#no christmas special until EARLIEST tomorrow

[variousqueerthings]

And I've got a new story for you, too. There's a haunted house and woodlice from space. And lots of young people get eaten.

in "Knock Knock" Bill rents out a suspiciously affordable house with a group of other young'uns and as someone who's rented in London... [scream]. so yeah, I'd have signed that contract too, iiin a heartbeat

sexism rank objectification (female character is ogled/harassed/turned into a sex joke by the doctor and/or a lead we’re supposed to root for and/or the camera): 10/10

sexism rank plot-point (lead female character is only there to serve plot, not to have her emotional interiority explored, or given agency to her emotional interiority): 6/10

interesting complex or pointlessly complex (does the complexity serve the narrative or does it just serve to be confusing as a stand-in for smart, this includes visually): 6/10

furthers character and/or lore and/or plot development (broader question that ties into the previous ones, at least two of these, ideally three should be fulfilled): 4/10

companion matters (the companion doesn’t always have to be there, but if the companion is there, can they function without the doctor– and overall per season how often is the companion the focus or POV of the story): 7/10

the doctor is more than just “godlike” (examines the doctor’s flaws and limitations, doesn’t solve a plot by having it revolve entirely around the doctor’s existence): 8/10

doesn’t look down on previous doctor who (by erasing or mocking its importance, by redoing and “bettering” previous beloved plotpoints or characters, etc.): 6/10

isn’t trying to insert hamfisted sexiness (m*ffat famously talked a lot about how dw should be sexier multiple times, he sucks at writing it): 10/10

internal world has consistency (characters have backgrounds, feel rooted in a place with other people, generally feel like they have Lives): 6/10

Politics (how conservative is the story): 6/10

FULL RATING: 69/100 (if I can count….)

this one is a little odd, but I appreciate trying something out. where this episode could've been so much stronger is... it's just kind of a not so impressive haunted house, I think it could have been a better haunted house. the beginning, the wall-thing with the first student, solid, but then it sort of drops the ball...

OBJECTIFICATION: there's a lot of straight young people in this episode, and I think it does a good job of the guys being a bit laddish, while not being uncomfortable. I do think they feel like your average twenty-somethings you'd come across

PLOT-POINT: perhaps this isn't the right place for it point-wise, buuut I think this is an episode that could have had more queer characters. In terms of Bill's life we had the first episode, which did tell us quite a bit about herself, but was a bit vague on friendships (she clearly is a The Club sometimes, seeing as she and Heather had a moment there -- I'm going ahead and assuming it's a university party of some kind), and look, those of us who've done the running around London trying to rent gamut know we can't always choose our flatmates, and it's fair that she has a straight friend and this is her friends, it's all fine

it's just that it could have had more queer characters. Bill doesn't seem to have a queer community -- never mind a lesbian community. I know in a later episode she goes on a date, so there's a hint there, but it just would have been nice to see a little more. it's not a big complaint or anything, this just might have been an opportunity for that

that being said, I do like this one guy kinda hitting on her and the awkward but polite conversation between them when she tells him she's a lesbian and he goes "Oh, right! I was never in with a chance. Awesome!"

it's one of those slightly M*ffat-era things though, where none of these characters ever appear again, so don't assume they'll tell you much about Bill's overall friendships and connections

I do like Shireen (just realised Shireen was the name of Rose's unseen friend as well), think she should've made another appearance (I'll eat my words if she does appear again, but I don't remember that she does), because their friendship doesn't really matter much one way or another in this episode -- Bill could have just as well been answering a facebook ad for all we really get to know about them as friends (see and facebook has queer/lgbt/lesbian houseshare ads!)

on the flipside I enjoyed that this was Bill-centric, I liked the way the Doctor was entering her life, and that young-adult embarrassment when a family member is a bit too invested in your life/friendships, that was very sweet

COMPLEXITY: it's kind of an odd one this one. I can't tell if it works for me or not, so I think the answer is "it works well enough." it feels like the kind of episode you'd get late in the series, that kind of filler "good enough" type story, where if you think about it too much it doesn't quiiite fit together, but there's nothing wrong with it on the whole

I do wish at some point I could get a decent haunted house story, neither hide nor this were quite It. you need to understand why a haunted house is a haunted house, not just put creepy things inside of a house. tosses shirley jackson at the writers. or hellbound heart. or turn of the screw. or heck, the shining. or, I've recently been introduced to white is for witching through the book tell me I'm worthless (also a haunted house), which gives us the intersection of racism and hauntings, because racism is itself a haunting. My point is.... lotta haunted houses out there, they have meaning, they have... personality, of some kind. or crimson peak. great starter haunted house, makesya go that house sure was haunted huh

that being said, I like the oddity of this guy doing all of this for his mother until he forgot why he did it. it's missing a few connection points, but it's still quite fun. not the strongest episode as is, but nothing about it makes me groan for a million years

CHARACTERS/LORE/PLOT: ehhh, not really. I've been a bit generous with this rating, I think, because I found the Doctor and Bill to be really charming in it as a dynamic, but technically this is kind of plopped in there and won't have much (any?) bearing moving forwards, which seems especially dubious considering it's about Bill moving out of her foster mum's home, with whom she has a bit of a strained relationship

maybe will go back and change this if it does get mentioned again, but I feel like this episode should have mattered a bit more than it did, it's not an easy or unstressful task, moving from home, and it could have been a mark of some change in Bill -- growing up, taking charge, moving towards who she wants to be, getting her space, and then having that taken from her

so perhaps even a tad too generous, but I'm keeping it here

COMPANIONS MATTER: Bill is the one who figures out that this guy couldn't possibly be the father of the wooden woman, and generally is quite capable

“GODLIKE” DOCTOR: nothing egregious here, other than general questions about structure, and what could have made this episode tighter -- would it have worked with less Doctor in it, with it really focusing on these young adults and Bill especially, could it have done with the Doctor bookending it in some way, or otherwise being there mostly to provide an emotional sounding board for what all of this means for Bill... just a bunch of musings, and it's not that the Doctor overshadows the episode, it's just wondering about that structure

PREVIOUS DOCTOR WHO: in this one the Doctor mentions Time Lords and regeneration and then quickly avoids any further questions... an interesting little Moment

otherwise it's pretty self-contained

“SEXINESS”: young adults being awkward rather than effortlessly sexy? hell yeah

INTERNAL WORLD: there's a big house and the rent is suspiciously cheap, but they're poor students so what are they gonna do? seems legit. I do wonder how this house actually has managed to not be affected by various council changes, taxes, and you know... numerous disappearances in it. it's a very simple setting though, so perhaps that's pedantic of me

but fully, nobody's gone "hey um... this house has eaten people." that's usually a big question about haunted houses. shoulda had some elderly person outside going nooooo don't go inside!!!!

also I rated it lower because it's not a haunted house! or rather, it is a haunted house, but it's not got the genre down, it's more like it's taking some tropes (spooky house, weird landlord, house comes alive and seems to eat people, mysterious past with a woman), but just doesn't nail the Essence, which is the ways the past infects a house (or a house just has Bad Vibes from the beginning). the house has to have a personality, it has to be alive on its own merits

I think it's the bugs that ruin it a bit for me, it could have started with some bugs I thiiink, but it should have gone way harder on it fundamentally being someone whose love for his dying mother becomes this twisted thing that starts to consume other people. that IS the story, but it doesn't fully manage to connect the love, the bugs, and the house. the house almost feels like an afterthought in the end, is my point, when the house should have been The Thing, and of course, the haunting (but I'm okay with that being a bit left-field, this woman is functionally dead, so yeah, I'm good with that)

I'm going to stop rambling about it now, because it's a whole other analysis of the function of a haunted house. eventually Doctor Who will give me the perfect haunted house story...

POLITICS: Bill's friends are a reeelatively diverse crowd. I think Shireen being South Asian was neat, it makes sense -- like in the way I feel like Bill should be (unless somewhat uncomfortable by out and proud queerness, which I don't think she is/it isn't a part of her narrative) more involved in a Queer Community -- that she would have friends who aren't white (or like, not only white, but we don't need to see a bunch of white friends is the point, Shireen being the friend we're shown makes a lot of sense and just gives a bit of an idea of Bill's friendship circle)

the others are mainly just there to fill out the space a bit, they don't have much in the way of importance other than to have some people get swallowed by the house

all this also being said, it's not a political episode, it's not a massive Thing to bring up I think. Bill is clearly quite open about being a lesbian and is out to Shireen, whether they're Close close is a bit uncertain, so it's just an episode that has some youths on the whole

could it have been more political or more diverse in a more conscious way? perhaaaps, I mean obviously I mentioned there being no queer people other than Bill, there's also no Black characters other than Bill, and youknow, it's not something I'd usually be going so into with this particular episode, which has some other structural things going on, buuut that being said, I think things become more interesting if we're more conscious about the roles we're writing and how they fit into the story -- for example, the haunted house narrative.

what does it mean that this guy targets young, possibly poor students? what does the house get out of that, how does that Change the house that it's taught who is disposable and who isn't? little things like that that make the haunted house as concept so interesting, but aren't present in this story, because it juuuust lacks a bit of that extra something

and I think the lack of these characters feeling quite real in Bill's story is a part of that

FULL RATING: 69/100 (if I can count….)

this is a serviceable episode that with a few tweaks could have been stronger, but I'm not mad about it. it's an example of the M*ffat-era trope of people being somewhat disconnected to their lives, although overall Bill is the strongest of the three main companions of this era on that front

hire me to write a haunted house episode, I'll make it killer, promise!

[harrystylescherry]

tis the damn season vol. 2 SNIPPET

A/N: yes, you did in fact read that correctly. there will be a vol. 2 of tis the damn season...NOT part 2, but VOLUME 2. Meaning, this is not a continuation, or a kind of epilogue, but a whole other scenario. with a different character, in a different universe, but connected by the premise of miss swift's song...bc it is my favorite holiday tune. this will probably be posted around new years, so see you then!

read tis the damn season!

It was the Wednesday before Christmas, and the pub was empty—just how Harry liked it. This year, the holiday was on a weekend, which meant the crowd of school-days-past wouldn’t be arriving until tomorrow at the earliest, semi-finishing out their work weeks.

Harry had been in Chesire for a week already, lazy-ing around his mum’s house and patiently waiting for his sister to come from London (she’d be part of the hoard arriving tomorrow). His mum was out for the night, at a holiday party she had with her friends every year. She had invited him along, but that week, he had already crashed a lunch and a festive dinner. The idea of round three felt pathetic.

His cousins were Christmas shopping for their baby—and it’s not that Harry didn’t want to join them, he just knew that it wasn’t the kind of shopping he was into. It was mission-based. Harry preferred the kind of shopping day that took hours and ended with a nice meal—whether or not he completed his list didn’t matter. It was the spirit of it.

So, he was alone. In a pub he frequented every time he came back. They had decorated for the holiday, with the top shelf of the bar lined with stockings that had the staff’s names written on—there were a few he didn’t recognize from the year before. It sat uncomfortably on his chest. He should make more time to visit home—because that’s what it still was to him. It didn’t matter where his house was, that he had spent more months in LA and New York alone (mostly) than he did his mum’s house. They weren’t the same, devoid of that special warmth and love that hit him each time he opened the heavy, oak door.

Garland hung around the perimeter of the room, from the ceiling, and also draped beneath the bar. Poinsettias (which he hated) filled vases on shelves that usually housed more appealing faux bouquets. He did like, however, the Christmas lights strung along the ceiling and wrapped around the posts throughout the space. It made it all quite cozy.

“Thanks, Gerry,” Harry said as he took his pint from across the bar.

The pub door opened, and with it came a gust of cold hair.

“Aye, it’s the new girl,” Gerry called across the bar to the other tender, his younger brother Tommy.

Harry turned just in time to see the smirk on the face of the supposed newcomer. He wasn’t sure if the chill that moved through him was from the burst of cold or the energy that radiated from her. She was completely bundled up, from her big boots to her bright red beanie.

She plucked it off by its pom-pom and dropped it onto the bar top, only five seats down from Harry. “Not new, temporary,” she said.

“Only ‘cause we haven’t won you over yet. Just wait, you won’t dream of leavin’ by time we’re done with you.”

She rolled her eyes playfully and unwound the pink and red striped scarf from her neck. She draped it over the seat next to her, then peeled off her coat, revealing long, dark hair that had been tucked down her back.

She was pretty. Harry could tell just from her profile. From her voice. Her nose was suited for a fairy and her cheeks were round—stained pink from the wind.

“The usual?” Tommy asked.

“Please,” she said as she pulled the sleeves of her cream sweater over her hands and fought off a shiver.

“Hi.”

Harry jolted out of his trance and flushed with embarrassment at being caught staring.

“I’m Rosie.” She smiled.

“Harry.”

“I know.” The smirk was back, and he thought, seeing her face so clearly now, it made her look even more beautiful. If that was even possible.

“Right.” He looked down and spun his glass on its coaster,

He heard her thank Tommy for whatever her usual was and listened as they fell into easy, friendly conversation.

“Care to join us?”

He looked up and was met with her smile, and expectant looks from the boys who stood on the other side of the bar, their own drinks in their hands.

“Uh, yeah, why not?”

Harry moved down until they were only a seat apart.

“Rosie’s from London,” Tommy supplied. “Like you.”

