation as he turned to her. 

“I love your nails.” He’d pushed his hair out of his face, holding his hand out to take hers, getting a closer look at the well manicured designs. 

You had tuned out after that. Not wanting to be involved in the exchange as you went back to typing. Acutely aware of your own nails. 

Red chipped paint. 

You couldn’t help but wonder what it must be like to be the object of his affection.

It wouldn’t matter if he did hit on you, you would probably reject him anyway. 

Probably. 

It doesn’t matter, it’s never gonna happen so why let it bother you? 

With a sigh you toss the paper into your cup holder, reaching to turn on the radio, maybe some Christmas music will make you feel better. Of course nothing happens as you turn up the volume knob but it makes you want to scream regardless. 

Stupid fucking Peña. 

Stupid broken radio, stupid shitty car. 

“Fuck.” You mumble under your breath as you shift into drive.

Before you know it you’re back in your car in the DEA office parking lot, this time a few things are different though. 

You’re dressed nicer, trading your slacks in for a skirt and your dress shirt for a sweater. And of course you now have a small wrapped box in your lap. 

Since you had yesterday off for the holiday you spent your Friday at the mall, searching for a gift for Javier. Eventually you had settled on three little things; Nicotine gum, mostly because you’ll get more work done if he isn’t constantly dragging you outside for his smoke breaks. He complains too much about going alone and it’s always been easier not to argue, now he can stay at your desk with his gum. Beard oil, the fancy stuff he always insists on using in his mustache. You’d bought him the wrong kind last year for his birthday and you still haven’t heard the end of it. And a lighter, you had to beg the shop owner to make an exception and do a same day engraving of his birthday. 

Jesus. 

You know way too much about him. 

You arrived two hours early as requested by Steve to help him set up. With the wrapped box tucked under your arm you anxiously tap the patterned wrapping paper with your freshly manicured nails. 

“You should paint your nails green, I love green.” He had said through a drag of his cigarette. 

Why did you let that idiot's opinions influence this decision? You feel foolish. The green chrome polish shimmering in the street lights in the parking lot as you step into the building. You had extra time while you were waiting for the engraving and you just couldn’t help yourself when the salon was just a few stores away. The image of Javier holding your hand and examining your painted nails while telling you how nice they looked was just too tempting. Maybe he’d even ask if you did it just for him, and you could drag him into a closet at the party, the exact situation you watched unfold last year. Except in that scenario you weren’t the lucky lady he’d run off with that night. 

There’s no time to be thinking like that.

You shake off whatever filth you were imagining as you look around the hectic mess of garland and glitter.

Steve is already stressing, setting up tables as you set your gift under the tree before getting to work. The office is already mostly decorated but with his new position as supervisor Steve is insistent that everything be perfect his first Christmas in charge. So you plate food, and you mix drinks exactly as he wants them, and you hold the ladder steady when he insists on putting more lights up. When you’ve got about a half an hour before guests start arriving you’re finishing up and last minute touches, the two of you crowded around a drink tower. 

The tension from your conversation yesterday seems to have fizzled out as you become engrossed in your work, when you’ve both finished he gives you an appreciative look.

“Thank you, seriously, it means a lot.” You help him adjust his tie as he straightens out his shirt. 

“Anytime, although I’m surprised you didn’t just ask Javier.” You pat his shoulder as you finish, brushing a stray blonde hair out of his eyes. 

He laughs, a nervous chuckle that makes you raise an eyebrow but when you open your mouth to comment on it he lets out a relieved sigh as the first of your coworkers arrive.

More people show up than you could have expected. 

You stay near Steve for most of the beginning until he gets dragged away by one of the higher ups who had made an appearance, leaving you alone to sip your drink against the back wall. You hum along to a Christmas song that plays loud enough to drown out any conversation you might eavesdrop on to entertain yourself in his absence, your eyes scan the crowds as you try to match up the people you work with with their spouses. 

You’re getting ready to find another group to talk to when you catch a glimpse of him standing against the opposite wall, talking to Bonnie, the woman who works in the cubicle next to yours. 

Fucking Peña. Dressed in a stupidly tight green dress shirt. 

You should leave them alone, especially if he’s trying to make a move on her. But you can’t help it as you make your way around the room towards them, a vague sense of jealousy settling in your stomach. 

String lights twinkle across the ceiling of the office, creating a warm ambience throughout the space, just as you’re about to tap him on the shoulder you overhear their conversation. 

“I had to beg Steve to switch with me, took an hour of convincing and a week's paycheck but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.” His back is to you as he leans in closer to Bonnie. 

He’s probably talking about one of the other women from the office. Steve probably had someone Javier was trying to impress and that’s why Steve didn’t want to trade with you, he had already promised his pick to Javier. 

Whatever, you can’t be too bothered about that. It does make you want to return to your spot on the other side of the room but you don’t get the chance to as the music is turned down rather suddenly.

One of the secretaries, Benjamin, stands on a chair, making an announcement that it’s time to do the secret Santa. You manage to twist through the crowds so Javier never sees you, finding his gift and bringing it to where he now stands, simultaneously keeping an eye out for your own gift.  

You hand him the box, watching the way his face lights up. 

“You picked me?” He grins as you nod, carefully peeling back the wrapping paper as you feel a tap on your shoulder. Benjamin waits behind you, leaning in to whisper while you watch Javier open his gift. 

“It was short notice so we didn’t have time to get you a back up gift but your secret Santa told us at the last minute that he forgot to get you something, he promised to bring in something after New Years, I’m so sorry.” You feel a little disappointed as he murmurs but it isn’t that big of a deal, it’s a busy time of year and people can forget things. 

“No worries, do you know who it was? I’d like to at least tell them it’s fine.” You turn away from Javier as he smiles at the nicotine gum, Benjamin's eyes flicker from your face to Javier’s before he gives you a sympathetic look, walking away. 

Javier traded for your name? 

As your head tilts to look at him now you can see the smirk he’s now sporting. 

“ …but it’ll be worth it to see the look on her face.”

Javier had made a conscious effort to get your name just so he could not get you something.

Huh.

That doesn’t feel great. The look he gets to see on your face is betrayal and then just sadness. You don’t really care what the reason for his decision is, you turn and walk away from him regardless. If he tries to say something to you it’s drowned out by the music that starts once again. 

Why are you so upset over some stupid joke? If it had been anyone else you wouldn’t have cared, you’d have brushed it off as a harmless accident but this wasn’t an accident. 

Maybe he didn’t really think of you as a friend. 

Maybe all of the teasing and one-upmanship really was from a place of animosity and you were just too blind and too infatuated to see it. You want to cry but you don’t want to give him the satisfaction so you sift through the bowl of keys, searching for the Star Wars keychain attached to your lanyard but you can’t find it. The combination of the blaring Christmas songs with the frustration you’re currently feeling only makes you more emotional.  

You don’t want to go to the bathrooms where you might run into someone and you can’t go to Steve’s office because he might be talking to his supervisor, so you go to the only place you know there won’t be people. 

Javier’s office. 

You walk as quickly as you can, slipping inside as you slam the door shut behind you, clicking the lock in place before turning around, resting against the door as you feel tears spilling from your eyes. It isn’t until he clears his throat that your head snaps up.

Today is just not your day.

Did he know you’d come here? How the hell did he beat you here? He’s fidgeting with the lighter you bought him, watching it light and go out as he sits with your keys in his other hand. 

Your face feels hot as you take in the sight of him. 

“Give me my keys.” You hold your hand out, wiping your eyes with the other as you wait. Of course he doesn’t hand them over, that would be too easy and today is insisting on being difficult. 

“I really liked your gift. Seriously, this is… outrageously thoughtful.” He murmurs, seemingly unaware of your mood until he takes a closer look at you, his expression shifting as he realizes your eyes are rimmed with red. “Why are you so upset? What happened?” He slides open a drawer, tossing your keys into his desk while you consider calling a cab. 

What a foolish question. 

How could he possibly not know?

“I want to leave, I’m sick of this party.” You turn to leave, maybe Steve can drive you home. 

“Come on, the parties barely started.” He’s on his feet, he doesn’t try to corner you, if anything he sets himself against the wall. 

“And I want to leave.” When you reach for the doorknob he grabs your wrist, holding it as he stares at you, a look of impatience crosses his face. 

“Don’t tell me you’re mad about the secret Santa.” His brows furrow. 

“This isn’t about a stupid secret Santa.”

“It sure seems like it is.” He’s still holding your wrist, why is he still holding your wrist?  

This isn’t about the secret Santa. It’s a lot more than that, and after ages of keeping your thoughts to yourself in front of him you just let it out. 

“This is about the fact that you don’t even care about me enough to make any sort of effort. I know you deliberately chose me, you specifically chose to do this to me and I don’t care that it’s just a stupid prank. It still- It’s still a shitty thing to do.” Your voice starts cracking half way through and you can feel your eyes welling up again but it doesn’t matter anymore, you were wrong, the two of you aren’t friends. 

“So this is about the secret Santa.” 

Of course he wouldn’t get it. 

“You’re an idiot.” You finally pull your wrist from him. 

You aren’t sure what else to do so you shove him, his back hitting the wall with a soft thud as you push past him to get to his desk, hoping to grab your keys but he catches your waist first. 

“Can you stop being so stubborn for five seconds and just let me explain myself?” You can tell his patience is wearing thin, his voice is strained as he pulls you back against him, caging you against his chest with his arms. 

“Fuck Javi- let me go-” You try to kick his knees but he anticipates it, shifting his legs to avoid you.

“Just wait- listen to me.” He swings you around a bit as he tries to still you, you can feel his breath hitching, the buttons of his shirt digging into your back. The two of you thrash around for another moment until you freeze, feeling something poking your hip. When he realizes why you stopped putting up a fight he lets you go in an instant. “Shit- I-I’m sorry.” He stammers as you turn around towards him, eyes wide. 

You never thought you’d see Javier Peña flustered yet here he is. When you take a step back his cheeks are burning red, his fingers twitch nervously at his side, and as much as you try to ignore it, his pants are tighter than usual. (And considering how tight they usually are this is quite a feat.) He won’t look you in the eye. 