“No, technically, Harry’s from here,” Gerry corrected.

“Well, yeah, but—”

“Are you visiting family?” Harry cut him off. “For Christmas?”

“Uh, no,” she said with a scrunch of her nose. Harry left her room to elaborate, but she didn’t.

“Rosie’s a writer,” Gerry offered, before taking a sip of his beer. She blushed behind the curtain of her hair.

This was how his small village operated. A new person meant new information, new stories to pass around and gossip about. It didn’t matter if that person was sitting right in front of them. It was charming, but also terrifying. Especially if the stories making the rounds about you weren’t exactly tame, or inconsequential, or PG-13.

“Is she?” He asked, his eyes looking over her.

“I write novels for young adults. Well, I wrote one novel. I’m working on the second. Supposed to be, anyway.”

“S’why she’s here.” Tommy supplied before downing the rest of his glass, just as the pub door opened again.

“Is it?” He was aware that his attempts to flirt right now were abysmal, but he didn’t know what else to say. He wanted to talk to her, not Tommy. He wanted to pry and tease and slide into the seat next to her, but he couldn’t do that with them watching so closely. The things the town would say about that...so these redundant questions were all he had.

“Sort of.” That was all she offered before taking a sip from the glass of white wine in front of her.

[jezabatlovesbats]

Like I said already, I graduated high school this year. So naturally, because I'm somehow both lazy and busy at the same time, I don't draw anything for the occasion like I wanted to until the literal DAY before I start college. (Yeah, I'm not joking- my first day of college is tomorrow.)

Just because I've come this far since I joined Wattpad as a 7th grader doesn't mean I know how I did it. Oh, wait- yes I do. I do know. I guess I don't know my own brain. Anyway, it's because I had, and still do, a burning desire to reach out to you and tell you about all the silly little stuff I had on my mind. I also wanted to get to know people all around the cyber world who liked the same stuff I liked. (I hope I can find someone who does in my art college.) I wanted y'all to know that Unikitty and Minecraft: Story Mode were (and still are) my two most favorite things ever. For months, I begged my parents for it, and I eventually got it for Christmas. Over the years, I've come to like more shows, games and movies. I even realized that I liked doing musical theater, too. Since I joined Wattpad, I've expanded my posting to DeviantArt, this site, YouTube, and more.  I've probably told you all of this many times before, but I say it for a reason.

As I also said already, high school was as fun of an experience as it was... interesting. I couldn't finish my freshman year, and I missed my entire sophomore year, and if you survived 2020, you probably know why. I still passed, though. I think that junior and senior year made up for that. I was in the school musical both of those years, I got to attend my first prom junior year, and I went to Thespian Fest senior year.

Maybe the real high school experience was the friends we made along the way, as I've joked. But I wanted to surround myself with people I could get together with. As SpongeBob said, "I only want to hang out with my friends." And I did, 'cause we made every day the best day ever, especially the night we graduated. (The trampoline park we went to afterwards had some killer chicken tenders!) I took one of my friends to see Elemental before she went out of state for her college. I still keep in touch with a lot of them. Still, I'm really gonna miss everyone, and I wish them luck in their future endeavors.

As soon as school let out, my family took me on a trip to celebrate the fact that I graduated, and I made a video about it. You can watch it on my channel if you'd like.

But, I digress! There are a bunch of people here who I've just gotta show my gratitude for. You guys are part of why I keep going in life.

For @joyseer24, @agent-egg, @sundove88, and @pinkiemeowstic89, some of the earliest people I remember interacting with me.

For @erin-the-epic and @clg-artisa, who never fail to put a smile on my face.

(Also, special thanks to all the Unikitty fans here and on YouTube who called me out on my BS back in 2021.)

To @nevaehjwilliamsvaeh, a fan of Mao Mao and Six. I always love seeing you in my notifications!

@pocketlad, thank you for being my lad.

For @federthenotsogreat. It's nice to have a fellow Mario & Luigi fan to chat with.

@generalfoxy21, thanks for liking my posts and tagging me in your picrews.

To my fellow lovers of WALL-E: @cosmo-naute, @ohthewhomanity, and @defineshitposting. Computer, define friendship- the love that we shared.

For folks like @hazed-miner, @tailsofairies, and @milliemakesmistakes. Thanks to all of you cube kids for liking my Minecraft: Story Mode stuff.

To @choupiee. Anybody who likes both Unikitty and MC:SM stuff is a friend in my book.

There are also more Unikitty fans I have to thank, including @glitzycatart, @passionatepinkkittynew, @lizatheeddsworldaddict, @theunikingdom, and @doomlordsbutfunni.

@keith-neil, thank you for your Unitober challenge! I had a great time participating!

@askthechronoverse, I've got you to thank for liking my posts, reblogging them, and asking questions on the Big Bright World blog. And, thanks for keeping the Unikitty and Lego Movie fandoms alive. It's come to the point where I consider you a true friend, Fabri.

And to all my other watchers who weren't mentioned here, thank you for watching me and sticking by me. I don't know how to end this, so I'm gonna say that life is weird. 

[dreamypqulson]

— two queens in a king sized bed

summary: on your way home from a council meeting across country, you and cordelia's flight gets canceled due to a snowstorm. the issue is, christmas is tomorrow. The bigger issue is that you have to share a bed with the woman that you've fantasized a relationship with since your first arrival at the academy.

pairing: cordelia goode x reader

word count: 3200

The thing about Cordelia Goode is that she books ahead. She's consistently on time for everything and always has her plans set in stone months ahead. That's why, the flight back to New Orleans getting canceled was a huge stump in her road.

It was December 24th and Christmas was approaching faster with each hour that passed. It was completely devastating that Cordelia could not be home with the girls for Christmas eve. She always made the holidays extra special for them since most came from a broken or abusive home. For Cordelia to miss Christmas day was like a parent missing their child's birth.

"What do you mean it's canceled? New Orleans doesn't ever snow!" Cordelia was getting agitated. For her to pull her unusual tempestuous demeanor was certainly alarming.

"Well, this year it is ma'am," The woman at the desk said flatly. She seemed unfazed by the infuriation.

Cordelia sighed, her face fell into her hands. Your first instinct was to put your hand on her back, but you immediately retracted that thought. You never truly saw Cordelia in this condition and so you did not know how she would react to being touched.

You could feel the heat radiating off of Cordelia's body from the anger and stress that fumed her. "The earliest flight we have is tomorrow morning at eleven," The lady intervened once more.

"Fine. If that's all you have, we'll take it." Cordelia became completely composed, especially when she spoke. You could see the tears threatening at her eyes, but she had already been far too trained at keeping them in.

Cordelia bought the tickets and walked out of the building with a rapid step. She didn't say a single word to you, you just tried your hardest to keep up with her.

You both waited outside for a taxi. It was snowing here, too. It reminded Cordelia of the reason she couldn't be home with her girls. But it was too pretty to be mad at. Still, she kicked a big chunk of snow with the tip of her shoe. "Fuck!" She yelled, wrathfully. It startled you.

"I'm going to disappoint all of the girls! They look forward to this all year and now i'm just abandoning them on the holidays like their own parents did!" Tears prickled down her face. You didn't know if it was the coldness or the anger that made her face turn so red. Both, probably.

"You're not disappointing anyone!" You finally said. She looked at you; like a small child, millions emotions danced across her face at once. Her lower lip trembled; she bit down on it. "It's not your fault. You can't control the weather. You tried your best and that's all that matters. They'll understand. We all know you would never abandon any of us."

Cordelia went to speak, opening her mouth to only close it when the taxi arrived. The conversation ended and was not brought up for the time being. She knew you were right. A huge part of her truly believed it too. She knew you would never lie to her, anyways.

The driver dropped you both off at the only motel in town. The only actual building in town, really. The deserted area was covered in snow. Without a couple of cars filling up the small parking lot you would've thought the place had been abandoned. The motel, however, seemed to be in great condition.

You and Cordelia both shared a look of uncertainty and then you followed her in. The lobby was empty besides an older woman at the front desk. You could hear muffled chatter and movement from the rooms down the hall.

"If you're coming to book a room, we only have one available," The woman said. She didn't look up from a magazine she was reading until silence filled up the room.

Cordelia finally spoke up, "We'll take it. Just for tonight please." The supremes sweet voice and glowing smile made the encounter slightly less awkward. The woman's eyes averted once to you, once to Cordelia, judgingly.

"It's only one bed," She said flatly, her lips pursed.

Cordelia looked over at you, without giving it a thought, she took the room. It was unlikely that you'd be able to fully sleep in an unfamiliar place. It's even more unlikely that'd you'd get any rest sharing a room with Cordelia. 

You walked down to the end of the hall and opened the door with the key. The place didn't gross you out. It wasn't unclean. It had a dark red carpet, crème colored walls, and was richly decorated. A place like this was far too nice to be in an area like this.

Cordelia dropped her bags to the ground. With the time change, the sun was beginning to set as early as it was. She sighed and walked over to the only bed in the room. It was small; a twin sized bed. Neither of you would possibly be able to sleep contently without holding each other so close...

She threw herself on it with a grunt, looking over a you with a slight smile. "Come here," she said, reaching her arms out like a clingy child. You looked at her with questioning eye's. Cordelia has always been touchy. She's a very close friend of yours. But this seems like an entirely new boundary being crossed. You like it.

"Come onnn," She dragged on, her arms stretching further and smile becoming full. Your feet dragged across the rug as if they were locked in shackles. You were trying to hold this off as much as possible so your feelings could compose itself first.

You finally got to the bed. You crawled towards her and she watched you with hungry eyes. You could both melt into puddles with the heat between yous. Before you could figure out the confusing pounding in your chest, you were grabbed around the waist by Cordelia.

You squealed as you fell against her body. It was cold and you were tired and she was so warm and comfortable. However, your body tensed when her fingers snuck under your shirt, lightly tracing patterns against the expense of your back.

She noticed this and stopped, for a moment, before continuing on. "You're so tense, sweetheart," She said and her fingers dug softly into your flesh. It didn't hurt; it felt good and you had to contain yourself from the loud groan you were nearing to let out. She smiled slyly. She knew. "It's just me, darling. It's okay."

Exactly. It's just you. It's only you. That's the problem. "I know," you pushed out a gentle huff, "i'm just tired from all the traveling and everything. I think i'm going to go take a shower."

You got up and immediately made way to the shower without looking at her. You could feel her intense gaze on your back and you made slight eye contact as you closed the bathroom door.

-

You got out of the shower, wrapped a soft white towel around your body. You looked around the room only to realized that you had failed to take your pajamas with you. You scolded yourself. It's not that you were uncomfortable with Cordelia seeing you in just a towel, it was simply that mere fact that you don't think you would be able to handle her eyes on you.

There was no other option besides fully going out into the room with your towel. Why does she have to make you so crazy? Why does that fact that she takes up most of your heart make things so difficult?

"Cordelia?" You called, against the door. You soon heard her shuffling feet come towards it.

“Yes, sweetheart?" Stop it.

"Do you mind grabbing me my pajamas?" Your voice was shy, hesitant. Why was it such a big deal? You were covered.

"Of course not. Which ones would you like, honey?"

Once it was all figured out, she knocked on the bathroom door. Of course she would knock, even knowing that you are expecting her. She's so sweet.

You turned the knob and the door slowly slipped open. She smiled at you as soon as eyes met. She handed you your pajamas and you could swear that her eyes were wondering everywhere except your eyes at this point. However, you didn't look up to meet her eyes anymore. Oddly enough, you liked the feeling of her gaze deeply burning through your skin.

"Don't take too long, beautiful. I don't want to get too bored without you," She winked. What the fuck. The air knocked out of your lungs and your knees nearly buckled. You shut the door after pushing up a smile for her. How could one have such an effect on you.

-

Cordelia looked up from her place on the bed as soon as you walked into the room, her gaze adverting from the book on her lap to you. She smiled again and sat up with criss-crossed legs. She had already dressed herself in pajamas from the time you've spent putting your own on.

"Hey, you," She said. Her pajamas were silk and they draped on her slim frame perfectly. As if her clothes were more for decoration than necessity. "Come sit." Cordelia patted the spot next to her and you only took a mere second to contemplate until you were beside her, feeling her body warmth generating on you like a heater.

"So I have a present for you. I know it would be best tomorrow morning but I just couldn't wait any longer."

You could've sworn there was a baby bird inside your chest; trying out its new wings for the first time as your heartbeat accelerated. She thought of you. Even if she had bought you the ugliest sweater that was ten times too small, you would still wear it every day like a prized piece.

"Cordelia I- you didn't have to do that." Yet she already bought it. She already thought deeply about what she should get you. And she was already pulling out a tiny box wrapped in holiday wrapping paper, topped with a gold bow. It was perfect and so, so Cordelia.

"Shush. Don't be silly. Open it."

You peered at her swiftly and began to gently rip the wrapping paper off. A small, black box was revealed. You looked up at her questionably, however, knowing what the content must be.

You opened the box and softly gasped at the gorgeous silver necklace that looked right back at you. Tears pricked at your eyes when you saw the engraved writing on it; Cordelia's initial plus yours. You were overflowing with emotions for everything. The mere fact that Cordelia does this for you yet you've yet to believe that your feelings could ever be reciprocated. It hurt.