“It- It’s fine, Javi.” You adjust the hem of your skirt, trying to fix your hair. You just can’t catch a break today. “It was an accident, there was a lot of- of friction and it happens. I think I should just go.” You stutter a bit trying to find the right words. This entire evening has been catastrophic, and you’re more than ready to call it a night. 

“It’s not an accident.” He mumbles, finally looking at you, not bothering with subtlety as he adjusts himself. “You should probably go.” 

If it’s not an accident you don’t want to go. 

You want to stay and keep making accidents, starting with rushing forward into him, taking his face in your hands and kissing him. Which is exactly what you do. At first he doesn’t react and you worry you read the situation wrong but when you pull away, just an inch, his hands envelop you. 

Hips, waist, back, shoulders, hair. He’s everywhere, all consuming as his teeth graze your lips, in an instant your backside hits his desk.

When he finally does remove his lips from yours his are slick and a tiny bit swollen, his pupils swallow his irises whole. 

“I loved your gift, I wasn’t joking, it’s perfect and the last thing I want is for you to think that I don’t care about you. Of course we’re friends, you-” As he rambles on you ball up the end of his tie, unceremoniously shoving it between his teeth. 

“Talk later, this now.” You grab the bottom of your sweater, pulling it up over your head, watching his jaw tense at the sight of your chest, his hands playing with the strap of your bra as you hop up onto his desk. Hiking your skirt up, he slots himself between your legs, your own fingers push your panties to the side as he reaches behind you, easily twisting the clasp of your bra to release it, tossing it to the side as his enormous palms engulf your breasts. 

You dip your fingers into the wetness between your legs, briefly taking a moment to wonder how you found yourself here. Just moments ago you were ready to leave and consider your friendship with Javier over, yet now you’re spread out on his desk, on display for him as you sink your fingers into your eager cunt. 

You don’t get to linger on the thought for long because he groans into the fabric of his tie and you’re pulled back into the moment. 

Jesus you’re soaked. 

You have no trouble pushing two slick digits into yourself. You can feel the outline of him against your thigh and you know that you need to warm yourself up to take him. He’s too engrossed in your tits to do it right now and you’ve waited too long for this, you don’t want to wait, you just want to have him. 

He’s tender at first, squeezing and softly tracing the outline of your areola until he seemingly can’t control himself any longer and he pinches, rolling your nipples between his thumb and pointer finger as your whine. Back arching of the oak of his desk as you curl your own fingers. Even through the tie his moans are still somehow louder than yours, you’re briefly worried about someone hearing as you let out a whimper while he tweaks your nipple but the music’s so loud at the party you can hear Mariah Carey from here. 

You don’t stop for a second, putting your focus on reaching the peak that you find yourself already getting startlingly close to. You can feel yourself pulsing as you pick up the pace, reveling in the way his eyes devour the very sight of you. You’re agonizingly close when he grabs your wrist, removing your fingers carefully as you try and resist, wanting to finish what you started, you’re about to whine when he begins unzipping his pants. You can feel your pussy clenching at the very sight of him, of course he isn’t wearing any underwear under his dress pants so the second his zipper is fully down his cock springs free.

Javier fucking Peña has a gorgeous cock. 

Standing stiff and proud without either one of you even having to touch it. Pretty and pink on the tip, already leaking down the shaft. And heavy, as he takes it in his hand, his other hand gripping your waist as lines himself at your entrance. He takes a moment, eyes scanning your face, silently asking for permission. 

You can’t nod fast enough but the second that you do he slides into you. 

You could never conjure up something this good in your fantasies. The way he fills you, stretching you open as he whimpers into the fabric of his tie, you like that he listened, that he kept it in his mouth this long. His strokes are needy and fast, like he’s been waiting for this for so long and now he can’t help but be ravenous. You were already painfully close before he filled you with his perfect cock, it takes only a few minutes for you to be right back there. His fingers dig into your waist so hard that you’re certain he’ll leave marks as he slams in and out of you, pulling out almost entirely with every thrust. 

You’re vaguely aware of the sound of his trinkets rolling off his desk and onto the floor. 

“Javi, Javi, Javi.” Between gasps you chant his name, the sound encouraging him as he pushes in deep, his pelvis grinding against your clit until you see stars. Your cunt clenching around him as your orgasm is ripped out of you. Messy and loud and blurry, he fucks you through it. You’re so blissed out you can barely focus on the persistent pounding into you until you manage to come back to your senses and his hands leave your waist, instead intertwining with your fingers as his hips twitch forward and you feel him hastily pull out of you.

He spits his tie out, opting to instead bite your shoulder as he comes, the groan that leaves his throat is obscene. Raspy and filthy as he collapses down on top of you, the two of you sweating and gasping amongst the paperwork and pens now scattered across his desk. 

Did that really just happen?

He manages to collect himself first, leaning back and tucking himself into his pants before quickly tending to you. He grabs a few tissues, wiping your stomach where the product of your activities lay, before redressing you, slipping the flats that had slipped off, back onto your feet, pulling your skirt back down to cover you as he slides your panties back into place, and retrieving your bra and sweater, lifting you into a sitting position as he redresses you, kissing your cheeks, nose, and forehead the entire time. 

“All good?” He whispers, gentler than you’ve ever heard him as you nod, grinning. 

“Good enough to make me forgive you for not getting me a present.” You reach into his drawer, grabbing your keys before sliding off of his desk. 

“Maybe this was your present.” He tilts his head, kissing you again, smiling all the while. 

“That was the perfect gift then.” Probably the best you’ve ever gotten.

“Are you gonna stay for the rest of the party?” He takes your hands in his, his thumbs absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin. 

“I think I need to go to bed after that.” You laugh as you jingle your keys, turning towards the door as he catches your lips in another kiss. 

It makes your heart flutter. The continued affection makes you think this isn’t a one time thing. You want more. You want conversations about feelings, and to talk about what just happened, you want to feel him inside you again, and the look in his eyes tells you that you’re going to get all of that. But right now you’re tired, so the rest can wait. 

“Can I walk you to your car?” You nod as he murmurs.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, walking you out of the building towards your car, opening the door for you and giving you one last kiss with a promise that he’d call you tomorrow, before you watched him walk back into the building.

Your phone buzzes as you turn your key in the ignition, the sound of Wham! fills the car, Last Christmas playing softly. You take your phone out of your pocket, checking the text notification from Javier. 

[ i forgot to tell you how pretty your nails are. merry christmas hermosa ]

Your head turns up in surprise as you realize your radio is working. A new radio system is installed in the center of your dashboard, with a little green bow taped to the top, and a paper tag with Javi’s familiar messy handwriting. 

from : your secret fucking santa

a/n : happy holidays everyone!!

[randomfoggytiger]

Collector's Edition: It's the Most HTGSC Time of Year

Happy 25th Anniversary to this spooky little episode~. To celebrate, I compiled a collection of fics themed right before, during, after, and very after Mulder and Scully's Christmas Eve adventure.

Loose chronolgical order below~

This_ape_writes's So What Were Those Christmas Gifts Anyway?

She had been looking for paperclips. They were usually on top of the desk just free floating but now there weren't any to be found. She'd started digging through drawers with free floating sticks of gum, a sharpie, napkins both new and used, and some unidentified stickyness. She had also pulled out a baseball card that he quickly dove across the office to pull away from her grasp.

Pre-HTGSC Mulder draws parallels between keeping his father's baseball card and Scully's longing for a very expensive kaleidoscope.

@minuete-blog/Minuete's

Last Minute - Chapter 1

Scully hits the jackpot at the toy store as she grabs the last Tickle Me Elmo that, presumably, someone stashed away in a random place in the store behind some puzzle boards.  Another beeline to the checkout counter, resulting in a 10-minute wait as she shuffles the many shopping bags she has from one arm to the next while guarding the Tickle Me Elmo toy with her life.  Across the KB Toy store, she spots a Sam Goody store and knows exactly what to get for Mulder this year. 

Pre-HTGSC Scully is rushing about doing last minute Christmas shopping.

Christmas Offerings - Chapter 1

She hums in defiance, wraps the afghan blanket more securely around her.  

“That won’t do.” She hears Mulder chuckle.  She furrows her eyebrows and manages to crack open her eyes making out a blurry image of Mulder kneeling on the ground, his chin resting on the crook of his right elbow upon the couch, facing her at eye-level.  He smiles softly.  

Post HTGSC Mulder wakes Scully so she can spend Christmas with her family.

@leiascully's (Ao3) Day 25: Wrap

Last Christmas, there was Emily. This year, Scully will smile at her nephew with genuine and deep affection and not a little envy. Mattie is thriving and Emily is gone.

Pre-HTGSC Scully buys Mulder a kaleidoscope while remembering her painful last Christmas.

FridaysAt9's Worse than Rush Hour on the 95

Scully struggled with the bags in her hands as she thought about taking off her jacket to get some relief from the heat that was blasting through the store. The line was at least fifteen people deep, and she was seriously starting to consider ditching the sweater for her sister-in-law in favor of practically anything from a store without a line. 

Pre-HTGSC Scully is managing crowded malls and last second instructions from her mother when Mulder gives her a call.

Erin Blair/Erin M. Blair’s

155 Words - Dear Santa by Fox Mulder

She believes that I'm in love with Diana Fowley. Diana's my ex-partner and it has been over for many years. I don't know why Scully believes this, but I would like to set the record straight.

Pre-HTGSC Mulder asks Santa for advice concerning Scully and Diana.

Christmas 1998

Mulder, you asked me why I decided to come out with you tonight. You wanted to know why I wasn't at my Mom's celebrating Christmas with my family. I had every intention of being there with my family, but somehow my heart wasn't in the holiday spirit. I think you know why.

Post HTGSC Scully is grateful for Mulder's distractions and Melissa's previous words.

is_this_just_fantasy's Insomniac Ghosts

“Again?” Scully asked genuinely.

“Yeah.”

“So, Mulder, your plans were to spend Christmas, and Christmas Eve staking out an old house?”

“With ghosts Scully, don’t forget the ghost.”

AU-- Pre-HTGSC Mulder's apartment is (once again) fumigated; and Scully invites him over. Both really didn't want to be alone.

@ghostbustermelanieking/skuls’s merry little christmas 

"Will you really be alone on Christmas, Mulder?”

He’s shrugging at her. “Sure, why not? I’ve spent enough of them alone.” The casualness in his voice isn’t quite as strong as it should be; it’s strained, just a little.

Scully switches off the water, watching him drink his coffee out of the corner of her eye. An idea springs up in her mind, too tantalizing to push away. “You don’t have to spend it alone, Mulder,” she offers, her voice going quiet at the edges.

AU-- Pre-HTGSC Scully drags Mulder out shopping before he drags her out haunted house hunting.

Jennifer Stoy's Christmas in Space

So, yeah, yeah, yeah, they say in DC that Fox Mulder's heart grew three sizes that day. It was an accident! I wasn't all that converted when I retrieved my precious cell phone, grabbed some Chinese at the food court, and went home. I can't explain how I woke up the next morning brimming with Yuletide cheer. It might have been the Elvis; the clock radio was playing "Blue Christmas" when I woke up. But the magic of the season had me in its tinseled, consumerist clutches before I finished my shower.

AU-- Pre-HTGSC Mulder might have wanted to surprise his partner for Christmas, but didn't quite expect Scully to pull a gun on him.

Jennifer Brady's Secret Santa

"Any holiday plans, Scully?" He asks, a little curiosity in his deep timbre.

Well, actually. "Yes, in fact we have a case," Uh oh, where did *that* come from? Was that me?

Mulder's face breaks into a grin, and he walks over to my desk, perching himself on a corner. "A case? I haven't heard anything," He says, his voice taking on a definite teasing tone.

Time for all those improvisational classes I took in high school.

Post FTF, Pre-HTGSC Scully is ready to tread on the wild side, unleashing Dana as she lures Mulder to a Christmas retreat on a bogus case.

Titania de la Mer's Conspirators' Dark Designs

The afterlife wasn’t half as thrilling as it appeared, but on this one night they had always had fun. Their games were perhaps not the most pleasant. Well, not for their guests anyway, but you had to get your kicks where you found them.

HTGSC Maurice and Lyda are more contemplative than bothered.

@wexleresque/hellsteeth's Msr + mistletoe??

She joins him in his gaze upon very old and shrunken mistletoe that hangs above them. It is mostly curled up and decayed to nothing, save for the red ribbon pinning it to the doorframe.

It's old and dusty and beautiful in its own very weird way, just like this house.

AU-- HTGSC Scully and Mulder stumble onto more than just ghosts in the old, haunted mansion.

BarbaraWar's The Ghosts Whose Christmas Was Stolen

"Are you afraid Mulder?" She asked, her voice wavering slightly, although he couldn't tell if it was from the strenuous position or fear of her own.

A gun went off.

At first he didn't notice it'd been his own, but he felt the recoil, saw Scully's eyes widen in surprise, saw her fall back with a whimper, saw a red stain form on her formerly white blouse. But hadn't it been red? He then noticed his own clothes were now blood-stain free . He dropped the gun, ran his hands over his chest, nothing. Oh, no. "Scully!"

AU-- HTGSC Mulder shoots Scully, and watches as she snarks her way into death. The ghosts convince him to finish the deed.

 @allyinthekeyofx’s (Ao3) Bittersweet promise.

Softly, quietly he had asked her what was wrong, his fingers smoothing the sweat-damp hair from her face, a simple act that calmed her hitching breaths almost immediately and which gave encouragement to speak.

"I haven't had my hot chocolate. Mommy makes me my special hot chocolate before I go to sleep."

Post HTGSC Mulder makes Scully the same hot chocolate he'd shared with Emily.

@i-gaze-at-scully/ i_gaze_at_scully's All I Want for Christmas (Ao3)

It didn’t help being sidelined. Long days in the bullpen with as much intellectual stimulation as watching paint dry. Long days knocking on doors, using honey to catch flies while the vinegar bubbled in her throat. 

But she had Mulder.

Post HTGSC Scully is glad that Mulder distracted her from Emily; and he is glad she got him a very hard-to-find Christmas present.

Leyla Harrison's (Alt. Tumblr, Gossamer, Mulders Creek) The Star

She looked just like a little kid.

Her eyes kind of widened and then softened at the edges. Then the blue of her irises danced around. I can't even begin to explain how her mouth turned up. Her whole body language just screamed giddy, and for Scully that's pretty restrained. But hey -- I don't get to see Scully very giddy very often, and it had been a rough night, you know?

Post HTGSC Mulder gifted Scully a star.

stellar_dust's (Gossamer) Fall of Snow, Pacal's Tomb, and Thou, A; or How We Stole Christmas Back From the Ghosts (Ao3)

"Mulder, why don't you come to Mom's house with me in the morning?"

He opened one eye and looked at her for a moment. "All right. I'd like that. I think."

They stared at each other.

"Um," Scully fumbled.

Post HTGSC Mulder sets aside the neglect of his mother to focus on spending the day with Scully-- watching her nap and facing off in a snowball fight.

@slippinmickeys/SlippinMickeys/Slippin' Mickeys's Unnamed

“Pick a key,” Mulder said, setting two keys of similar profiles in front of her.

They were thick and ancient, with a patina that had probably been earned. They looked so old – practically antediluvian – that she thought briefly that if the locks they unbolted survived, the doors they had protected probably had not.

Post HTGSC Mulder has Scully pick between her Christmas gifts for a bonus surprise.

Sheryl Nantus/Sheryl Martin’s (FFN) It Hurts (FFN)

Suddenly he noticed that her arms were tightening around him - not enough to hurt, but in a sudden shift of emotion.

Then he felt it.

The first touches of dampness on his bare skin.

Post HTGSC Scully tearfully relates the pain of Emily's death.

pokeitlikejello's The Drabble Files - Chapter 28

“Scully, what are you doing here?” Mulder leaned against his open apartment door. “I thought you’d be halfway through a warm, cozy Christmas dinner.”

“I couldn’t stop thinking about how you’re all alone,” she told him honestly.

AU-- Post HTGSC Scully fails to lure Mulder to her family party... and decides to stay with him, instead.

Nynaeve's Almost Home

"How is work?"

"Work," she had said flatly, sighing. "Let's just say I'm not exactly making that difference I thought I could."

Maggie had covered her daughter's hand with her own. "I'm sorry."

Another smile had twitched at the corner of Scully's mouth. "No, you're not," she told her mother. "You're thrilled I'm doing something safe." There was no malice in Scully's voice, only the recognition that Maggie, like all mothers, was glad her child was in a safe job, at least momentarily.

"All right, yes, I'm glad you're safe," Maggie had agreed with a laugh. "But I *am* sorry you're not satisfied."

AU-- Post HTGSC Scully recalls her childhood-- the cold, sibling truces, and snow fights-- then shares that magic (and more) with Mulder.

@catharsisxf's (Ao3) When We Finally Kiss Goodnight (Ao3)

They sat comfortably for a while, watching little flecks of white dance past his window. He could admit to himself now that this was what he'd wanted all along. To not feel so alone. He'd felt the need to frame it as a case when he'd have been perfectly happy just spending a quiet evening in with her.

AU-- Post HTGSC Mulder and Scully revisit that moment in the FTF hallway.

@lotsoforangesoutside/@lotzzoforangezoutside/lots_of_oranges_outside's Fall Like a Feather (Ao3)

“Look at what we’re wearing, Mulder.”

He’s not following. “We’re wearing what we’re always wearing.”

Scully shakes her head. “It wouldn’t be snowing if we were...” She stops, and tries again, “I’m not even wearing a sweater, Mulder. It can’t be snowing outside. I’m not dressed right, and neither are you. I didn’t feel cold on my way here. Your neighbors are way too quiet... the world feels too quiet.”

AU-- Post HTGSC Mulder and Scully wake to a white Christmas... and the realization they'd both died the night before.

piece_of_the_stars's Christmas Ghosts and Imaginary Mistletoe

Mulder was there when she found it. They’d stopped for gas in the middle of Wyoming and Scully got out to stretch her legs. There was a shop next door selling knick knacks and Mulder walked in the store to find her staring at the necklace, unmoving. He silently made his way to her and only then did she look away from the gold cross in her hands. He lead her to the register where she paid and he did the talking for her, knowing she had nothing to say. When they were back in their rental car, Mulder silently took the hand not holding the necklace and laced their fingers together. They drove silently back to their motel and haven’t said a word about it since.

AU-- Post HTGSC Scully decides to make a decisive overture before leaving for her Christmas obligations.

Ten's (The Salvation Archive) Having a Happy X-mas

By the looks and some quick whispering, rumours had been flying, sailing, driving, sprinting and galloping around for the last few years. The fact that he and Scully were still holding hands only added to it. "Merry Christmas, everyone," he managed, while turning 180 degrees.

150 degrees into the turn he saw Bill glaring at him from over near the fireplace. /Wonderful./

Almost at the end of his turn, his eyes met those of someone over in a corner. The occupant was an old lady in a motorised wheelchair, eating a cookie. She stared at him. Her eyes widened. Mulder inwardly sighed. /Billy boy has done a sterling pre-publicity campaign on me./ Time stopped for a second. Suddenly she coughed and made a choking noise.

AU-- Post HTGSC Mulder is persuaded to Scully's party where both Scully brothers are not allies... and where he meets a familiar face who recognizes him from 1939.

Pattie's Happy Turkey Trot

"I bet you didn't get a turkey this year, did you?"

"Scully, I think you pretty well know how I spend Christmas."

"Well, I have one in my freezer, Mulder, at all times."

"What?"

AU-- Post HTGSC Scully and Mulder get food poisoning together.

@agentwhalesong/sadandangstyagent's (Ao3) Tell Him

“Listen, Scully… there are things I have been wanting to talk to you about and…”

Mulder had no time to complete his sentence. A very loud and very clear word filled the room.

LEAVE!

Post HTGSC Mulder and Scully visit another haunted house; but this ghost helps them just as much as they help her.