Cordelia chuckled lightly and that's what brought you back from your headspace. “Open it up. It's a locket." Everything about her was soft and her voice so close to you ear had sent goosebumps to arise on your skin and shivers to course through you; it wasn't from the coldness of the December bite this time.

Your breath hitched harshly when her warm hand was placed onto your back. You assumed she noticed by the way you heard her smile once more. You lifted the necklace out of the box and did as you were instructed. A gentle cry wracked your body at the picture stored in it.

"Cordelia, this is so beautiful," You said. A picture of a simple yet heart stopping day at the academy looked up at you. It was of Cordelia hugging you from behind with her lips pressed against your cheek. It was certainly the most intimate she had ever been with you and Zoe was great enough to capture a picture of it.

"I- I don't even know what to say," you wiped away the tears off your cold cheek and eventually looked over at her. The look she gave you was the moment you knew your heart would never feel the same as it did in this moment. It was the closest you'd ever be to her and it made you feel a way that most people don't ever get to experience.

"You don’t have to say anything. Let me put it on you," her voice ever so gentle, she picked it up out of your hands and you lifted your hair to give her a clear view.

Her fingertips brushed against the back of your neck, causing your body to twitch in the slightest. She clipped it and it nicely draped over your chest. She relaxed her hand against your shoulder, other hand grabbing your locks of hair and running her fingers through them. "It's look gorgeous on you," she whispers against the shell of your ear. Her lips are so close that the softness rubs against your ear.

You gulped down the urge of lean forward and figure out how they would feel against your own lips. Finally, you find that tiny voice in the back of your throat that allows you to speak, "I wish I brought your present with me. It's back at the house."

"You could give me another gift right here to hold me off," Cordelia smirked

"Oh really? And what would that be?" You watched as a wave of emotions crashed across her face. She hesitated to speak and her cheeks turned a deeper shade of pink.

"Cuddle with me?" Innocence took over. She was nervous. She could've admitted everything right there, right then. But she didn't. So it was clear to you that you're feelings were not reciprocated. She asked you for such a simple, sweet thing and you couldn't deny her. You wouldn't deny her of anything.

"You're lucky that i'm very cold right now," You decided to take over the teasing roll. She bit her lip, holding herself back from the wide smile that would've taken up her whole face.

She got under the covers and you followed, the merky light being turned off with a flick of her wrist. Her arm came back around and draped over your waist. Gratefully, you weren't faced towards her; she couldn't see the single pathetic tear roll down your face. However, as silence beat by with your racing heart that never seemed to slow, she could certainly feel that something was amiss

Light illuminated the room once more. You closed your eyes to try and block it out when you really just thought you would be able to get away from here if you did. It was too much. These emotions, this closeness; it was all consuming you.

"What's wrong," Cordelia asked, and if she spoke any lower, any softer, you were certain that you wouldn't have heard it. As if you didn't; you failed to respond to her. You didn't know what to say, you didn't even know what was entirely wrong. "Hey, look at me please."

She grabbed your shoulders and turned your body around for you. You didn't look at her; refused to open your eyes. But she hadn't asked you to. Because if she had; you would. You would climb into a cage of hungry gorillas if she asked you to. You always want to please her in any way you possibly can.

"Please talk to me," she softly exhaled through her nose, waiting and waiting for you to finally brake this barrier that you had. She would wait eternity for you.

You simply shook your head. "I feel like," she began to lightly cry, "like you always have this wall up around you. Like no matter what I do, no matter how close we are, there's this part of you that's hiding."

Hiding my heart. I'm hiding my heart because i'm so terrified that you'll shatter it. But a part of you argued, she’s too gentle. She never hurt you before.

“I’m sorry,” You said simply, and you were. You were sorry for yourself, too, that you have to feel so strongly about your supreme. It was pathetic. “I’m sorry. I care about you a lot. I guess i’m just guarded,” you reached up and cupped her cheek, letting a hot tear slide down your own.

“Well don’t be. Not around me. I want all of you.” You could’ve sworn, or it was just your tired brain hallucinating, that she started to lean in closer. I want all of you, she said, but you knew she could never want the real you. She wanted all of this person that you’d pretended to be to mask your true feelings.

“You don’t..”

“I do. Do you want me to show you?”

You nodded again, slow and hesitant. You wanted whatever she would give you but you were afraid you wouldn’t be able to possibly handle it. Within seconds her lips came crashing down onto yours, desperateness nearly dripping out of her mouth.

She hovered over you but her sudden weakened arms were hardly able to hold herself up without quivering. The budding love for her passionately spread all over your body like vines growing on it’s home. Somewhere, in your dazzling haze of soft vanilla flavored lips molding against yours, had you let out an ungodly sound that made your cheeks turn the exact shade of red as the rugged floor.

She pulled back, looked down at you and smiled. You wanted to say so many things but could not build the courage after she had felt your strong desires for her. She sat back on her legs but kept a hand on the sliver of skin on your abdomen from your night shirt slightly rising. Just so you could feel that she was still there.

“You’re trembling,” was all she said, looking proud that she had shaken you up in the most exhilarating way that she possibly could. Her fingers began to move in slow circles on the soft flesh of your stomach.

“Kiss me again,” came out as a mere whisper, “please.”

She did just that. She wasn’t going to deny you of anything when you were so desperate for her. But she didn’t kiss your lips, it was your neck. And then your clothes were throw somewhere in room and her lips were everywhere elsewhere. “Please don’t ever stop.”

“I’ll never stop loving you,” Cordelia admits, and comes back at to look you dead in the eye. You gasp, feeling her soft skin brush against yours. “As for this,” her finger is drawing patterns on your chest as to which you cannot suppress the smile that creeps up on your face, “Well…I have all night with you for this.”

“Oh darling, I promise you’re stuck with me for life now.”

Her dark eyebrow raises at your sudden dominance, however, she new she would have you melted into a puddle again, within seconds if she pleased. “Hm, doesn’t sound like such a bad vow, my pretty girl.”

taglist: @loverofallthingssarah @goodeday2u @lanawinters-ily @tal @sapphicforsarahh @ahsfan05 @stayevildarling @isle-of-earle @cordithatgurl @mistysswampmud @billiedeansbitch @billiedeanspearls @cigaretteology @favoriteredhead @lovingsarah @cordeliass @citizenoftheworld-stuff-blog

message me or send an ask to be added to my taglist!

[tea-and-cardigans]

Lights Out - Harry x Macy - Hacy

25 days of (Hacy) Christmas

@fluffcember2019 challenge Day Four.

Day Four: Holiday Lights/Power Outage

Read on Ao3

“You don’t think it’s too much?” Macy asked her head tilted to the side as she admired the way the lounge had been filled with lights and ornaments. It was their first Christmas is Seattle and Macy wanted to make it as special (and traditional) as she could. Even if it would only be the four of them that would see it. 

“Not at all,” Harry replied, admiring her work, but Macy couldn’t help but feel he wasn’t being completely honest with her. And maybe she had gone a little overboard but with every ornament hung, each sprig of holly she could almost feel a calmness washing over her, and it the feeling had been slightly addictive. 

“Okay.” Macy said with a sigh and hands on her hips as she gave a final nod of approval at her handiwork. “Let’s flip the switch.”

Harry nodded and flipped the ‘switch’ on the powerboard. 

And for a brief moment it was glorious. The house bathed in a warm glow, alternate flashes of green and red, the lights hitting the sparkle of every ornament she had hung around the home. 

Until they was a final flash and the house plunged into darkness. 

Both Harry and Macy let out a little squeak, hands automatically reaching for the others, before their hearts slowed back down to a normal pace and breathing returned to normal, hands snatched away from each other in a rather awkward display. 

“I’m no electrician, Macy. But I think you may have short circuited the power.”

Macy’s hand lit up, a small ball of fire contained with her magic, lighting up the room. The light flickering across her face as she took a deep sigh. Of course the power had gone out. She had wanted to surprise Mel and Maggie when they came home. Give them something normal and without danger or consequence, something to enjoy as a family. 

But no, the higher powers whoever they may be had decided that they couldn’t even have this one thing. 

“Harry?” Harry looked up from the cupboard where he was currently gathering an armful of candles, which had been last used when they had vanquished the Enenra demon. “If we are ‘off the grid’ so to speak, how exactly are we going to get someone out to repair this?”

Harry paused for a moment thinking this through, “We will need to wipe their memory.”

“There isn’t a spell or something.” There was usually a spell of some kind. 

“The last time we tried mixing magic and electricity it didn’t exactly go in our favour.” Harry had told Macy about Mel’s experiment with magic while she had been captured by the Darklighter which had lead to the whole of Safe Space being plunged into darkness and Maggie being caught in an elevator with Jordan. 

“So we call an electrician?”

“I think it’s our only option.” Harry replied with a simple shrug of his shoulders, the candles shifting in his arms, threatening to topple over. 

“Okay you call the electrician.” Macy took the candles from his hands, balancing them in her own ams. “I’ll get on to lighting these.” 

Macy moved around the house, lighting the candles in each room, taking some comfort in the glow that they emanated, which caught the ornaments in a different way to the lights she had set up but it looked beautiful and almost magical nonetheless.

Harry came into the kitchen, muttering to himself, as he braced himself against the kitchen bench. 

Macy lit the final candle with a snap of her fingers and raised her eyebrows in question at Harry, who folded his arms across his chest.

“I’ve tried a few, the earliest I can get is tomorrow morning.” 

Macy sighed heavily. 

“How many lights did you put up?” Harry asked. 

Macy’s eyes drifted guiltily to the pile of powerboards and extension cords that were piled up in the lounge, which wasn’t even counting the ones that she had hooked up to run outside. 

“A few.” Macy answered, turning away from Harry to busy herself with something in the cupboard, “At least we still have this.” She said, holding up the stovetop kettle in her hand. She offered a smile, and Harry relented moving to the designated ‘tea’ cupboard to make his selection. 

She smiled to herself as they fell into a usual routine, having shared many cups of tea over the past months. 

Macy filled up the kettle with water before placing it on the stovetop, turning on the gas before a spark came from her forefinger, lighting up the stove. 

“You’re getting good at that.”

Macy jumped a little, at just how close he was, her hand resting on her chest as he gave a little chuckle. 

Harry held up two containers, “Earl Grey or Darjeeling?” 

Macy shifted her eyes between the two, “Earl Grey.” 

“Of course.” Harry said with a smile as he returned to the cupboard to retrieve two cups and their corresponding saucers. 

“Oh, wait-” Macy said quickly, moving to a drawer, pulling out two mugs. One in the shape of Jolly Old St Nick himself and another in the shape of a Snowman. 

Harry raised his eyebrows at the unusual tea drinking vessels. 

“It’s Christmas,” Macy reasoned, before Harry shrugged his shoulders placing his cups and saucers back in the cupboard and placing a tea bag in each of the novelty mugs. 

The kettle whistled loudly, before Macy took it back off the stove, clicking off the gas, and pouring the hot water into each cup. Noting how they both took their tea the same way. No milk, no sugar, just the tea, nothing added to impede it’s taste. Simple. 

“It’s a while, since we’ve done this.” Macy muses as she watches the tea bag seep into the water, watching Harry’s reaction carefully out of the corner of her eye.  

He looks up at her, giving a slight nod and Macy realises just how much she has missed it. To an outsider looking in it would be such a simple thing, sharing a cup of tea, but it had become a routine for them. A safe space where they could enjoy each other’s company without having to attach a label to it or reading more into it then friends sharing a brew. 

 It really had been too long. 

“Too busy saving the world,” he said with a small smile as he removed the tea bags and handed her her cup. 

She took a sip, the tea only slightly scalding her tongue, but she enjoyed the way it warmed her hands through the thick ceramic of the mug, almost like a warm comforting hug. 

“We should probably get that fire going,” Harry looks over the lounge where the fireplace is, covered with a number of ornaments and four stockings have been hung. 

Macy gives a nod of her head and puts her mug on the counter to assist Harry with moving the logs into place, they are both so particular about their placement to create the perfect foundation that they work together almost seamlessly with little spoken communication. Once the groundwork is laid Macy produces a small fireball in her hand which she puts onto the fire and it springs into life. The warmth of the fire hitting them both head on, before they retrieve their cups of hot tea and settle in near the fire. 

Macy caught Harry looking around the lounge, a smile spreading across his lips. “It really does look beautiful Macy, even without the lights.”

Macy braced herself with her arms behind her leaning back and taking in her own handiwork, “Thanks Harry.”

“Maggie will love it.” He tells her, his hand reaching out and settling on the floor next to her own. She can’t help but notice the proximity and wonder whether it is intentional, how if she just stretched out her little finger it would reach his. Whether a simple gesture could change everything. 

“Mel will too, although she would never admit it,” he adds with a small chuckle and she swears his hand is closer than before. 

And then the temptation is too much and her hand moves ever so slightly so that it brushes against the back of his hand, the slightest of touches before she rests it against the floor, her fingers barely touching his, but the movement catches his attention and he is looking up at her in a way she’s become familiar with. 

A look that is hopeful and full of trepidation at the same time. 

And she finds herself leaning in as he does, the distance closing between them, under the steady glow of firelight. 

“I’m home!” Maggie announces loudly as she opens the front door causing Macy and Harry to snap back from each other at the interruption. 

“Oh my gosh, this place looks amazing. Oooh look at these stockings.” 