Vickie Moseley’s (Ao3, Gossamer) Comfort

OK, so she came over and she forgave me and I got this really neat tie that I can almost tolerate even though it's pretty mundane, but it's 100 percent silk and you really can't go wrong with silk. And I got to give her my present, a nameplate for her desk. A nice one, not like the cheap gold painted metal ones from supply, but a wooden one with her name engraved on it.

Post HTGSC Mulder's snippy POV as he and Scully are badly shot up at a crime scene.

Mystic's Truces

Pulling into the curb in front of her house, she was a little more than shocked to see Mulder sitting at her front step. He looked up at the car and stood, walking towards her.

Scully opened the car door and let a small smile escape her. "Mulder, where have you been?" She tried not to sound amused, or upset, but neutral.

He lowered his head shyly, "I went home."

Post HTGSC Scully calls a truce with Diana while Mulder drops in on his mom (and leaves.)

whatliesabove's ghost ship

Scully blinks, jaw set. As she stares at him, she realizes she’s been hiding from the wrong things this entire time, so scared of the what-ifs that she's refused to even entertain the possibility that they wouldn’t crash and burn.

And maybe they still do. Maybe they end in fire and destruction and broken hearts. Maybe they end up hating each other; no longer lovers, no longer friends, but strangers again. Maybe she becomes someone he’ll always miss, maybe his name becomes something she no longer acknowledges.

But maybe they don’t.

AU-- Tithonus Scully dreams of an alternate timeline with Mulder, from Season 1 to making unpartnerly moves in Detour that are (sort of) resolved in HTGSC to family life with a little girl... and then she wakes up.

petit_chou's from now on our troubles will be out of sight

She loves to hear about their old cases. While most other young children hear fairy tales and nursery rhymes, Annie’s bedtime stories are fantastic tales of her parents chasing real monsters in the dark.

And there’s one such story that’s perfect for today. “How would you like to hear about the time me and your mom went ghost-hunting in a haunted house on Christmas Eve?”

Post HTGSC Mulder and Scully enjoy a post Revival Christmas with Jackson and their little daughter. And what better way to celebrate than competitive snowball fights and spooky ghost stories?

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

[bethanydelleman]

So I was reading The Younger Sister, a The Watson’s continuation by Jane Austen’s niece, Catherine Hubback. And let me say up front, it was really good, she wrote some great dialogue and while it went a little off the rails in Volume II, I was really happy with Volume III, anyway...

The author stops the action during the very first ball (which is a rewritten part of the original novel fragment) and gives this mini rant:

There must certainly be some connexion between the style of dress and the style of dancing prevalent in any particular generation. The stiff ruffs, the awful long waists and formal boddices of Elizabeth's reign [1558-1603] were quite in keeping with a stately pavan; the loose attire and complete undress adopted by the courtly beauties of Charles the Second may be considered characteristic of the elegant but licentious style pervading their dances [1660-85]. The minuet matched well with the buckram, and rich brocade, and high head-dress which marked the era of the earlier Georges [1714- 1830]; whilst powder and hoops of course disappeared under the influence of the merry country-dance and cotillion. Perhaps at the present time the dresses, like the dances, partake more of the character of the latter Stuarts—graceful and bewitching; the habiliments full and flowing, the steps vivacious but tending to giddiness, with a near approximation to romping, and a great risk of inducing a faux-pas, or even a serious fall.

The author COULD NOT HELP HERSELF. She really REALLY needed to let us know that these Georgian people were dressing and dancing wrong and probably looked like harlots. Now this novel was written in 1850, when women dressed like this:

And The Younger Sister is probably set during the Regency when people dressed like this:

Which is clearly wrong and terrible. But she referenced the reigns of Elizabeth I and Charles II, so let me explore some more fashion history...

So 1580, Elizabeth’s reign is “good”...

And here is the reign of Charles II, which is “bad”...

Huh. Well I guess showing some neckline and natural hair is just wrong? I’m not totally sure, but I do love that we now know exactly which eras the Mrs. Hubback thought were too loose and undressed.

If there is a fashion historian out there, please help me understand what’s so terrible with these eras that made the narrator slip into exposition. (She does it once more to mourn that Georgians don’t have phrenology yet, which just made me laugh out loud)

[hanakogames]

today in old books

It's not like no one has any emotions. The naughty girl has a complex relationship with her father. The beautiful-but-haughty girl flip-flops between wanting to be liked and being above everyone. Crushes are everywhere.

“I hope it will be Harding’s and Monroe’s last fight,” Doris said with sudden energy. “I know now that a certain other person was to blame for most of it. I know that you were not trying to be kind to me or belittle me. I’m not so sure about Miss Dean.” “She loves you, Doris Monroe.” Muriel sprang into affectionate defense of Marjorie. “You never had a more faithful crush. She is the one who started the name of the fairy-tale princess for you. She has adored your beauty and wanted you to be in theatricals so that you could be seen and admired. She was the judge who delivered the adjuration to Beauty at the beauty contest. She is the best friend you have on the—”

More drama among the girls, more sighing remiscences of the Hamilton love story, yet another theatrical production...

The play netted the dormitory fund over a thousand dollars. Augusta and Doris stepped into the spot light of campus admiration and were fêted by their friends for upwards of a week afterward. Marjorie attended the presentation of the drama with her mother, Jerry, Miss Susanna and Jonas. It was her mother’s last evening at the Arms and this sad knowledge put her in a rather forlorn mood. Then, too, she could not help thinking of Hal. She had suggested the title of the play as a result of seeing the costume of polar knight Hal Macy had worn at the merry-making in Sanford on Christmas Eve. Now she saw Hal as the knight, rather than Gussie. She wondered vexedly why she always thought of Hal in connection with the sentimental. It was because he had told her he loved her, she supposed. 

(The actual romance on stage is being played out by two women, of course. But this the first even slightly romantic thought she seems to have ever had for Hal, and it's still not terribly personal.)

Ah, now someone else plots to bring Hal secretly to campus:

Leila’s plan to bring Hal from Sanford to sing behind the scenes for her on the night of her play was not entirely one of self-interest. She had often thought Marjorie was nothing less than a sleeping beauty slated to awaken suddenly from a dream of life to reality and a lover’s kiss. She had long guessed for herself that Hal loved Marjorie. She had also been the only one besides Marjorie who had seen Hal’s heart-broken expression as he had stood before Marjorie’s portrait.

Literally everyone knows Marjorie's romantic destiny. Not that she secretly loves him, but that she'll just one day suddenly change her mind and get married.

Anyway, Leila brings Hal to campus and makes him a part of her next performance, off-stage so that Marjorie will only hear a voice singing love songs and be moved, and then surprised to find out the truth.

Marjorie looked blank. She had never before thought of Leila Harper in conjunction with Hal. How had Hal happened to know the words to the old Irish song? Leila must have sent them to him by letter. No, she must have sent the music for the minuet. She thought that he had not been in Hamilton more than a few hours. Still he might have been on the campus all day and she had never— There she stopped. Leila was her most devoted friend. She was glad that Hal had at last shown a preference for some one beside herself. Marjorie stopped the thought process again. She found she did not wish to think about Hal and Leila as being interested in each other. She wondered next if they had been corresponding long. Leila had never mentioned in her presence that she had received a letter from Hal. Leila had—

Slightly confused minor jealousy. Clearly a passionate love.

“Aren’t you just a little bit glad to see me for myself, Marjorie?” Hal could not resist putting this one question. “You know I am.” Marjorie attempted to look into his face with her old-time frank smile. She smiled, but the smile was one of shyness. Her brown eyes rested on Hal only an instant. The rose deepened in her cheeks. Hal looked at her, and wondered.

Literally within minutes she then agrees to marry him, because she now understands what love is.

“Hal, I always mean to be kind to you.” Marjorie did better this time. “I wish you wouldn’t feel that you have troubled me. I have read Brooke Hamilton’s love story. I understand more of love than I used. I know that true love is—it is—” “What do you know of love?” Hal’s hands suddenly dropped lightly upon her shoulders. The two had stopped before the great pink bush, facing each other, their young features set with the terrific earnestness of youth. “Have you grown up? Do you love me?” “I—have grown up this much—I—understand the worth of true love, Hal. That is—” “Not loving me yet, but very near it,” came the tender interruption. Hal’s hands slipped from Marjorie’s shoulders. “I love you,” he said. “I love you.” Marjorie regarded him silently. She knew that Hal was fighting against loving her. That in a moment of emotion he had spoken again the words he had tried to forget. He would instantly go back to his role of devoted friend. She did not wish him to go back. She loved him. How greatly she loved him she could not then guess. She knew only that she loved him. “What is it, Marjorie?” Hal reached for her hands, caught them, held them unresisting in his own. Came a silence. A faint vagrant night breeze stirred the trees, touched the faces of the two besides the almond bush. Very gently Hal drew his Violet Girl into his arms. “It must be a whole year from now, Hal,” Marjorie said later with charming practicality.

(I guess we're meant to interpret that some kissing happened there, but that we can't describe it because it's too scandalous? Anyway, that 'year from now' comment is about the wedding. Because she has work to do first!)

[infamousbrad]

Fucking news, man.

I have been a two-newspaper-a-day subscriber since 1964. I have subscribed to at least one in-depth news weekly since 1982. When I say that I'm a news addict, my habit is way deeper than almost anybody else's.

And I'm fucking near done with journalism. They are obsessively reporting whatever catches the attention of the maybe 200 or 300 wealthiest, most powerful, and/or most popular people in the world and they're all profoundly boring subjects.

(I am not exaggerating. Go look up the lyrics, or better yet listen, to the Kingston Trio's 1959 song "Merry Little Minuet." Same news stories, haven't changed a bit.)

If the newspapers and magazines I subscribe to don't start covering shit that's actually important, and where (I get the impression) actually interesting people are trying actually important things, at least weekly, I may write off the whole damned enterprise and cancel all my subscriptions. I want to know four things:

What are people doing about decarbonization, how well are their projects going so far, and are there any new ideas?

What are people doing about traffic violence, how well are their projects going so far, and are there any new ideas?

What are people doing about the global rise of right-wing nationalist anti-democracy movements, how well are their projects going so far, and are there any new ideas? And ...

What are people doing about social determinants of health, well are their projects going, and are there any new ideas?