And not for the first time (or the last) Macy is cursing Maggie for her timing as she feels the moment drift away from her. 

The powers that be must really have it out for her.

[crimsonheart01]

I Won’t Believe It’s Christmas Til You Walk Through That Door (Angel x OC)

On the first day of Christmas, my true love gave to me some Angel and an OC. 

Word Count: 3,263

Playlist: It’s Not Christmas Til You Come Home – Norah Jones

I sighed, leaning back in my seat. I watched through the small airplane window as the last of the passengers filed onto the plane. The late afternoon sun was shining bright, illuminating the crisp winter air. I shivered at the thought of the temperature outside. I tugged at the scarf around my throat, folding it into a makeshift pillow.

Tomorrow was Christmas. I was cutting it close, but it was the earliest I could get out of work. I knew that no matter what Papa would be grateful to have me. I wasn’t scheduled to touchdown until late in the night and I hadn’t told Papa I was making the trip. It was a surprise. Him and abuela had been alone for so long now. They deserved a Christmas surprise.

Not to mention, there was one more person I was hoping to catch up with. Someone who I hadn’t heard from yet. I knew he’d come through. He never missed a year. Christmas was his best kept secret. The only time of year that he let his sentimentality rule his emotions. It was the one time of year that I could always count on hearing from him. It was the only time that either of us acknowledged that there may have been something between you. Something that we never fully gave a chance.

I shuffled around in my seat, getting comfortable when I felt my phone buzz. I reached into my pocket and a grin formed as I saw his name lit up on my screen. I tapped in my password and opened the message.

“I wish you could be here, cariña”

I smiled down at the text. It was simple. To the point. He was being a little more forthcoming this year. Voicing that he missed me. In what context, I wasn’t completely sure. But, at least I knew he was thinking of me. Above all we were friends. Maybe even best friends. Ones that only spoke once a year, but I knew that if I ever ran into him, it would be like nothing changed.

I typed in my reply but before pressing send, I had a thought. Maybe I could hand out more than one surprise visit this year. I was only going to be in town for three days. I had a flight back to New York the day after Boxing Day. I wondered if he still spent Christmas alone. Or if he finally forgave his Pops enough to spend the day with him.

Another shiver ran down my spine. This time one that had a completely different meaning. Maybe this was our year. It’d been almost five years since I’d been back to Santo Padre. Life in the big city always took over. Skype sessions with Papa and a yearly text were all I had during the holiday season. Resolved in my decision, I shut my phone off. Instead of a text, he’d be getting the real deal.

~(MMC)~

I glanced down at my wrist, checking the time. It was almost midnight. The cabbie raced down my hometown streets. I soaked in all the décor. It’d been a long time since I’d experienced Christmas without snow and cold. I let the warm air flow through the open window. I breathed in, the dry dessert air familiar and welcomed.

It wasn’t long before the taxi was turning onto my street, pulling to a stop in front of my childhood home. I bit down on my lip, trying to hide my grin. Papa had all the traditional decorations up. The entire house ordained with colourful lights and poinsettias. I laughed when I saw the ancient plastic Santa head hanging from the screen door.

I handed over some cash to my driver, thanking him and giving him a generous tip. It was Christmas after all. I ducked out of the cab, grabbing my duffel bag. I hoisted it up over my shoulder and skipped up the steps to the front door. I breathed in, opened the screen and knocked on the door. I was sure to use the special knock Papa and I came up with when I was little girl.

I waited, hearing rustling behind the door. I leaned over to the front window, hoping to catch a glimpse of Papa before he got to the door. I saw as he shuffled through the house, not noticing me. He ripped the door open, a scowl on his face.

“Papa!” I greeted, opening my arms to him.

He stared at me in silence, before realization dawned and he gathered me into his arms.

“Mija!” He said, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “What are you doing here?”

I laughed, “It’s Christmas and I missed you.”

He hugged me again, before turning and yelling out to abuela. We both laughed at her less than enthused answer but she still obliged him and came to the door. Grumbling the whole way, and cursing Papa for waking her up. When she finally looked up, tears sprang into her eyes.

“Mi corazon.” She whispered.

I walked over and embraced her. How had I let it get so long since I’d been home. I wouldn’t do this again. I’d be coming back every year. Papa and abuela deserved it.

“Ok, come on.” I clapped my hands together, “It’s late, we’ll have all day tomorrow to catch up. Let’s get to bed.”

We all said our goodnights. Papa led me to my old room and kissed my cheek before retreating back into his own room. I sighed. Papa would never show it, but I knew he was sporting a tear or two. He was a sentimental man. Abuela winked at me as she closed her door and I chuckled.

I stripped out of my day clothes and stepped into a pair of sweats and a vest. I skipped my regular nighttime routine in favour of plugging in my charger and setting my phone on the side table next to my bed. I climbed under the blankets and rolled onto my side. I attempted to fall asleep but I couldn’t help the guilt that was welling up.

I spent the whole plane ride trying to forget about the text. It hadn’t worked at all. It was all I thought about. Disappointing him. I couldn’t break our tradition. I exhaled and grabbed my phone. I opened the message from him. I couldn’t leave him hanging.

“Merry Christmas, mi amor.”

I pressed send and shut the screen off. There. Tradition kept alive. Pet names and all.

~(MMC)~

I woke up the next morning to the smell of abuela’s traditional Christmas breakfast. I rolled out of bed, grabbed my old housecoat and made my way into the kitchen. One of my favourite things to do during the holidays was help abuela with cooking and baking. Since being in New York, I missed out on all the home cooked meals and baked goods.

“What can I do to help?” I asked as I entered the kitchen.

Abuela waved me away, “Nada. Sit. It’s almost finished.”

I smiled, squeezed her shoulder and pressed a kiss to her temple as I passed. I pulled out the nearest chair and settled in. Within minutes, abuela was spooning out heaping portions of breakfast for both myself and her.

“Papa still a late sleeper?” I joked.

She rolled her eyes, confirming.

The two of us enjoyed our meal, speaking intermittently, waiting for Papa to finally grace us with his presence.

Finally – after an hour – Papa woke up. Groggy and disgruntled. We both laughed at his expense, but served him something to eat. The three of us sat around the table, catching up on everything from New York to Santo Padre.

“Ezekiel Reyes’ been around a lot more lately.” Papa mentioned causally.

I furrowed my brow, “Isn’t he supposed to be in prison?”

Abuela shrugged, “They let him out early. Something about the case not holding or good behaviour. I don’t know.”

I raised an eyebrow. I didn’t believe her for a second. She was gossip. Knew everyone’s business for at least three towns over.

“How’s Felipe? The shop?” I asked.

Papa nodded, “Good. Felipe has managed to keep everything a float. He’s been scarce in the community, but still open for everyone.”

“Angel’s even taken to coming back around to visit the old man too.” Abuela added.

I smirked at her, knowing exactly what she was doing. She was fishing. She wanted to know if I’d kept in contact with the other Reyes brother. She always did like him.

“Does that mean they’ve settled their differences then?” I countered.

Abuela frowned. I was beating her at her own game. I chuckled before picking up the plates and taking them over to the sink. I began washing the dishes, helping out in any way I could. Papa brought up the rest of the dirty dishes, placing them beside me. He gave me a quick one armed hug before retreating to the bathroom.

Abuela continued to sit at the kitchenette table. Clearly mulling over something. I waited. If she was going to say something, she’d do it in her own time. I zoned out, washing, drying and putting away all our dishes and packing away the leftovers.

Once all was clean, abuela motioned for me to join her again.

“Yes?” I questioned as I sat down.

She sighed, “He’s alone. Every year. Spends Christmas alone.”

I reached out and held her hand, “I know. I hoped he’d forgive Felipe, but it seems he never did.”

“You should go to him.” Abuela suggested, “You were always such good friends.”

I began to shake my head, “I couldn’t leave you and Papa. I just got here. I came here for you. Not him.”

Abuela laughed, “Mi Corazon, you can’t fool me.”

I rolled my eyes, “Fine. I toyed with the idea of going to see him tomorrow. Not today, tomorrow.”

Abuela smiled and stood, she plucked the car keys off the hook and tossed them to me.

“Go.” She directed, “My son and I can manage to spend another Christmas alone together.”

I caught the keys and stared at her. She couldn’t be serious. I opened my mouth to protest but she wouldn’t let me.

She pointed to my room, “Get dressed, stop at the grocery and get him some of the essentials. Lord knows what a bachelor lives like.”

I laughed at that. I stood up and wrapped her up in a tight hug. I guess I was making an early visit to my old friend.

~(MMC)~

I stood on his front doorstep wondering if this would be a welcome surprise. I breathed in before knocking on the door. I waited for someone to answer but no one came. I knocked again and nothing. I frowned. He wasn’t home.

I turned, about to leave when I remembered where he kept the spare key. A thought formed and I wasn’t about to turn away after making it this far. I placed the brown paper bag down on the ground and reached up into the awning above the front window. There was a tiny slot where the eaves trough met the awing that he stored his key in.

On my tiptoes, I felt around until I found the key, plucking it out and shoving it into the lock. I inched open the door, calling into the seemingly empty house. There was no returned greeting so I shrugged and let myself in.

I made my way to the kitchen, dropping the bag onto the counter and unloading the little bit of groceries I could rummage up on Christmas day in a small town. It was lucky that there was one grocery that stayed open all year round.

If I remembered correctly, he was never good at keeping food in the house. I opened the refrigerator door and was welcomed by a sour smell. I gagged, covering my mouth and nose. I found the source of the smell, and poured the curdled contents of what was supposed to be milk down the drain.

I began putting all the fresh produce and essentials into the fridge. Lost in my own world, I was bent down when a firm hand landed on my shoulder catching me off guard. I screamed, jumping backwards and spinning to be faced with someone unfamiliar.

The man before raised his gun and asked, “Who the fuck are you?”

“Who are you?” I countered, as equally confused as he was.

My heart was pounding. I kept a weather eye on the gun, but wasn’t scared. Only startled. I knew the kind of company he kept. I made a show of lowering my hands. The man watched but never moved.

“You’re not Angel.” I observed.

“No.” He deadpanned.

I rolled my eyes, “Where is he?”

“Who are you?” He reiterated.

I sighed, “An old friend.”

The guy raised his eyebrows. Without the gun budging, he let go with his right hand and delved into one of his pockets. He pulled out a phone, tapped the screen and dialled. I relaxed a bit, leaning back into the counter behind me. There was a tense silence between us, only the rings through the speaker on his phone heard.

The person on the other end picked up and he cut right to the chase, “You need to come home. Now.”

I rolled my lips together, realizing he’d called Angel. I fought the sigh of disappoint brewing. So much for the warm homecoming. Now it would all be ruined. ‘Ruiner of all things Christmas’ hung up his phone and flicked his head in the direction of the living room. I pushed off the counter and made my way to the couch.

I sat down in a huff, crossing my arms. Guy who had yet to introduce himself sat across from me and placed his gun down on the table. Facing me. There was another long moment of complete silence, both of us staring at the other, when he finally spoke.

“Coco.” He pointed to himself.

I nodded, “Araceli.”

He nodded in acknowledgement, before the silence set in again. If it really was Angel on his way here, it wouldn’t take him long to get here. My heart began to pound. When it was me surprising him, not knowing when he’d be there, I wasn’t scared. Now I was terrified. What if he didn’t want to see me. This was a drastic change to our repertoire.

Would he be angry? Did he have a girl? It’d been five years after all. Not to mention we never made ourselves official. It’s not like I’d been waiting around for him in New York. I couldn’t expect him to have remained single this whole time either.

We both turned at the sound of the Harley engine. It was right outside. I breathed in. This was it. This was the moment where I could alter the balance between us forever. Coco kept an eye on me, watching my reaction carefully. I tried to school my expression, knowing that I must look petrified. He seemed intrigued.

I listened to the heavy footfalls as they approached the door. The door opened and I sucked in a breath, holding it.

“When I said you could crash here; I didn’t think you’d need me to babysit you too.” Angel quipped as he stepped through the threshold. “Why did you need me – “ Angel stopped in his tracks. 

He’d finally looked up, glancing over Coco’s head and spotting me. I blinked, several times, trying to process my own feelings.

“Cee?” Angel questioned.

I nodded, offering a timid smile.

“What…?” He trailed off, seeming to not know what exactly to ask.

I shrugged, lifting my hands half heartedly and tilting my head, “Surprise.”

In the midst of our awkwardness, Coco had switched seats. Now sitting to my left, in the chair, able to watch us both at the same time.

Angel swallowed, “You’re here?”

“Yeah.” I confirmed.

“Huh.” Was all he said.

There was a long moment where Coco and I both waited for Angel react.

“Coco,” Angel spoke again. Coco looked at him, “You’re gonna have to find somewhere else to sleep.”

I arched an eyebrow and glanced at the other man. If I wasn’t mistaken, I caught a discreet smirk on Coco’s mouth. He nodded, stood up and made his way to the door. Angel stood in the same spot, never moving, not even after Coco had left and the door shut behind him.

“How long?” He asked.

I exhaled, “I leave the day after tomorrow.”

Angel nodded, licking his lips. Without any warning, Angel was across the living room and pulling me up off the couch. His hands were wrapped around my upper arms as he drew me up to him. I swallowed. Angel leaned in, capturing my mouth with his. I melted into him. There was nothing better than to be kissed by him. He was overpowering. Taking complete control.

I forgot how much taller he was than me and lifted up onto my tiptoes. I looped my arms around his neck, smoothing my hands across the plains of his shoulders. Our tongues explored each other’s mouths. Reacquainting themselves with trails long since travelled. His hands dipped down to my hips, fitting perfectly against them. My fingers inched up into his hair, reveling in how soft it still felt.

Nothing had changed, yet everything was different. The definition of the muscles in his back more pronounced. His biceps larger than they once were. I scratched through his beard. That was new too. My baby faced Angel was no where to be seen. I slid my hands down the leather cut he wore. He’d still be prospecting last time I was in town. Looks like he was fully patched now.

Angel skimmed a hand across my stomach, causing shivers to shoot down my spine. I shuddered into him and he chuckled, breathless. We pulled apart, resting our faces against the other. I closed my eyes. He still smelt the same. Still fit between the arch of my arms perfectly. His hands still calloused and rough. I bowed my head, letting go of all worries – all thoughts. I was here now. With him.

With two fingers under my chin, Angel brought my face back up to his, pressing his lips against mine lightly and then framing my face with his hands. I turned to my left and planted a firm kiss to the palm of his hand. We took a moment to catch our collective breaths. There was so much to be said but neither of us sure where to start.

Oddly enough, there was one thing I needed to voice.

“Your friend – Coco – is frightening.” I murmured.  

Angel chuckled, “Yeah.”

“He pulled a gun on me.” I continued.

Another laugh, “He’ll do that.”

I rolled my eyes.  Angel had more important things on his mind than to be discussing one of his hermanos. It didn’t matter that the man kept a gun trained on me the entire time he was in my presence. It was unnerving.

Sensing that my mind was beginning to reel in the opposite direction, Angel tugged me forward and cuddled me into his chest.

“Come on,” He mumbled, “We only have 48 hours to make up for lost time.”

I laughed, loud and bright. I grabbed his face and pulled it back to mine. No matter how things ended this time, I wouldn’t be leaving without telling this man exactly how I felt about him.

[hollyhock13]

All I Want for Christmas is You

AN:  This is for @nerdkate88‘s prompt “First Christmases / First Christmas traditions / How Christmas evolved for the Waynes” for the Batfam Christmas Stocking exchange on Tumblr and AO3. Special thanks to @ursapharoh05 for helping me get this done and presentable. 

 Alfred planned for this Christmas as any other.  He, with his army of caretakers, bakers, decorators, and otherwise titled helpers, had once again transformed Wayne Manor into a cheerful vestibule of holiday cheer.  Never mind that it had all gone to waste again this year.

 He tries to banish that thought from his mind.  No, he has done his job, and he has done it well.  As valet to the only remaining Wayne, it is vital that he oversee the remaining details.  The phone rings. He answers it as he has done so many times prior. The conversation with the planner executing this year’s charity gala goes exactly as expected, and Alfred rests the handset back in its cradle to end the call.  He sighs as he mentally calculates the tasks that remain. Once, he had forgotten among the holiday to-dos to complete some of his less flashy but more important tasks. He doesn’t forget anymore.

 As he adds “pay the party planner” to his list for tomorrow, the doorbell rings.  Alfred reviews his list of expected personnel and finds he is quite correct in not expecting any until tomorrow at the earliest.  Most don’t work on Christmas, regardless of religious affiliation, as it is a national holiday. Alfred hesitates just a moment before moving toward the door to peek out the window.

 A huddled mountain of clothing and skin red from the cold greets his cautious eyes.  Perhaps a homeless man or woman who has heard that the Waynes are kind to such persons down on their luck.  Perhaps a criminal meaning to catch him off-guard and rob them blind. Or—he catches himself before he can dwell on that particular thought.  This requires a decision, and a quick one. He makes up his mind and reaches for the lock. He is Alfred Pennyworth, of Her Majesty’s Special Forces. He can take any ruffian who might be at the door. He turns the handle and faces his unexpected guest.

 A pair of familiar blue eyes blink down at him.  “Alfred?”

 “It can’t be.”

 “It’s me.”

 “You’ve grown.”

 A half-sob and a laugh.  “Yes. May I come in?”

 Alfred steps to the side.  “You may as well. It is your house, after all.”

 The mountain of a human being that has revealed itself to be Bruce Wayne takes a step inside the door.

 “May I take your coat, Sir?”  Alfred asks his once-charge with a lump in his throat.

 The smile that has been flirting with the corners of Master Bruce’s mouth flees.  “I—. Yes, thank you. How—how have you been, Alfred?”

 “My health has been adequate.  And yours?” He doesn’t mention how he feels he has aged ten years for every moment his young charge had been gone.

 “Mine has been the same.”  Bruce doesn’t mention the scars that Alfred can see now litter his arms with the removal of his (inadequate) coat.

 “Where have you been?” Alfred asks around the lump in his throat that has only grown.

 “Everywhere,” Bruce replies.  “I’ve set foot on every continent.  I’ve learned languages and techniques from all over the world.  I’ve eaten local foods in over a dozen different countries and not one of them can hold a candle to your cooking.”

 Alfred doesn’t point out that most of their food is prepared by a professional chef.  “Is that so, my boy?”

 Bruce seems to crumble at the familiarity.  “It’s true. I’ve learned hundreds of fighting techniques, but never to kill.  I’ve got a plan, Alfred, to help the city.”

 The butler gathers his boy into his arms.  “Can it wait until after Christmas?”

 “...Yes.”  And it does.

   Dick has never seen so many presents in his life.  There’s gotta be a hundred, no, a THOUSAND of them!  He stares at them for all of twenty seconds before he’s attempting to climb the pile.

 “Master Richard, it will be much easier to open your gifts if you are not dependant on them for structural stability,” Alfred says.

 Dick frowns and slides down the pile.  “      My     gifts?  They’re not for everybody?  What about you and Bruce?”

 Alfred points to two much smaller piles under one of the smaller trees.  “They wouldn’t fit under the tree,” he laments.

 Dick is satisfied by this answer and goes back to ogling the mountain of presents instead.  “How many do you think there are?” he asks in awe.

 “Many.  I do believe Santa got a little carried away this year.”  Alfred and Bruce exchange a look that Dick doesn’t understand.  “Shall we begin?”

 Dick nods eagerly and the two men watch him tear into the shiny gift wrap.  The pile of wrapping paper grows in proportion to the pile of unwrapped gifts.

 Dick starts to wane about halfway through the enormous pile, so they take a break for hot cocoa (and coffee) with cookies and breakfast.  Dick stuffs an entire handful of marshmallows into his mug. Alfred joins him in giggling at Bruce’s whipped cream mustache. The chocolate chip pancakes with a smiley face are the best thing he’s ever seen!

 The rest of the presents are unwrapped quickly without much attention paid to what is inside.

 Long after the pile of presents has been exhausted, Dick climbs into Bruce’s lap.  “Bruce?”

 “Yeah, Chum?”

 “Thanks.”

 “Sure, Chum.”

 The sniffle is unexpected, and Dick tries to play it off.

 “Chum?  Are you alright?”

 “Yeah, I just got a cold.”  It’s a lie and they both know it.

 “Did you not get something you wanted?” Bruce asks quickly.

 “No, it’s not that.”  Another sniffle escapes, then a sob.  “Do you still miss yours?” Dick asks before he can stop himself.

 Bruce takes a moment to think.  “Yes,” he answers honestly, “every day, but especially for big moments like this.  But it gets easier after a while.”

 Dick turns his face into Bruce’s shoulder to muffle the next sob.  “I want them back!” he cries. “I don’t want it to be easier, I want them back!”

 “I know.”  The day doesn’t get any easier, but they do manage to enjoy some of it.  Dick goes to bed with one of his new stuffed animals tucked under his arm, and one of his old ones tucked under the other.

     The best thing about Christmas is the food, Jason thinks. Cookies and turkey and ham and pie and mashed potatoes and as much gravy as he can fit on his plate make for a happy boy.  Even better, though, are the abundance of fruit and vegetables. Everything from corn, peas, and green beans to oranges, apples, and pomegranates!  If he tries, he thinks he can put every color in the world on his plate. He’s even pretty sure that Alfie will let him if he wants to try. He takes some of everything, and he refuses to leave the table until he’s finished his plate, though not for lack of trying on Bruce’s part.

 “Jay-lad!  Don’t you want to come play with some of these?”

 A shake of his head.  There’s collard greens too!

 “My boy!  Look at this helicopter!”

 Oh ho ho!  There’s a whole drumstick left! Score!

 Bruce sighs in defeat.

 Jason is starting to slow down, but he's still eating even though he’s starting to think he's going to make himself sick.  And then he takes a bite of the cauliflower. He makes a face, gags, and takes another bite.

 “Jay, if you don't like it you don't have to finish it.”

 Jason nods and takes another painful bite.

 “Jay, nothing bad is going to happen if you don't eat the cauliflower.”

 “What if we get hungry later and I didn't eat it and it goes to waste?” Jason demands.

 “Then we'll get some different food,” Bruce replies.  “There will never be a shortage of food in this house.

 “But mom says…” the boy trails off and clamps his mouth shut.

 “What does your mom say?”

 “She says to eat when we got food. To save the cans and stuff for when it's bad, but never let it go to waste.”

 “That's a good philosophy, buddy, but the truth is that we made enough so that we could have leftovers. There's no way we can eat it all tonight.”

 “Then what are we going to do with it?!” Jason demands, surveying the feast.

 “We're going to wrap it up and put it in the fridge and the freezer to keep it good,” Bruce assures.  “It will be almost as good as if we ate it right this second and it keeps us from getting too full.”

 “How can you be sure the electricity will stay on, though?” Jason demands.

 “Because we pay our bill in full and on time every month.  It won't be a problem.”

 “Mom said she payed it sometimes too, and then the lights went out anyway.” Jason stares at the remaining mound of food on his plate as frustrated tears leak from his eyes.

 “How about we put it in the freezer? That way, if the power does go out, we can get it connected again before it thaws completely.”

 Alfred nods in agreement when Jason looks at him for confirmation.   Jason nods slowly. “Okay.”

 “Alright, let's get some of those leftover containers.  Do you know where they are?” Bruce asks Jason.

 He shakes his head and Alfred steps in.  “Allow me, young masters.”

 Alfred disappears for a few minutes and returns with stacks of Tupperware.  “Shall I inform you how to fill these properly?” He asks.

 Bruce and Jason both nod.  After a quick demonstration, the younger ones start enthusiastically filling containers.  The mountain of containers is a mountain of packaged food in under a half hour. Bruce and Jason are very pleased with themselves as they ferry food to the chest freezer that Alfred keeps for such occasions.  Jason warms up a little after that.

     Her funeral was held on Christmas Eve, and her husband wasn’t there.

 Tim doesn't cry at the funeral, or when they get home.  He goes to bed.

 Dick spends the night at the manor, though whether he's there for Tim or Bruce is anyone's guess.

 Christmas morning dawns quietly at Wayne Manor, with nobody up and about, not even Alfred.  Tim wakes first, as the others stayed up for patrol. He doesn't want to encounter anyone, so instead of heading for the tree and the gifts piled there he turns toward the kitchen for a glass of water and maybe some toast.

 It takes him a moment to find a glass, and then another to find bread and a toaster. He's never been in this kitchen without another person before, and it seems colder, more clinical than it ever had before.  Tim realizes he doesn't want to be alone. He leaves the bread toasting in the toaster and heads back up the stairs.

 Tim pauses at the top.  He'd been seeking company, but he realizes now that he's not sure whose company he should be seeking. Bruce is not someone he wants to disturb for any reason. Alfred works so hard all the time, he doesn't want to disturb his rest.  And Dick, he hardly knows Dick for all that he's admired him from afar for so long. He stands there, paralyzed by indecision and what feels like tears building in his eyes.  “Why now?” Tim mutters to himself as he presses his hands to his eyes.

 “Tim?” Asks a voice from somewhere beyond the colors blooming against his eyelids.

 He drops his hands instantly to see Dick Grayson bending to look him in the eyes.  “You alright, kiddo?”

 Tim nods woodenly.

 Dick offers him a soft smile.  “You know, I've always found that opening gifts is a pretty good way to distract myself from the unpleasantness in the world, at least for one morning.”

 Tim takes the suggestion as what it is: a tentative offer for some comfort through material things.  He nods.

 Dick's smile gets a hundred times brighter, but before Tim can regret agreeing to this odd form of retail therapy, Dick has taken him by the arm and dragged him into Bruce's room without knocking.

 “Psst.  Bruce. It's Christmas.”

 Bruce checks the alarm clock on the table with the one eye he's cracked open at the stage whisper.  “I'm tired, Dick. We can start Christmas later.”

 “Tim's here too.”

 That gets a bigger reaction.  Bruce rolls over to squint at the two of them.  Tim thinks that he must look really quite pathetic because Bruce sighs and begins making motions to get up.  “Fine. I'll be down in ten minutes. Don't bother Alfred if you don't have to.”

 Dick chirps, “Okay!”

 He drags Tim out of Bruce's room  and back to the room where he had spent the night.  “If you want to be wearing any clothes for the rest of the day, now is the time.”