We have the same damned wars every couple of years since 1914, in the same damned places, always over the same ethno-nationalist stupidity, the wars all turn out the same (lots of blown up infrastructure and dead civilians, to no meaningful effect). We've had the exact same economic crisis every 8-20 years since 1847, and they all turn out the same. We've had the exact same two parties or coalitions, in every democracy since 1800, they say the same things about each other and have the exact same scandals every couple years. I am bored to fucking tears with war news, celebrity scandal, political scandal, and the rise and fall of big corporations. And there was never a day I gave two runny shits about for-profit sports.

In a good week, I find 3-4 actually interesting stories about actual real-time, potentially existential problems. I'm starting to think the only people getting what they want out of journalism are a couple of hundred celebrities and their fan clubs. I'm really starting to think that I'm wasting my money and time on all this boring, shitty, repetitive news, of reading the same 80 or 90 news stories every week.

[what-even-is-thiss]

So years ago before I started T I used to sometimes post videos of me singing on here. After 3 years on T I think I’ve got a few things figured out finally so I guess this is an update video of sorts on that front. I have no access to formal training so I was figuring this all out on my own pretty much. I’m proud of myself for being able to sing without hurting myself now, even if it doesn’t sound perfect. So, yeah. (Song is merry little minuet. Sorry I didn’t include the whistling parts I don’t know how to whistle)

[lightthewaybackhome]

4, 11, 30 for the song asks

4. The Merry Little Minuet was introduced to us by Dad, via the Kingston Trio. It was loudly sung with lots of giggles one we were old enough to get it. The entire score of Phantom of the Opera. (Picture 5 kids singing the whole performance off key and at the top of their lungs.) Christmas in Killarney. Mom taught us to love old Christmas music.

11. This one was harder to answer than I expected because most of my favorite movie or tv songs are just soundtracks, so probably A Thousand Years by Christina Perri. (I loathe Twilight, but love this song.) I Will Always Love You by Whitney Houston from the Bodyguard. I Don't Want to Miss a Thing by Aerosmith from Armageddon. Runner Up, the song for Princess Bride and the song for The Never Ending Story.

30. Brother by Kodaline, pretty much sums up what my entire writing, reading, and movie/tv show consumption is looking for. Meet me on the Battlefield by Svrcina is always thrumming in my heart. Rose Tattoo by Dropkick Murphys is pretty much my family. :-)

[anaiswriterr]

underneath the tree

Pairing: Bakugou x Reader

Rating: G

Song: underneath the tree by kelly clarkson

↷ SYNOPSIS: Spending Christmas at the Bakugou’s can get pretty hectic, especially in a time of cheer and joy - meanwhile your raging boyfriend is definitely the Grinch. But for just one moment as you help his mother string up the lights of the Christmas tree - he can’t help but smile at his little elf.

- mha december special part one -

•

•

•

•

“We’re going!” You argued, yelling back from the kitchen. Ignoring the tantrum your boyfriend threw from the living room, Katsuki huffs, stomping his way into the kitchen trailing behind you. “No! Why the hell do we have the spend Christmas at my mothers!? You know I hate Christmas.” He exclaimed throwing his hands up in emphasis .

You ignoring his bickering pressing the on button of the blender, “Huh? Sorry, I can’t hear you!” The loud shrilling of a protein shake being made wedges between his hollering - smiling to yourself you press the speed button. “Huh? What? We’re going! I’m so glad you agree, babe!” You yell back, watching as his nostrils flare in anger.

His eyes are almost pleading you to cancel this trip, but his pride would never admit that his eyes were begging. What was so wrong with him simply wanting to just be alone with you? Cuddled up in a warm weighted blanket watching a couple movies. Nothing! But that didn’t stop you from arguing over the fact that the both of you should go over for at least a week, by invitation of his mother, it would be disrespectful to reschedule.

Considering it would be the second Christmas he’s cancel on, Katsuki has made it known in the six years of dating you - he hated Christmas. Not because of some tragic or traumatic past (he was spoiled) but instead he just thought stopping hero work to spend Christmas with family was selfish. “Crime doesn’t stop just because people are happy.” He’d argue. 

And for the past three years of moving in together you’ve fought with him over and over again to simply hang a wreath and decorate a tree, which he later obliged to after ten minuets of pleading with those big puppy dog eyes of yours that made his heart go goo goo.

You walk over to place a small peck on his cheek, cupping the side of his head lovingly. “For one week, please.”

His ruby red eyes pierce into your sparkling E/C ones, nuzzling himself into your palm - you always had that calming effect over him. Silently reassuring him of your promise to go on the vacation for one week. 

“One week?”

You nod in response, “One week.”

“Seven days?”

“Only, seven days.”

***

You suddenly remember why holidays at the Bakugou’s can get quite hectic at times. The constant back and forth bickering of son and mother are all that fill the kitchen as you take a sip of your tea on the living room couch, conversing with his father located directly in front of you.

The two of you stare with awkward smiles at one another, “So.. how are you and,” he flinches at the sound of a pan being thrown. “Katsuki doing? You two look very happy.” 

“Oh well, we’re doing amazing! Finally decided after the holidays were adopting a shelter dog-“

You flinch as well at the sound of plates clattering against one another, the sound of a loud smack and a “Stop hitting me, I’m not sixteen anymore-“ is followed right after. 

“You are still sixteen in my eyes!”

Hectic, least to say.

You laugh nervously, “Should we maybe go help them? You know, before someone grabs a knife?” Masaru laughs at your assumption, sipping back at his tea waving you off. Until, the kitchen went silent. Eyes wide, the both of set down your drinks as he stumbles on his words, “O-On second thought maybe we should check on them!”

“Great idea!”

***

Katsuki rolls his eyes at your amusement when the air you breathed back into the cold environment had turned into a cloud of smoke, “Look Katsuki, I’m a dragon!” You laugh, breathing harder into the air. Your gloved hand holding his squeezes in delight, you were truly a child at heart unwilling to let your boyfriends behavior towards this time of year ruin your fun. He kisses his teeth, “Dumbass, if you don’t stop jumping around every single time you breathe I’m walking back to the car.” He threatens, “And pull up your jacket zipper, it’s freezing!” 

“Don’t be such a kill joy, and besides you aren’t going anywhere till we find this damn tree.” You scold, ignoring his fingers over your torso pulling the jackets zipper up to your chin. 

You pull him into a maze of Christmas tree’s that stood tall over your heads, “Lets try and get an eight foot?” You ask, attempting to pull him in the process of tree shopping. The scent of pinewood and fresh pine cones fill your nose, memories of when you were just a tiny child running to wake your siblings flood your brain as you look at your towering boyfriend. “You could try to have fun, you know?” You plead, his hand tugs at your entwined fingers as he looks down at you. Huffing to himself, “I hate the smell.”

It takes every once of your well being not to pull his hair in frustration, “I know you do, Mr. Grinch.” You snicker, wandering between the aisles of Christmas trees. Your eye caught a a large, forest green tree, letting go of Katsuki’s hand you skip your way towards the tree and it’s towering height. “Katsuki! How about this one? It’s perfect!”

“Yeah, yeah, pick it. I’ll load it on the car.” The blond mumbles, rushing off to pay.

***

He’s sittings on the couch sipping a cup of coffee, watching you decorate the tree with a large grin as you string the lights, directing Mitsuki where they should go. Though he hated the holiday there was one thing he truly loved the most about this time of year. Simply watching you and your giddy grin as you decorate - it always made him smile, watching his little elf bounce around in merry joy blasting Christmas music and shouting the lyrics. 

“Katsuki, can you help me with this one. I can’t reach the top.”

Nodding his head and helping you get down from the small steps he presses his lips onto your forehead. 

‘Yeah, I’m gonna marry her.’

TAGLIST: @meep-meep​ @hikaru-mikazuki​ @jabkie​ @simpingovereveryanimeguy​ @theycallmemrsbarnes​ @bittersweetbooke​ @meri-soni-meri-tamanna��� @myheroesaretired​

[nordleuchten]

La Fayette and Emma Willard at the Opera

When Emma Willard was travelling Europe in 1830, she visited General La Fayette in Paris in late 1830. The two were close friends, had already met before and especially Willard had nothing but the purest admiration for La Fayette. In her book Journal and Letters from France and Great-Britain (1833) she re-printed several letters where she told her sister every last detail of her visit. Her letters are unusually engaging in my opinion, because they are so personal. Old letters and journals can sometimes feel very stiff, very old and completely removed from our modern reality – but hers is so lively, so ordinary that I could not help but relate to her during certain passages. Due to Willard’s hero-worship of La Fayette, I was afraid she would put him on a gigantic pedestal – but she paints a very humane picture of the ageing Marquis, one that is actually rather refreshing.

With all of that being said, here is a passage from Emma’s letter to her sister Almira Hart Lincoln Phelps from December 7, 1830:

I must now tell you, how it was that we spent the evening together. It was at the Opera Francais, usually called the Grand Opera. You will remember that he told me he had not been at a theatre since the revolution, and the first time he did go, he would go with me. One evening before had been appointed, and failed from the illness of one of the performers. It was the evening before last that we finally went [December 5]. I expected that the people would have cheered him as he entered. But he was in a citizen's dress, and went with a determination, as it appeared, not to be known.

The two boxes next, and each side the king's, were for the evening taken by the La Fayette family. There are places in each for six persons, two in front, and three deep. The General, Mrs. S-. of Baltimore, (a particular friend of Madame George La Fayette,) two of the General's grand-daughters, Col. C-, an officer of his household, and myself, filled the box to the left of the king's. Mrs. S— and myself were placed in the front seats, notwithstanding our entreaties that the General would take one of them; two of his grand–daughters had the two next, and the General was quite back where it was impossible for any one below to see him. The first piece was an opera, “Le Dieu et la Bayadère.” In this I saw the performance of M’lle Taglioni, the first dancer in the world. Much of this French opera dancing is what it should not be; but of Taglioni, though expected much, yet her performance perfectly astonished me; and I exclaimed in a pas seul, where she seemed divested of terrestrial gravity, and to fly, rather than dance, “this is the sublime of dancing!"