 Tim blinks at that declaration.  Where might they be going? Are they planning to stay here?  He chews on his lip for a moment. Maybe this is a trick question and they really spend all morning in pajamas. He decides on putting on a warm hoodie over the top of his pajamas. He turns back to Dick, who is still grinning like he's won the lottery. Although, Tim thinks, considering the house they're both in, he kind of has.

 Dick quite literally pulls him out of his thoughts by taking his arm and tugging him toward the stairs.  “Come on, it'll be fun! Promise.”

 Bruce steps out of his room looking very tired.  Tim is immediately hit by guilt that effectively knocks him out flat.  Dick must notice something, because he turns to Tim with concern in his eyes.

 “You okay, Timbo?”

 That, of course, makes Bruce turn to survey him, and Tim is positive he can see every feeling Tim's ever hidden written right there in his face.  Tim nods to try and escape this scrutiny, but they only redouble their efforts.

 Bruce finally asks, “What is wrong, Tim?  Did Dick pressure you into this?”

 Dick squawks at the accusation but ultimately doesn't speak.  Tim shakes his head.

 “I'm sorry we woke you up,” he says instead, “I know you had a late night.”

 Bruce frowns.  “You're fine,” he says.  “You can always come to me.”

 “I--you're so busy, it's not--”

 “I'll always have time for you, Tim.  Would you like to go downstairs?”

 Tim nods.  “Yeah, I'd like that.”

   Damian is sulking.  He admits it only in his head, but he's quite certain this is what the word means.

 Richard is definitely sulking.  He is upset that his so called family are scattered around the globe: Cain in Hong Kong, Drake in Paris the last they had heard, and Todd wreaking havoc in Gotham but refusing any and all attempts at reconciliation (ridiculous though Damian himself may find the concept) and Father…  Father is dead. Damian tries not to dwell.

 He goes back to his sulking instead.  This is the most ridiculous holiday he has ever encountered.  Who makes a holiday based around family and gifts when there are people who have neither?  Damian scowls. This is ridiculous indeed.

 Grayson intrudes upon Damian's bedroom to greet him.  “Hi Li'l D. You ready for presents?”

 Damian scowls again.  “I am not. I did not realize I was expected to give you gifts in return,” he admits.  “I have no such offering for you or Pennyworth.” His cheeks burn.

 Grayson doesn't miss a beat.  “That's alright, little D. I've gotten a lot of presents in my day.  Maybe I can take you out shopping tomorrow for a present for Alfred in any case.”

 Damian nods slowly.  If he plans it correctly, he may also be able to pick a gift for Grayson.  “That would be acceptable.”

 Grayson gives him another one of his large grins.  “Great! Then come on down!” 

 Damian follows Grayson's bounds at a much slower pace.  He is quite certain that the man is performing for his sake, as he knows he had been upset to be rebuffed by his siblings.  Damian scowls again. Why had no one told him about the traditions of this holiday? If he had known he would at least have had a gift to offer Grayson as poor restitution.

 Damian looks up as they enter the entry hall.  He knows the large tree would only fit in this open area before the stairs where the ceiling doesn't close them in (it's a three story room), but he hadn't realized the space would be required for the      mountains     of gifts that had somehow been acquired without his knowledge.  The wrapping paper shines in the light from the tree.

 Grayson nudges him with a grin.  “It's pretty, right, Damian?”

 Damian closes his mouth with a snap.  “Tt. It is acceptable.” He regrets his words when it makes the smile on Grayson's face fade.  He turns to look at the gifts again to assuage his guilt. “To whom are these addressed?” He asks instead of trying to apologize.  That urge is just weakness, he reminds himself.

 “Well, some are for me, and some are for Alfie, and there are some for Cass and Tim when they get home, and a couple for Jason in case he decides to show up and a few for Babs and one or two for Stephanie…” Dick smiles at Damian's impatient scowl.  “But the majority are for you.”

 “Of course,” Damian sniffs, “you would be lost without me.”

 “Absolutely,” Grayson agrees.  “You ready to get started then?”

 Damian nods, and they begin.

   It's been a long year, Bruce thinks.

 Although, now that he thinks about it, it's been several long years.  Probably more than ten long years. He's quite certain he didn't know what he was thinking when he took in one child, let alone the FIVE who are now terrorizing what was supposed to be his lazy Christmas morning.

 “Damian, give that back!  It's mine and you know it!”

 “It was not addressed to anyone, Drake!  Grayson has informed me that that means it is a family gift!”

 “It only didn't have a name because it was from Cass!”

 A wrestling match breaks out on the other side of the room. He's not entirely sure who is involved until Cass emerges the victor with Dick pinned to the ground.  She grins and doesn't let him up until he looks properly defeated to her own inscrutable standards.

 Jason is tossing popcorn at Damian while he yells at Tim, attempting, as far as Bruce can tell, to get it to land in his hair. Damian whirls on him when a kernel lands in his ear. Jason is tackled and Tim takes the opportunity to snatch the gift that Damian had been trying to claim off the floor.

 Alfred approaches from the kitchen with a tray full of breakfast, which he passes off to the swarm of children. There is not a crumb left by the time it gets to Bruce.  He groans. “What have I done to deserve kids like this?” He asks in a tone dangerously close to a whine.

 “Oh, I don't think that is a question you want to ask, Master Bruce.  The real question is, what have I done to deserve this?” The question is said lightly, almost laughing so Bruce thinks it's a joke.

 A wrapped gift hits Bruce right in the belly and it isn't soft. “Hey! You next, old man!” Jason shouts across the room. The other kids stop fighting and gather around to watch.

 Bruce opens the gift with the wariness of someone expecting a prank.  The kids goad him on with cheers and shouts which do not ease his worry.

 The paper is removed to reveal a small box with a well-known jewelry company logo stamped across it.  He lifts the lid to see the ugliest watch on which he's ever laid eyes. He lifts it out of the package, not sure if this is some kind of mistake or joke.  But...Jason likes that style of watch band, and Damian would have insisted on the Roman Numerals on the face. Cass must have picked the garish gemstones and Dick would have liked the hideous color combinations.  He flips it over. There's Tim, in the practicality of a waterproof, atomic, and, he's certain, tech-infused watch.

 Bruce's eyes water.  These are his kids, how could he have been complaining?  It's still a hideous watch, but it was a gift. From and of his children.  Speaking of his children…

 “Well?”

 “Does he like it?”

 “I can’t tell.  Do you like it, old man?”

 “It's ugly!  I can't believe we've given Father an unattractive watch!  Father, I shall punish them all for their disgusting choices!”

 “Damian, I love it.  Please don't hurt your siblings.  Thank you. All of you. It's the best Christmas present I could have received.”  He turns away to keep the happy tears in his eyes from leaking out. He's content for almost thirty seconds.

 The silence is broken with a vengeance.

 “Pay up, you cowards!” Jason crows.  “I told you we could make him cry by giving him an ugly watch!  You all owe me fifty bucks! Except Cass, who you also owe fifty bucks.”

 The other three boys groan.  “I thought you meant tears because it was so ugly!” Dick complains.

 “Yeah, since when do sappy tears count?” Tim whines.

 Damian breaks in with, “The tears never fell!  You are claiming a false victory!”

 Another fight breaks out and Bruce sighs.  What did he do to deserve children like this?

[betweenandbeloved]

O Little Town of Bethlehem

What a great day. Today is a day I will remember for the rest of my life. There’s something magical about being here in this holy place just after Christmas and looking towards the preparation for Easter.

We spent the night in Bethlehem which, spoiler alert, is the place where Jesus was born! The earliest known reference to Bethlehem goes back to 1300 BCE when it was under Canaanite control.  Bethlehem is surrounded on three sides by the wall Israel is constructing around Palestinian territory.  

(The wall surrounding Bethlehem)

We traveled through Bethlehem to visit the Shepherds Field, the field/hills where it is likely the shepherds would have been when “an angel of the Lord appeared to them, and the glory of the Lord shown around them, and they were absolutely terrified.  But the angel said to them ‘Do not be afraid! Listen Carefully, for I proclaim to you good news that brings great joy to all the people: Today your Savior is born in the city of David. He is Christ the Lord’” (Luke 2:8-10).

(Looking over the field of the Shepherds)

It was quite moving to sit on the side of one of the hills, looking out over the land and imagining how beautiful it would have been without all the buildings, while singing Angels We Have Heard on High.  It’s not every day you get to sing the song in the place where it happened.

After spending some time in devotion and visiting the Chapel of the Shepherd’s Field, we had the opportunity to do some shopping at a shop owned by a Palestinian Christian family. More than 80% of the Christians of Bethlehem live off the tourism dollars so it was a privilege to give them our business. I bought an olive wood nativity set from Bethlehem - the one thing I wanted to bring home from this country.  Bethlehem is the only town that still makes olive wood items so this was a really special purchase.  I don’t have a picture of it so you’ll have to wait until I get home; but let me tell you, it is beautiful.

After some sustainable tourist shopping, we moved on to the Church of the Nativity to see the place where Jesus might have been/was born.  Let’s be real, no one can really be sure where exactly Jesus was born, but since the 4th Century CE when Constantine the Great and his mother Helena built the first church over the cave.  Over time it changed hands and today is a shared space between Catholic, Orthodox, and Armenian churches.

Just being near to the cave took my breath away and brought me to tears and going down into the cave was a moving experience.  The reality is, this could not be the place Jesus was born, and that’s okay because this place is a reminder of our faith and our belief in the God who came to us in human form in the lowliest of places.  Jesus is born every day in all of us. Every day that we wake up and proclaim the gospel in our thoughts, words, and deeds, Jesus comes again and again, through each and every single person.  Today I was reminded of this, and I hope it is a reminder to all of you.

(The place where it is believed Jesus was born)

After leaving the church we went over to Hebron, the Cave of the Patriarchs/Matriarchs (Christians), Cave of Machpelah (Jews), or Sanctuary of Abraham (Muslims). Today, this place is 37% Muslim Mosque and 63% Jewish Synagogue - a place of worship and study for both Jewish and Muslim people.  These holy places are home to the tombs of Abraham, Sarah, Esau, Leah, Jacob, Isaac, and Rebekah.  The actual tombs are in caves well below the foundation of the buildings, but monuments were erected above for people to admire and worship with.

(Looking up towards the Tomb of the Patriarchs)

99.9% of tourists don’t go to Hebron, probably out of fear.  It was not always a place of peace between Israeli’s and Palestinian’s, and even today there is still tension in the area.  It was fine for us to visit, but our tour guide was stopped and questioned before we could enter the Synagogue side of the building.  After viewing the caves we went through two checkpoints to get to the Mosque side.  The city of Hebron has 25 different checkpoints; 5 of which are around the Mosque and Synagogue.  

Despite seeing signs of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict firsthand, it was an amazing experience to visit both a Mosque and a Synagogue, actively in use, and right next to each other.  We removed our shoes going into the Mosque and the women were given capes to wear out of respect for the sanctity of the space.

We were running behind on time so we decided to switch up the schedule (again). At this point, I really don’t know what we are doing when because we’ve switched so many things around (which is totally fine!).  We decided to go into Jerusalem and visit the Israel Museum; the largest museum in the country.

The first part of the museum was a model of the old city of Jerusalem from 60 CE; roughly the way it would have looked in Jesus’ time.  The old city was truly beautiful, probably because Herod the Great built it.  I have to say, he was a jerk, but he built some beautiful cities.  Looking at the model we were able to point out the different places we will visit in the next few days and see what they looked like in Jesus’ time.  

(The model of Jerusalem in a 1/50 scale)

After spending a long time admiring the model, we went into the Shrine of the Book museum dedicated to the Dead Sea Scrolls.  The scrolls were originally written in Hebrew and Aramaic, a few in ancient Hebrew, a handful in Greek, and even a few in secret writing meant to conceal mysteries; I don’t know if they were ever translated or not.  The scrolls were a combination of parchment and a few on papyrus paper.  It was cool to see some of the actual scrolls on display, but they are really taking a beating after being exposed to the air. We weren’t allowed to take any photos of the scrolls, but if you can imagine writing on a piece of printer paper, dapping a tea bag across to make it look old, setting the edges on fire, and then rubbing the whole thing in ash - you’ve got a decent picture of what it might look like.

We ended the day at the Archaeological Museum looking at artifacts that were found at all the ancient sites we’ve visited over the last week.  There were lots of old pieces of pottery, lots of jewelry, and some actual pieces of buildings that were moved to the museum.  The original altar found at Beersheba was in the museum as well as the carved sone of a god from the city of Bethsaida in roughly 9-8th BCE.  These statues of gods would have been marked at the entrance to a city and visitors would need to make sacrifices to the god’s to show their intentions for entering the city.  We talked a lot about them when visiting the ruins over the last few days so it was really cool to finally see what they would look like.

(Cultic god from Bethsaida in 9th-8th Century BCE)

Today was pretty great, you’re getting more of the information side and less of the reflecting on how everything made me feel side, but I’ll work on getting that into a blog or sermon or conversation eventually.  As for right now, it’s time to figure out how to pack my bag with the souvenirs I bought today because we are moving to Jerusalem tomorrow to see more sites where Jesus did his thing!

[ms-maj]

Something For Ourselves

Happy Christmas @xoheatherkw  

A little something Bughead from your secret Santa; hope you enjoy!

Snow. The bane of holiday travel. Currently the bane of Betty Cooper’s entire existence.

And not just snow.

He’d said it. The one word that would ruin everything.

Nor’easter.

That stupid contraction that set to topple every single well-laid plan Betty had made for the next three days. Well, to be fair, they were mostly her mother’s plans. But for the first time in the six years they’d been together, Jughead was coming home with her.

Not that they didn’t travel together for the holidays every year, they did, but they’d spend Christmas Eve and morning with their respective families before meeting up at the Andrews later on Christmas day. This year, however, Jellybean had decided to spend her break with some friends in Aspen rather trek back to Riverdale. Because of this, FP also absconded, deigning his bones couldn’t take another year of the cold. He’d packed up all he could on his bike back in October and took off for sunnier skies.

She can still remember the look on Jughead’s face when he’d told her; lying on their bed, flannel-clad arm slung across his eyes, as he tried desperately not to let the hurt shine through. He’d talked about staying in the city, spending Christmas alone. And the fact that he hadn’t even thought she’d want to ask him to come with her, stung quite a bit more than she’d wanted to admit.

Finally, Betty had convinced him to come. Apparently, her enthusiasm for gingerbread building contests was enough to sway even the most disparate cynic. Or maybe it was when she’d admitted that she’d always wanted him with her. That even though they’d been living together for nearly three years, it wasn’t quite enough; that as crazy and manic and downright unpleasant as it could be with Alice Cooper at the helm, she wanted nothing more than for Jughead to dive into the fray with her.

“Betts?” Jughead placed his hand on her shoulder, catching the collar of her shirt between his thumb and forefinger. She felt the familiar tug as her eyes sought his, her lower lip nervously sucked between her teeth.

“Maybe it’s just a delay! I mean, my mom won’t be happy that she’ll have to push the candy-construction extravaganza back a few hours, but if we can get in at some point tonight…”

Jughead crooked his head to the side, an errant curl falling across his forehead as a sad smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Babe, I don’t think we’re going anywhere tonight,” he pulled the phone from his back pocket, grimaced at the screen and set in down on the coffee table next to them. “Or, in the foreseeable future from the looks of the forecast.”

“It’s so unfair, Juggie!” Betty felt herself deflate. “Sure, I wanted a white Christmas, but I wanted to be in Riverdale to enjoy it!” Jughead chuckled and dropped the hand that was still playing with the collar of Betty’s shirt. She couldn’t help the pout that seemed to overtake her face, but it was Christmas Eve dammit, and as the shrill ring of her phone cut through the room, she remembered the worst was yet to come.

Jughead leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on Betty’s forehead as the ringing started again. She watched him disappear behind the wall that separated their living room from their kitchen and heard the tell-tale signs of coffee being made. Smiling ever so slightly, Betty took a deep breath before answering her phone to the onslaught of questions lobbed by her mother.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“How’d she take it?” Jughead asked, leaning against the counter as he held the steaming cup to his lips. Betty’s head dropped forward, blonde hair dancing around her as it shook back and forth.

“Somehow, it’s your fault,” she crossed the few feet between them, grabbing her own festively emblazoned mug from the cupboard and filling it with the hot brew. Now standing next to him, she looked up to see the annoyance play across his face.

“Ah, yes, I can control the weather. And clearly it’s in my best interest to keep their youngest daughter away from family frivolities.”

Betty rolled her eyes as she made her way out of the kitchen and back to the living room. “Because you should care about being in their good graces. Jug, she didn’t care that we’re supposed to see unprecedented amounts of snowfall, she cared that she now had two extra gingerbread house kits and how long tomorrow they’d have to wait for us to try and arrive before they got on with their holiday.”

“That Alice really is a peach.” Jughead sat down on the couch next to her, placing his free hand on her knee and making gentle circles with his thumb. “Is that all she said?”

Betty’s silence was answer enough for him. “But that’s all that bears repeating,” she turned on the couch to face him, the worn floral jacquard scratching through her leggings. The cup twisted nervously between her palms, coffee sloshing up to the brim, never spilling over but forcing his attention to it and away from her face.

“Betty,” his hand slid from her leg to her hands, stilling the cup and the agitation that threatened to spill over. “Is it just about Christmas?”

Her head shook slightly.

“What’d she say this time?”

She felt his hand slide off of hers and in her periphery, could see the clenching of his jaw and the way his eyes squeezed shut, just a little tighter than usual. “No, Jughead. Whatever she says, doesn’t matter. I don’t care that the Cooper Christmas streak has been broken, I’m not upset that we won’t be there for Christmas Eve. I mean, I am, but that’s only because I finally got to share it with you.”

“Betts…”

“I knew you were upset, about your dad, and JB taking off for Christmas even if you didn’t say it in so many words. So I wanted to make this special for you. Remind you that you’ve got more family than you know.”

Betty set her cup down on the table and felt him shift beside her, when she turned back he was already off the couch and turning down the hall to their bedroom. She sighed. Pushing herself from the sofa she padded down the hall and stopped in the doorway of their room. She watched as he rifled through his bag before turning back to her and holding out a pair of pajamas adorned with Santa-hatted llamas.

“Put these on.”

“Jughead?” He crossed the room and put them in her hands.

“Betty, please don’t make this awkward and pretend like you didn’t get me something with penguins or jingle-bells,” When she couldn’t help the blush that crept up her cheeks, she laughed, stretching on tiptoe to place a gentle kiss on Jughead’s cheek. She had, in fact, bought him pajamas. And when she handed him the t-rex printed flannel set, she actually saw him smile.

“What are we doing, Jug?” He slipped his hand under her chin and tilted it up toward his face, before his lips covered hers, slowly, deeply.

“Our flight is effectively canceled. Nothing is getting in, or out, until tomorrow morning at the earliest,” he pulled away slightly before putting his lips to hers again. “So put those on and meet me in the living room in five.” He kissed her just about breathless again before slinking out of the room.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Alright Mister Jones,” Betty sashayed into the space in her new llama jammies and the warmest, fuzziest socks she owned. “Now what?”

Jughead smiled warmly as he beckoned her to join him on the couch. “I know missing Christmas is a big deal. Not just because your mom will use it against you for years to come, but because it means so much to you. Because your family means so much to you. The fact that you consider me family too, Betty, is just something that never ceases to amaze me.”

“Juggie,” she tried to interrupt but he pulled her into his lap instead. Immediately her arms snaked around his neck as his came to settle around her waist.

“While getting caught in a blizzard isn’t exactly my idea of a good time, we’re home, in our apartment and we’re still together. So it’s still a Christmas of firsts, and maybe, I don’t know we’ll find something tonight that we can carry forward, into future Christmas Eves.”  

Betty could feel the smile that threatened to take over her face. If she could bottle the warmth she felt radiating from him, or somehow contain that particular sparkle in his blue eyes whenever he nervously mentioned their futures, just for those days when his self-deprecation and anxiety threatened to overtake him, just to remind him those feelings are reciprocated.  “A tradition of our own,” she leaned forward and captured his lips with hers. “We’ve got out pajamas, what else did you have in mind?”

Jughead leaned his head against the cushion while Betty’s fingers played with the hair at the nape of his neck. “I know you’re not particularly fond of the horror genre, but, there are a plethora of cross-marketing delights in the holiday horror subgenre. I can almost guarantee you that not one of these films will be actually scary, and will still technically fill the quota for thematic film consumption.”

“You want to watch scary Christmas movies?” She questioned playfully. There really wasn’t a whole lot she wouldn’t do for this man. It had been a long road getting to where they were. It likely wouldn’t all be rainbows and butterflies from that point on either. So if he wants to spend Christmas Eve in his pj’s, watching horrible films, damn right you’re going to find Betty Cooper curled up by his side. “Well, what are we going to eat? We don’t exactly have lots of food at the ready considering we aren’t supposed to be here.”

Betty watched Jughead’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat heavily. Clearly, he hadn’t thought about food. She had to bite back the laugh that threatened when his stomach seemed to gurgle on cue. “I’ll go see what I can whip up; you pick out something awful.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Twenty minutes later she came back with the fixings of a hearty breakfast. Bacon, eggs, toast, fresh coffee…all the things that had eaten for actual breakfast just a few hours before. Jughead took the plates from her hands and set them on the table before excitedly turning back to the television.

“You will not believe what I’ve found for us. It looks like it might just be the worst movie ever made,” Jughead said proudly as he shoved a slice of bacon into his mouth.

Betty’s eyes flickered to the screen before she looked up confused. “Wasn’t Jack Frost a children’s movie?”

“Well, yes, but that’s not what this is. This is cheesy, nineties, horror glory!”

“Someone’s excited,” she noticed his giddiness turned sheepish in an instant. “How long have you wanted to do this, Jug?”

“What, Christmas-horror-thon?” Betty nodded, obviously. “Well it was something I always wanted to do with Jelly, I guess, but that never happened. I guess it’s just been in the back of my mind ever since.” He rubbed the back of his neck as he settled into the corner of the couch.

“Thank you.” Betty said softly as she set her plate on the table and scuttled up the couch to be closer to him.

“For what, baby?” Her head laid on his chest as his fingers began to weave through her hair.

“For sharing it with me. For wanting to make this, ours.” She felt his lips press on the crown of her head as a contended sigh rose out of her. Once he’d assured she was comfortable, he pressed play on what would become the first of many horrible films consumed on Christmas Eve.

They managed to get through Jack Frost with no less than three what the fucks, five instances of uproarious laughter, and two, stop and go back we have to re-watch that’s.

“What did we just watch? Did that really just happen?” Betty said, still laughing as the credits rolled.

“Ninety minutes of your life you wish you could have back?” Jughead asked as he stretched, sinking deeper into the couch and bringing Betty with him.

“No,” she replied, smiling softly and tracing the curve of his jaw with her fingers. “As terrible as that was, and it really, really was, I was with you. It doesn’t get much better than that Jughead Jones.”

“So, think we have a contender for Christmas Eve? Or is our impromptu movie night a one-and-done?”

“I think, that the only way tonight could have been better is if we’d have had real food. I dig the breakfast idea, don’t get me wrong, but I’m thinking next year we do crepes or maybe cinnamon rolls…” before she could name another food Jughead’s mouth was on hers, hands tangled in her hair, body pulled flush against his.

“This is the best present I have ever gotten. I love you, Betty Cooper.” She managed to untangle herself from his arms and pulled herself off the couch. She stood in front of him, tired, hair haphazardly in a bun atop her head, no make-up and never looking more beautiful.

“Jughead Jones, I love you. Let’s go get into bed, and I can show you the other present you’ll be thankful we’re not in my parent’s house for.” With a wink, she turned and headed down the hallway. She hadn’t gotten but three steps in when strong arms circled her from behind and the voice in her ear whispered,

“Best Christmas ever.”

She had never been more inclined to agree.

[xmasimt]

I Gave You My Heart

“We were the bastard children of The Clash. We thought music could change the world.”

-Bono, on the recording of “Do They Know It’s Christmas”

Track One

“It’s Christmas time…

There’s no need to be afraid.

At Christmas time

We let in light and we banish shade…”

                 Christmas Eve was always special for George. Not only because of the anticipation of Christmas morning, or the time away from school and his family’s restaurant (it was the only time of year the restaurant closed), but because Christmas Eve was also his mother’s birthday. Nothing fancy—his mum never made a fuss and hated to be fussed over; just a nice dinner his father prepared—traditional Greek favorites and an English Christmas pudding, then a movie on T.V. George was allowed to stay up late, watching holiday favorites with his mum, happy to have her to himself after everyone else had gone to bed.

Since she passed away twenty years ago—was it really twenty years ago, he wondered in disbelief—Christmas and Christmas Eve were nearly unbearable.

 This Christmas Eve, people were singing one of his own songs just outside his window.

               God bless them.

               He waved and they cheered before marching on (“He looked like a ghost standing there looking out his window,” a neighbor told reporters later), down the lane they went with their candles and their carols, passing slowly along outside his beautiful little house. His favorite of the four homes he owned. Don’t feel too bad for me, he joked.

He was happy to be here. He was always happy to be here. People let him be here.

                 He had gone out and danced among the stars once. And, for a while, he even outshined them.

               Falling…

               Falling…

               Star.

 He was a star. For what it was worth. Not a flash-in-the-pan. Not just a teen idol. Here today, gone tomorrow.

He showed them, didn’t he? Didn’t he?

 He was a star!

It costs him nearly everything and he nearly threw it all away. For what? He couldn’t tell you now.

                 It was his own fault. There was no one to blame but himself. Maybe he wanted it. That’s what he told everyone anyway. Sometimes, he even convinced himself.

               His life was an open secret. Always had been, even from the early days. In the earliest days when they were still schoolboys, he told Andrew the truth and it did not matter. Andrew loved him. And still did, even now.

               But he could not—would never tell his parents. His mother lost a brother because he could not live with the truth. He could not do that to her again. And there was always the fear of death, especially in those days. He could not, would not, worry her needlessly.

               But now his mother was gone.

               Anselmo was gone.

               Kenny was gone.

 George (the other George) called him, “camp,” the night they famously sang that song together, the one the crowd sang for him tonight. It’s funny looking back on it (consider the source); but he wasn’t laughing then.

No matter now.