The scenery of the theatre — the splendor of the dresses and decorations — the crowds of actors, all capital in their parts — the perfection of instrumental music displayed by the grand orchestra, who were all so perfect in time, that it was as if one spirit played the numberless instruments — all this was admirable.

After we had been in the theatre about half an hour, an officer entered the box, bowed very low, and presented the General a paper, containing a few lines, written, as I observed, in an elegant hand. He looked rather grave, and perplexed for a moment as he read the paper; then said— “the king has sent for me to come to him. I must go, but I will return.” I begged him not to return on my account, if it would incommode him; but he said he could not consent to lose all the pleasure of the evening. Before he returned, the first piece was over; and those of the La Fayette family, in the other box, came in the interval, to greet us. Their countenances seemed a little shaded, and I though they were uneasy that he had insisted on sitting so far back. Mrs. S-. then took her place behind my chair, and all appeared determined that he should take the front seat, when he returned. Just as they had completed the arrangement, he came in, but he refused to go forward. Mrs. S-. now refused to take the seat, as did the other ladies also, who were in the box with us. Just then the sweet Mathilde La Fayette came from the other box to speak to her grand father. He told her to take the seat; and though she would not for the world have done an impolite thing by voluntarily taking the precedence of older ladies; yet she did not a moment dispute, what she saw was her grand-father's will.

Thus seated and arranged, we went through another dancing piece. It was the ballet pantomime of Manon Lescaut. The scenery and the dresses, represented the court of Louis XV. The stiff bows and curtsies,-- and hoops and trains, and elbow cuffs, -- the frizzed and powdered heads, and enormous head-dresses -- the silk velvet, gold-trimmed, long-skirted coats, and silver embroidered white satin vests,-- the little boys and girls dressed like their fathers and mothers, and curtsying and bowing as stiffly, -- the dancing of minuets -- slow, and graceful, and formal, --it was all pleasing: and the representation was historically true.

Gen. La Fayette was much amused. “Why,” said he, “this is exactly my time!” “Voila ce petit enfant!” exclaimed Mathilde, as a little boy, a sprig of nobility, in a long embroidered coat, and flapped vest, with his hair queued and powdered, appeared upon the stage. Said the General, “I was dressed just so, when I was of that age !” “Just so.”

That piece went off. But I observed that the eyes of the people, were ever and anon, turning towards our box; —and when at another interval, we rose from our seats, as every body did, suddenly there was a shout, “Vive La Fayette! Vive La Fayette!” It resounded again and again, and was echoed and re - echoed by the vaulted roof. In the enthusiasm of the moment, I exclaimed, “you are discovered - you must advance!” – and I handed him over the seats, unconscious at the moment that I was making myself a part of the spectacle. He advanced, bowed thrice, and again retreated — but the cries continued. Then the people called out “la Parisienne! la Parisienne!” You know it is the celebrated national song of the last revolution.

The curtain rose. Nourrit, an actor who, in the former piece had the principal male part, came forward. He was dressed as a Parisian gentleman. His figure was bold, and he bore in his hand an ample standard, which he elevated, waving the tri-colored flag. He had himself, been one of the heroes of the three days. He sung the song in its true spirit, amidst repeated applauses. When he came to the part where it speaks of La Fayette with his white hairs, the hero of both worlds, the air was rent with a sudden shout. I looked at him, and met his eye. There was precisely the same expression as I marked, when we sung to him in Troy; and again I shared the sublime emotions of his soul, and again they overpowered my own. My lips quivered, and irrepressible tears started to my eyes. When the song was over, the actor came and opened the door of the box, and in his enthusiasm embraced him. “You sung charmingly,” said La Fayette. “Ah General, you were here to hear me!” was the reply.

When we descended to leave the theatre, the thronging multitude reminded me of the time, when crowds for a similar purpose assembled in America. The grand opera house is an immense building. In the lower part is a large room, supported by enormous pillars, and used as a vestibule. To this room the crowd had, descended, and here they had arranged themselves on each side of a space, which they had left open for La Fayette, that they might see, and bless him as he passed. There was that in this silent testimonial of their affection, more touching, than the noisy acclaim of their shouts. There was something too, remarkable in the well defined line which bounded the way left open. A dense crowd beyond- not even an intruding foot, within the space, which gratitude and veneration had marked. I can scarcely describe my own feelings. I was with him, whom from my infancy I had venerated as the best of men; whom for a long period of my life I had never hoped even to see in this world. Now I read with him his noble history, in the melting eyes of his ardent nation. And I saw that he was regarded as he is, the father of France- aye, and of America too. America! my own loved land! It was for her sake I was thus honored, and it was for me to feel her share in the common emotion. My spirit seemed to dilate, and for a moment, self- personified as the genius of my country, I enjoyed to the full his triumph, who is at once her father, and her adopted son.

I do not know about you, but her descriptions have drawn me in, just if I had been there at the opera that day. The interactions of the family, the merry entertainment, La Fayette joking about his age and sharing childhood anecdotes, the want for historical accuracy being a think way back in 1830, the people singing their revolutionary song, the people lining up for La Fayette ...

A short clarification, the revolution mentioned in the text is not “the” French Revolution but “a” French Revolution – the July Revolution to be precise (also referred to as the French Revolution of 1830, the Second French Revolution, Trois Glorieuses or Three Glorious Days.) The Revolution saw the forced abdication of Charles X and the ascent of King Louis Philipe I. La Fayette played an important part during these events and many people of the time were of the opinion that King Louis Philipe more or less owned his crown to La Fayette. The revolution was also the reason why this visit with Emma Willard was the first visit to the opera this year for La Fayette. He thought people would think of him as vain were he to seek out a public place where the people would undoubtedly cheer for him (as they did).

[dragons-bones]

FFXIV: A Rising Chorus

A/N: \o/ It’s done! Been working on this off and on since Balmung finished its Firmament, and I’m so happy I finally get to share it.

RATING: G WORD COUNT: 3032 WARNINGS: Spoilers for the final Ishgard Restoration quest line that begins with “Not By Bread Alone;” tooth-rotting fluff. Crossposted to AO3!

After months of hard work by Ishgardians and outsiders alike, the Firmament lies finished: the last of its homes ready to welcome the indigent of the Brume; its new businesses awaiting eager customers; and the warmth of Snowsoak prepared to soothe the aches and pains of its residents.

They’ve already had one impromptu party...time for an encore!

---

Hoarfrost Hall cast a long shadow over the Firmament as the sun set, the welkin overhead shading from gold to rose to inky blue with the first of the stars beginning to twinkle into existence far to the east. The image of the Hall’s belltower crept down the Abacus, ever closer to the crowd gathering at the far end of Saint Roelle’s Dais, but the growing gloom was offset by the work of the lamplighters, steadily making their way from Featherfall to the New Nest and Eastern Risensong, and the warm glow of candles and hearthfires spilling from the windows of newly-occupied homes. A low susurrus of noise echoed from the Dais as the assembly talked amongst themselves, the sound broken by the occasional bright peal of laughter or the strident twang of a violin being forced back into tune.

Synnove leaned on the railing overlooking the Dais, chin propped in her hand as she watched the Risensong Players warm up for their encore concert. The piano wasn’t Rereha’s usual choice of instrument—she was fonder of violin and lute and harp—but she had cracked her knuckles and thrown herself into that first practice before the first concert with relish, pulling a swirling song from the instrument even as she had complained about being horrifically rusty, the show-off. And better Rere than herself.

She shuddered. Just because she could hear aether as music did not mean that she had any talent or inclination for the art. And wouldn’t that have been the omen, a Warrior of Light and participating skybuilder mucking up the Firmament’s celebratory concert?

At least Rere could say she had participated during the Restoration; her creative talents lay strictly with music and storytelling, but she could plane wood into lumber.

She caught the sound of footsteps coming up behind her, and Synnove turned around in curiosity—and smiled. “Fancy meeting you here,” she drawled.

Aymeric, dressed down in simple leathers, laughed softly as he came to stand beside her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder. Synnove pushed herself to her tiptoes to kiss his cheek—he beamed at her, as pleased as any knight when their love bestowed their favor—while he said, “I hope this time I’m not too late!”

“Just in time, my love,” she said fondly, leaning into him. “They’re finishing warm ups, by the sound of it.”

Her knight pressed a kiss into her hair, causing her to beam in turn, and they settled into comfortable silence, looking out to the Dais as a similar hush fell on the crowd. Synnove could vaguely see familiar forms in the press of people, even at this distance: Uncle Edmont with Artoirel (no doubt still wearing that expression of bewildered delight at having his own composition as the showcase of these concerts) and Honoroit; the Haillenarte siblings clustered close to where Francel sat at his piano, radiating pride so fiercely they nearly flavored the aether of the Firmament with it; Heron, off to the side so she wouldn’t block anyone’s view, Amandina and Roksana perched on either shoulder and Arvide with his jaunty beret beside her. Alakhai lurked among a group of Forgotten Knight staff and regulars and Tailfeather hunters at the back of the crowd, and not far from there, Lucia successfully snuck up on Hilda and her Hounds.

(Nobles, commoners, outsiders, even a few of the dragonets who perched on streetlamps and statues. The sight of so many disparate peoples coming together set a warmth in her chest.)

Even this far from the Risensong Players, anticipation made the air nearly hum, no less potent than it had been for the noon show, and Synnove drew in an expectant breath along with Aymeric beside her as the Players raised their instruments or bows to the ready. And then—

—the first notes from Rereha and Francel’s pianos rang out, and their fellows—Handeloup and Emmanellain still on flute, Elaisse and Lizbeth still on violin, and Potkin and Augebert still on cello—joined the symphony.

For all that she didn’t consider herself musical, Synnove found herself humming along, and both felt and heard Aymeric do so, too. She recognized some of the melody Artoirel had used as part of a popular Halonic hymn, but rather than the martial or dirge-like tones of the versions she had heard when she had first come to Ishgard, it had been transformed into something happy and brilliant and celebratory and hopeful. The Firmament was practically giddy with the music, its ambient aether overwhelmed…or perhaps it was harmonizing instead.

Aymeric drew away from her, and she twisted around to look at him in surprise that quickly morphed into delight when he bowed and held out his hand to her, smiling fit to burst all the while. “May I have this dance, my lady?”

Synnove took his hand with a grin and replied, “My lord, it would be my honor.”

He pulled her close, his other arm going around her waist as she brought her other hand to his shoulder, and he dropped a kiss on her nose. As she giggled, he twirled them around, turning her giggles into breathless laughter. They made up the steps as they went along, an awful mix of a minuet and a rigaudon, nearly tripping over their own feet, Synnove’s laughter becoming inelegant snorting cackles and Aymeric snickering into her hair. Over the sounds of their mirth, Synnove could hear the crowd clapping along with the music, and out of the corner of her eye she spotted the movement of other spontaneous dancers.

Aymeric and Synnove collided to a halt as the song ended with a final flourish and the crowd cheered, pressing their foreheads together as they tried to catch their breath between residual giggles. The air between was white from their panting, and she was about to suggest they go to try one of the new food and drink stalls in Featherfall for something hot when the cheery twang of a fiddle rang out across the Dais.

They turned their heads, and even from here they could both see Rereha had abandoned the white piano in favor of her beloved violin, and her bow whipped across the strings to begin a popular reel that was quickly picked up by the other Players, flutes and cellos and piano. Another raucous cheer went up from the crowd, and without prompting, they began to clear a large, open area where lines of dancers quickly formed of both Ishgardians and skybuilders; couples like Lucia and Hilda were hand-in-hand, and friends and family dragged loved ones into the merry scrum. The hulking form of Marcelloix, shaking his head and hunching his shoulders, was easy to pick out, and though the person leading him determinedly through the crowd to the lines couldn’t be seen, there was no doubt in Synnove’s mind that it was Audaine. Those that weren’t lining up to dance instead clapped in time, and in a few more beats, the dancers had begun to dip and spin and whirl about one another in a fast-paced cotillion.

“Turning it into a proper party, this time,” Synnove laughed softly. “Shall we join them?”

Aymeric kissed her temple. “In a little while,” he said. “I’d like to have you to myself for a bit; I’ve barely seen hide nor hair of you in the past sennights.”

“That likely could have been mitigated if a certain someone hadn’t been holed up in parliamentary meetings for whole days at a time…”

“Now that, my love,” he said as they began to dance again in a proper waltz, turning up his nose in faux affront, “is unkind and unjust.”

“But not untrue!”

Their teasing continued as they danced, stepping lightly as the laughter of the crowd and the joy of the music echoed from the Dais. They were coming to the end of the song and slowly twirling towards the Abacus to head to the Dais proper, when—

[Oh! Oh! Is that dancing?!]

The pair glanced up in surprise at the voice that rang out, just in time to see Ehll Tou swoop out of the lamp-studded gloom to gracefully backwing and land a few fulms away. Hautdilong, in a boy-sized fleece-lined leather jacket popular with airship pilots, slid off her back and pushed his flying goggles up to the top of his head, blinking rapidly against the light. His dragon friend, meanwhile, dashed over to the railing, placing her dexterous front hands on the stone and leaning forward with an excited, gravelly trill.

“Oh, goodness,” Hautdilong said, looking out at Saint Roelle’s Dais with wide eyes. “What did we miss? Ehll Tou and I were visiting Gullinbursti and the moogles at Bahrr Lehs the past few days.”

“We finished the Skybuilders’ Monument,” Synnove said, grinning down at the boy when he looked up at her, mouth dropping open. She fought the urge to burst out laughing when Hautdilong’s gaze slid from her to the man next to her and he registered just with whom she had been dancing, and saw Aymeric give a brief half-bow to the lad in acknowledgement. “To make a long story short, a few of the residents wanted to put together a thank you for Francel for his work in overseeing the restoration, and put together a music troupe that performed for the first time earlier today. This,” she gestured at the reforming lines of dancers and the swelling crowd as the Risensong Players began a new song, “is the encore!”

“That explains why I saw Lord Tarresson begin to pack for a trip just as we left this morning!” Hautdilong said. “Someone must have sent him word; he had been speaking to us of how excited he was to see the Firmament finished.”

Ehll Tou suddenly barreled over in the manner of a dragon who sometimes forgot she was much bigger than she used to be, skidding to a halt before she could topple into her two-legged friends. [I want to learn to dance like a child of man!] she said, hopping from foot to foot and wearing her wide, excited smile. [Will you teach me? Please?]

Synnove blinked, momentarily stunned, but it was Aymeric who recovered first. “It would be our honor, Sky Lady,” he said warmly. “Perhaps one of the circle dances to start?”

[I have no idea what that is,] Ehll Tou said, her smile still in place. [But it sounds like fun, so yes!]

“You’ll have to teach me, too, lover-boy,” Synnove teased good-naturedly, poking him in the arm. “You, Hersande, and Baptistaux taught me quadrilles and other court dances, but none of the properly fun ones.”

“Then we will correct that deficiency posthaste,” he said cheerfully. “In fact... Master Hautdilong?”

The boy whipped his head around to Aymeric. “Ah, yes, Lord Speak—er, Ser—” The poor thing had the look of the suddenly nervous and overwhelmed.

“Just ‘Aymeric,’ is fine, especially among friends,” her knight said with a broad wink. Hautdilong slowly smiled back, while Aymeric continued: “Would you happen to be familiar at all with Coerthan circle dances? Particularly the ones from Eastern Coerthas like the branle?”

“I am!” Hautdilong said. “My mother is from the Eastern Lowlands and I was fortunate to travel with her to her home village for the spring planting festivals before the Calamity.”

“My own mama was from the Eastern Highlands,” Aymeric said. “And there’s just enough similarity in some of the town traditions that I believe we’ll manage to teach the ladies well enough. And perhaps some of our other friends, too?”

At that last, he raised his voice, calling out in the shadows, and a with a whoop, a gaggle of children came pelting up the Abacus and rounded the corner to their overlook. Synnove recognized Maelie, Noalle, and some of the Rolanberry Fields children—Lycelle, Peyraquile, and Julchiezain at the forefront—among the group, and following them were a handful of the shier dragonets whose names she had yet to learn. She had been so intent on Aymeric and the music and their mutual joy that she had completely missed the audience they had acquired.

Hautdilong was beaming and, without prompting, began organizing the group of Ishgardian and Dravanian children into a proper circle, with Ehll Tou and her cousins obediently tucking their wings close to avoid knocking other dancers off balance at his suggestion. Synnove dutifully allowed herself to herded elsewhere, exchanging a grin with Aymeric as she was shuffled into the circle between a blue dragonet on her left, who stood on tippy toe to ensure she could properly reach, and Julchiezain on her right. Synnove took a moment to ruffle Julchiezain’s hair—the boy tried to duck around Maelie on his own right to get away from it, but Maelie deftly dodged in turn and shoved him back into his spot and Synnove’s reach with a giggle—before her attention was drawn to the little dragonet tugging at the bottom hem of her vest.

“Hello, little one,” Synnove said, bending down so her face was at level with the dragonet’s. “What can I do for you?”

[My name is Ahm Sorn,] she said shyly, and Synnove melted only a little bit at the sweet, fluting notes of her mental voice. [May we teach this dance to the moogles and our other friends when we return home?]

“You absolutely may!” Synnove said with a smile. “Dances like this are the kind to be shared.”

Little Ahm Sorn made a small, purring little burble in the back of her throat. Synnove’s heart skipped a beat, but she absolutely did not gurgle and try to yank the dragonet into a cuddle. Aymeric shot Synnove a warning look anyway, which she ignored with only a slight pout as she stood up straight once more. She wasn’t actually going to forcibly adopt every sweet little dragonet that crossed her path!

(…She would ask Ehll Tou later who Ahm Sorn’s dam was, and if her dam would like an occasional minder for her daughter.)

Finally, once everyone was settled and hands and paws firmly linked, they all turned to Aymeric expectantly. He smiled at them all and said, “All right, the first set of movements goes like so…”

The next handful of bells were spent stumbling, tripping, and laughing their way through multiple circle dances, most of them Coerthan, until Aymeric made a sly, off-hand comment about Gyr Abanian dances that had the group of children clamoring for Synnove to teach them what she knew. Then Ehll Tou took lead to show them a grounded version of the fluttering, hopping dances that the moogles and dragons of Bahrr Lehs performed, and finally, as children always did, they took turns in making up new dances from what they had learned, until their laughter nearly drowned out the music soaring out from the edge of the Dais.

But all good things came to an end, and eventually the children began to droop with exhaustion and the party wound down. They fit in one last circle dance—a bit too slow for the song the Players were performing to end the encore show, but easier on tired feet wanting to shuffle rather than skip—and finished to the applause of parents and guardians come to take their charges home. They dispersed to all corners of the Firmaments, though most headed south into the New Nest; Noalle passed out almost as soon as her father picked her up, her cheek pillowed on his scaly green shoulder, and Marcelloix and Audaine fell into easy conversation with Rasequin, Gontrandoix, and Pehainel for the trek home while Lycelle, Julchiezain, and Peyraquile helped herd their fellow orphans along, with the older children each carrying one of the smaller ones piggyback. Ehll Tou crouched down to help Hautdilong onto her back, and they—and Ahm Sorn and the other dragonets—waved goodbye before winging off into the night for the sanctuary of Ehll Tou’s workshop roost.

Synnove and Aymeric collected the twins from Heron, off to the Forgotten Knight with Alakhai, and they meandered arm-in-arm up Quill’s Trace while Roksana and Amandina dozed in the crook of Synnove’s opposite arm. When they reached Bright Ballad’s Passage, without saying anything, they simultaneously turned to look out over the Firmament.

The district glowed with golden light, a mirror to the river of stars spangling the black velvet of the sky above. The soft blue glimmer of the new aetheryte system provided spots of color among the shadows, and the faint shapes of people passing in front of windows could be spotted in the houses closest to the Passage. And even with midnight nearing, the Mendicant’s Court still bustled with the night owls of the skybuilder corps, hard at work crafting goods for the residents of the Firmament or lifting off in manacutters from the Skysteel Workshop for the Diadem.

Sighing quietly, a sense of pride and satisfaction settling in her chest, Synnove leaned her head against Aymeric’s shoulder. Her knight kissed the top of her head before resting his cheek on her hair, moving his arm to wrap around her waist and squeeze tightly.

“Even seeing it,” Aymeric said, voice hushed and reverent, “it’s difficult to believe the work is finished. The repairs to the Brume and Foundation are still ongoing, of course, but knowing so many of my countrymen no longer need to worry about where to sleep at night…”

“It’s difficult to fathom the hopes for one’s home coming to fruition within your own lifetime,” Synnove replied, leaning into him. “I never thought I’d see Ala Mhigo free. I never thought a cure for tempering would be found. But here we are: griffon flags fly in Ala Mhigo; capture by a primal is no longer a death sentence; and Ishgard stands at peace and ready to do whatever is necessary to take care of her people.”

Her knight sighed, as satisfied sounding as she felt. “Our star is far from perfect, and its people less so,” he said. “But by Halone, it’s wonderful to see them try, and succeed.”

Synnove hummed her agreement and together, they turned, the Firmament at their backs, and wandered home.

[joymanuco]

While we still can't talk about things like release dates, we have an announcement coming up that's so exciting that we can't help but give you all a little forewarning...

If you’d like to play our Free Demo and/or wishlist us on steam, you can find our Steam page here.

If you’d like to join our game’s merry community and get all of the latest news about ‘Ambition: A Minuet in Power’, click here to join our Discord.

[baka-desu-fics]

Kitten Christmas ~ Shinsou x F!Reader

A/N: Hello~! This is my first post on Tumblr, so I hope you all enjoy it :) I also know that this is a Christmas post and Christmas won’t be here for a while, but we gotta get hyped for the holidays 👀

Warnings: N/A 

Genre: Fluff

Shinsou’s POV:

 “Oh, and Merry Christmas!” I smiled as my last customer of the day walked out the door. I sighed and picked up the small kitten I had found outside the small dollar store I had named Mistletoe. I stroked her head as I heard the door open. I looked up to see a (H/C) figure dash in.

 “Hi! I’m so sorry, I know you guys close like…” She looked at the time, “10 minuets ago…” She caught her breath.

 “I-It’s okay,” I sat Mistletoe down and hopped over the counter, “What can I help you with?”

 She let out a small chuckle, “Wrapping paper.” She adjusted her hair into a (H/S), reveling a small cat tattoo on her neck.

 “Hey, nice tattoo.” I smiled. It was a Siamese kitten in a teacup.

 She looked at me for a second, “Oh, thanks! I just got it a few months ago!” She gave me a proud grin.

 “So, wrapping paper?” I pulled out my map of the store and yawned, “It’s in… aisle 5.” I stretched out my arms.

 “Thank you,” She looked at my name tag, “Shinsou!”

 I rubbed my neck and smiled, “It’s okay, and please, call me Hitoshi.” I felt warmth spread across my face. Like when a cat lays across your chest when you sleep, providing just enough heat and heaviness to help you sleep better.

 She gave me another smile and went into the aisle. Maybe this was my Christmas gift I’d been waiting for?

Y/N’S POV

 He rubbed his neck, “It’s okay, and please, call me Hitoshi.” I noticed him blush. He was wearing a kitten Christmas sweater, the same bright red color of his blush.

I giggled, “Thank you, Hitoshi.” I walked off to the aisle with the wrapping paper, trying to be quick. I walking into the aisle, locating the paper I needed. It had cats with Santa hats all over it. I worked at a local pet shelter, mainly the cat area, and was in charge of wrapping the presents donated to us by the public. Now that I think about it, Hitoshi seemed pretty familiar, had I seen him from the adoption center before? Maybe…

 I shook the thought away and picked up two rolls of the wrapping paper, along with a few pre-made ribbons and gift tags. I hastily walked up to the register, handing the things to Hitoshi, “Thank you again for letting me come in late.” I smiled and handed him my credit card.

 He shook his head, “It’s okay, let me pay for it.” He got his card out and put it in the chip reader. I blushed at his kindness. Normally people wouldn’t do that for me, or anyone really. The world was a pretty cold place, but they had some chill people, like Hitoshi in it that made it worth it.

 “You didn’t have to do that!” I said, a bit embarrassed. I heard him chuckle a bit as he bagged the things I needed up. I had to repay him, somehow. Maybe he liked coffee?

 Shinsou’s POV  

 I finished packing up the things and handed her the two bags, “Need any help with those?” I noticed her struggle to hold the bags up. They weren’t that heavy, they were just awkward. My dad, Aizawa, the manager of the store said having normal brown paper bags were… classy…? I told him people needed plastic bags or at least something with handled, but he scoffed at my ideas.

 She nodded, “Uh, if you don’t mind.” I heard her nervously chuckle. I took both the bags and opened the door for her. She thanked me again and threw on a cat beanie.

 Cute, I though. We walked to her car and set the bags inside. “So, why wrapping paper?”

 She grinned, “Cats, silly little rascals. They tore threw my other stuff, so I had to run to a store, and you were the first one I found!”

 Her smile made me feel warm, “Really?”

 She nodded, “Yeah!” She looked down and rocked on the heels of her feet, “So uh, I was wondering if you wanted to get some-.”

 I nodded, “Yeah. Coffee sounds great.”

 She looked at me, “How’d you know I was gonna say that?”

 “Ah, it’s one of my many talents.” I scratched my neck.

 She nodded, “Cool!” She grabbed some paper out of her purse and wrote something down. I looked down at her, her (H/C) shinning despite the cold weather.

 She handed me the paper, “See you at 10 tomorrow?”

 I nodded, “Yeah, see you there.” I looked down at the note,

 xxx-xxx-xxxx

call me when you get a chance!

~(Y/N)

  I smiled as she drove off, giving her a small wave. I slowly walked back inside with a small smile o my face. Maybe this was going to be a good Christmas after all.

[pargolettasworld]

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zz_d5--gUJM

The imagery of Moses leading the Israelite slaves through the Sea of Reeds to freedom is immensely powerful, and two American groups in particular have made great use of it.  For American Jews (for all Jews, really), it’s the classic origin story, told and retold at Passover every year.  But, through the process of incorporating the books of the Torah into the Christian Bible and then white Christian slave-owners imposing Christianity onto enslaved Black communities, this particular story has gained equally powerful resonance for the Black community as well.

It was this kind of identification that led a lot of Jewish young* people to participate in the Civil Rights Movement in the 60s.  Famously, Rabbi Arthur Waskow instituted his Freedom Seders in the late 1960s, drawing on the Civil Rights Movement to remind American Jews that freedom from oppression was still a highly relevant topic for study and activism.  In the 70s, a little older now, the Jewish civil rights workers (and perhaps their younger siblings) began to translate this shared ideology of freedom for all the oppressed into music, much of which was performed at summer camps.

The Jewish News of Northern California described this piece, Doug Mishkin’s “Make Those Waters Part,” as “overly earnest,” which . . . you know, fair.  It’s certainly tied to specific topics, and if you’re of a certain mindset, you could call it dated.  Or you could listen to it the way you might hear the Kingston Trio’s performance of Sheldon Harnick’s “The Merry Minuet” and realize that, though the details may have changed, the basic idea is still relevant, perhaps now more than ever.

*And older people, too.  Rabbi Abraham Joshua Heschel famously marched alongside Dr. King, and he was certainly not a young man at the time.

[cooperhewitt]

Up all Night with the Pots and Pans

What goes on in the kitchen late at night? This whimsical print imagines the pantry come to life, as its normally inanimate occupants enjoy a jolly party. Dishes and cutlery dance to a merry tune played by a band of jugs, mops, pots and pans. A suckling pig, a goose, and a cabbage-headed meat-figure lend their voices to a chorus of tomorrow’s dinner.

Entitled “The Minuet, A Midnight Revel” and published in London in 1828, the print is the creation of William Day (British, 1797 – 1845), an early pioneer in the technique of lithography. Invented in 1798 by Alois Senefelder (German, 1771 – 1834), lithography is a printing process that enables the transfer of designs to paper without the need to cut into wood or metal. Senefelder’s discovery made possible the rapid and economical production of prints using stone as the printing matrix. (The term “lithography” means “stone drawing.”) In early Victorian England, William Day realized that lithographs could be made even more cheaply by substituting zinc for stone. Together with his business partner Louis Haghe (Belgian, 1805 – 1886), Day became one of the most successful popular printmakers in England; in 1838 they were named “Lithographers to the Queen.”[1]

Day’s joyful image of kitchen revelry, although now relatively obscure, was once celebrated as a great achievement in British printmaking. In 1832, four years after its publication, the print was discussed at length in Jeffreys Taylor’s chronicle of recent inventions, A Month in London. Or, Some of its Modern Wonders Described.[2] In the book, Taylor’s protagonist, a “Mr. Finsbury,” takes delight in explaining to a group of naive young Americans how, thanks to the invention of lithography, this marvelous print could be produced at “the small cost of one shilling.”

Taylor’s description of “The Minuet, A Midnight Revel” is wonderfully evocative, and worth repeating here:

[The print] gave a view of an old kitchen, deserted, as usual at night, by its human inhabitants; but the bustle nevertheless was more than a little. The tongs, marching from the fireplace, were dancing a minuet with the bellows, which puffed themselves out for the occasion. The form of a musician was cleverly made up of a variety of culinary implements, holding a gridiron for a fiddle; whilst another performer, of similar materials, was thundering away at a frying-pan for a tambourine. A coffee-pot was capering away on the dresser, mounted on sugar-tongs as legs; whilst another vessel, whose limbs were composed of knives, forks, and skewers, footed it away on the tight rope above. The whole was innocently comical, and pleased the lads so much, that Mr. Finsbury promised to procure an impression for them.[3]

  Dr. Julia Siemon is Assistant Curator of Drawings, Prints & Graphic Design at Cooper Hewitt, Smithsonian Design Museum. 

  [1] For a history of lithography, see Antony Griffiths, Prints and Printmaking: An Introduction to the History and Techniques (University of California Press, 1996).

[2] Jeffreys Taylor, A Month in London; Or, Some of its Modern Wonders Described (London: Harvey and Darton, 1832).

[3] Ibid, 64 – 66.

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