He watched the holiday lights twinkling on the tree. Looked out on the fading stars outside his window. Could still hear the carolers as they wandered the neighborhood as they did every Christmas Eve, singing. Some years he joined them, but not this year.

His heart hurt and he needed sleep.

Track Two through Five

“This is the year of the hungry man

Whose place is in the past…”

                 He went upstairs to bed. Turned on the T.V. and flipped through the channels (his mum used to let George choose the movie they watched even though it was her special day). He stopped when he saw “Last Christmas,” on one of the music channels. He didn’t normally watch himself on telly, but tonight, what difference did it make? What harm could it do now to look back?

               He turned on his laptop. Searched Youtube. Found himself there.  

               God, why didn’t anyone tell me? He laughed. My hair! That earring! He saw now, with hindsight, why it would be so distracting that the songs he sang were all but ignored, but at the time…

He tried to have a sense of humor about it all, even then. He put on a happy face and his dancing shoes. His tightest pants. Versace suits. That leather jacket he borrowed from the video’s director at the last minute. That damn jukebox.

He often felt like little more than a prop himself. James Dean for the MTV crowd. But he played his part and it paid the bills.

               Isn’t that what everyone does?

               “But some mistakes were built to last…”

               Right?

                 Listen now…

without prejudice.

Tracks Six Through Twelve

“My memory serves me far too well

The years will come and go

Some of us will change our lives

Some of us

Will still have nothing to show

Nothing, baby, but memories.”

 He never listened to his own music once the work was done or the show was over. He never read reviews. He never watched his own videos if he could avoid it (that one where he played the cab driver/stalker made him cringe. He hated that one. But whatever, it sold CD’s).

“Sometimes love can be mistaken for a crime…”

And didn’t he know it.

But the truth was always there…if you listened closely.

 Normally he would watch Coronation Street and doze off (where was Fadi, he wondered).

But tonight…

Damn the internet…

Damn Youtube…

All the ghosts were there...

 “Stop playing with that radio, George. I’m trying to get some sleep!”

His mum. God love her. She didn’t understand him, but she tried to be supportive. Especially when his father seemed cruel. His father was a Greek immigrant who worked his way up from waiting tables to owning a fish and chips shop in Kingsbury until finally he was able to open his own restaurant, Mr. Jack’s, where he and George’s mother, George and his two sisters worked the long, long hours that enabled Mr. Jack to move his family to Radlett and send his young son to a posh school that he could never have dreamed of getting anywhere near himself. His father was furious when George refused to darken the doorway of that place.

“You’ll never amount to anything,” his father said, frustrated with him; hurt that he would spurn such a grand opportunity, one that Jack, himself, had never had and had worked so hard to provide for his son.

So, George went to Bushey Mead Comprehensive at thirteen, partly out of shame, to please his father.

He worked in his father’s restaurant after school, bussing tables and washing dishes, and spent all his money buying records: Tom Jones, Aretha Franklin, the Supremes. Dancing around and singing in his room upstairs.

“My, my, my Delilah

Why, why, why Delilah.”

He imagined that he was David Cassidy, high atop the old LWT building in London, crowds of screaming fans below, adoring, but unable to ever reach him.

It was just a matter of time, he knew, and even his father would see what he saw in the mirror then.

“Sing?” his father scoffed after scolding him one too many times. “You barely speak!”

But his mother, who once upon a time had been a singer and a dancer herself (he never knew until years later when she mentioned it, off-hand, after he made his first record) indulged him. Maybe she just understood him better and was not surprised when he said that he dreamed of being a pop star. Even though he was always painfully quiet and shy; awkward and a bit funny looking with his glasses and curly hair. A pudgy Greek kid; his nickname was Yog (short for Georgious, his given name) and kids at his old school teased him by calling him “Yogurt.”

“Yogurt! Yogurt!” they taunted as he ran home and up the stairs, their voices fading behind him, then finally obliterated with the blare of the records he played.

He was happy, at least, to leave that behind when he went to his new school.

His mother tried to comfort and encourage him.

“You’ll make new friends there,” she promised, “You’ll see.”

And to his surprise, he did. On the first day, even.

“Students,” the teacher introduced him. “This is George. He’s new this year.”

His classmates all stared blankly at him.

“Who will volunteer to show him around?” she asked.

One boy raised his hand. He stepped forward from the back of the room where he sat and shook George’s hand. “I’m Andrew,” he smiled at George. “Stick with me,” he said.

“Alright, alright,” the teacher said, “Now that that’s settled, take your seats.”

George sat in front and Andrew returned to his seat at the back. When class was dismissed for lunch, Andrew sat with him. After school, they rode the bus together and Andrew walked him home.

“Would you like to come up?” George asked, certain Andrew would politely decline now that his duty was done.

“Sure, mate!” he said, to George’s surprise.

From that day on, for the next ten years, the two boys were rarely apart.

 It was Andrew who broke hearts back then. Young Yog just followed Andrew’s lead. He straightened his hair with his sister’s hot iron and stopped wearing his glasses. Dressed like Andrew in jeans and leather jacket. Learned to play guitar and started busking at Green Park Station. He made new friends, aside from Andrew, and snuck off with them to Bolts in Brighton where the boys would play their first live show a couple of years later. George worked in a cinema, selling tickets at the door, and saved his money to record some of the songs he had started writing up in his room and shared them with Andrew.

“Guilty feet?” Andrew laughed.

He once even wrote a song from a note that Andrew had left for his mum: “Wake me up, up before you go, go…”

It was at Monroe Studios, six months after leaving school, where the boys went to record their first demo tape of George’s songs, that they were heard by a record producer who took them right next door to the Hope Workers Café to sign them on the spot.

“Can you believe it, mate?” George asked, signing on the dotted line without a moment’s hesitation.

“Of course, I can,” Andrew smiled as he signed his name on the line beneath George’s.  

George had grown in confidence, at least when it came to his music, but even he was gobsmacked.

By September they were playing their first live gig, for drinks, at Bolts, a gay club in North London.

“Andrew only came down when they performed,” the DJ, Norman Scott, said later, “But George kept coming back and even came to Bolts in Brighton on our bus. People left him alone. Some asked if he and Andrew were a couple,” he laughed. “But really he just came because nobody bothered him there.”

“Looking for some education

I made my way into the night

All that bullshit conversation

Baby, can’t you read the signs…”

 Once, on New Year’s Eve, he and George shared a cab.

“Everything is gonna change soon,” Georgee said. “After we hit America.”

‘On to bigger things?” Norman asked.

George stared out the window; watched the snow fall; two men were walking down the icy sidewalk and one slipped and fell. The other one pulled him to his feet and for a moment the two men embraced then pulled apart when they saw George watching them and they walked on together as the cab drove on.

Two years later, on another New Year’s Eve, George returned, again, to let Norman play the boys’ new record—a song called, “Freedom.”

It was the last time Norman saw George at Bolts, dancing alone in the crowd of men on the dancefloor as his record played and his music filled the club and echoed out onto the snowy streets.

 Sold-out crowds. Girls screaming.

“Was it everything you dreamed it would be?” his sister asked.

“How could I have imagined all this?” he said.

He imagined that he was David Cassidy, high atop the old LWT building in London, crowds of screaming fans below, adoring, but unable to ever reach him. He didn’t imagine being mobbed and manhandled everywhere he went.

“I couldn’t believe that was my son up there on stage,” his father said the first time he saw the boys perform at Earl’s Court a year later. “But I couldn’t deny he’d gone out and proved me wrong, hadn’t he?”

Amazing what selling a few million records will do to change people’s minds, even his father.

But he was already so weary, and he wasn’t even twenty-one yet. They had conquered America. Japan. Returned home to England idolized and filthy rich.

 He watched now, all these years later, and tried to see what others saw then. There he was at the Concert of Hope, introduced by Bowie, whom he had loved as a boy; Princess Diana in the audience. There he was with Queen, singing for Anselmo. All the ghosts were there.

He turned off his computer. He’d had enough for one night. “Haunt me no more, spirits.”

He wanted to be famous…then, but he didn’t really care about the money. He never got used to it. He gave much of it away. The royalties from their own Christmas song, he donated to charity as he did many of the royalties from his songs. The song he wrote for Anselmo, years later, was given to a children’s fund. The duet with Elton, he gave to an AIDS hospice and eight other charities. Every Christmas he gave a free concert for the nurses who cared for his mother when she was sick.

He would miss it this year. Truly, he would miss it. He enjoyed it, maybe more than they did. But he just wasn’t strong enough.

Maybe next year.

He flipped the channels. Nothing but old movies. Bing Crosby, George C. Scott, Jimmy Stewart.

Sometimes, he wished that none of it had happened to him, too. But he was glad, in the end, that it had happened.

In the end, it was all worth it.

Track Thirteen through Sixteen

“Loving you takes such courage

Everyone’s got their eye on you.”

                 Even he sometimes forgot how young he was back then.

He was only eighteen the first time they were on Top of the Pops. They took the bus there and stayed in a cheap motel near the T.V. studio. “I was shocked,” he said later, “It was so tiny!” After the show, they rode the bus home. The next day he strutted around the streets, just waiting to be recognized only to be left utterly disregarded, the moment cheapened. “I thought, ‘This isn’t how it’s supposed to be,’” he laughed.

He was nineteen the first time they appeared on American Bandstand in America.

               He was twenty-one when he performed at Live Aid singing with Elton with literally the whole world watching.

               “Although I search myself

               It’s always someone else I see…”

               Who was that boy? He barely recognized him. He never recognized him. Even back then. This monster he created.

               “Choose Life,” his T-shirt read.

               Choose Life.

 In the 80’s and 90’s being gay was deadly.

And well he knew it.

In the 80’s and 90’s being gay was career suicide. Rock stars are heroes and there’s no such thing as a heroic poof.

It never occurred to him that he could be the one; the first.

 “You didn’t talk about it in those days,” his sister said, “Even if you knew—and I did—you pretended not to know, and life went on as normal. In fact,” she shrugged, “You pretended not to know what you knew so that life could go on as normal.”

That’s just the way it was then.

“It’s hard to be proud,” he told a reporter years later, “When loving is something you associate with shame,” he looked away wistfully for a moment, “When it’s something that you have to hide.”

Stealing looks at the boys while he danced with the girls. Popping E to get in the mood. It was the 80’s and 90’s and he partied like it was 1999, certain it would be over long before then.

Stealing looks at the boys while he danced with the girls just like a lot of boys back then…

But he wasn’t just any gay boy back then. He partied like a rock star because he was one. He could laugh about it now, but at the time it was, in fact, overwhelming. And the thing he hated most was that he was such a cliché.

“Be careful what you ask for…”

 Two years on the road pretending.

His album, Faith, was released in time for Christmas and spent two Christmas’s at number one.

Two years on the road.

Pretending.

There he was onstage doing “The Monkey,” for the cheering crowd.

It seems so funny now….

He brought his family with him—his sister, Melanie, and his cousin, Andros. With Andrew gone, he needed the support. Melanie did his hair and make-up and Andros…well, for a while he filled the space that Andrew’s absence left wanting. Andros brought his best friend with him and the three boys tore across America, three lads with the world by the balls. Or, at least, so it seemed. The truth was, George spent most nights alone in his hotel room, and later recounted the stories that Andros told him as if he had been there too.

And he had Kathy. Made famous in one of his videos, he bragged to Rolling Stone (no less) that she was his girlfriend. But those on the inside knew otherwise.

“They had adjoining rooms on the tour,” a gossip columnist confessed years later, “They went into his room together, but…. everybody knew.”

George wasn’t the only one hiding in those days.

 Everyone knew. Or, at least, suspected. Yet, somehow Andros was taken by surprise.

Andros went out with his best friend every night, “pulling birds,” unaware that his best friend snuck into George’s room when they returned.

Andros bragged to George about their conquests each morning.

“It was like you put a knife in my heart,” George told him, years later, when he told Andros the truth.

“Now you know how it feels,” Kathy said when George cried in her arms at night.

Track Seventeen through Twenty-one

“Turn a different corner and we never would have met…”

(“This song is dedicated to a memory”)

                 They met in a club in LA when George and Andrew were on tour in America.

               Brad was dancing with his friend, Kathy, when she saw George watching them.

               “Isn’t that…?” Kathy whispered.

               “I don’t think so,” Brad told her though he was certain that she was, in fact, right.

               It was him.

               That guy from England. That guy on MTV.

                 George asked Kathy to dance,

“Take me where their eyes can’t find us. Where their two eyes may as well just…”

She stood, took his hand and they danced together all that night, much to her surprise, while Andrew disappeared into the crowd.

“I always thought you were gay,” she confessed, giggling.

“What?” George responded. He seemed genuinely shocked

               “Are you going to introduce me?” Kathy’s roommate, Brad, asked once they came off the dancefloor.

               “This is Brad,” Kathy said, pissed to be interrupted.

               “Charmed,” George said, shaking his hand.

               “Are you?” Brad smiled

                 Too much vodka. Too much Ecstasy.

               He went home with Kathy and woke up in bed with Brad.

               How did that happen?

               “Morning,” was all Brad said, “Tea?”

                 Too much vodka. Too much Ecstasy.

He went home with Kathy and woke up in bed with Brad night after night.

“My daddy says the Devil looks a lot like you…”

“Did you really think I didn’t know?” Kathy laughed. “Of course, I knew,” she said. “So what?”

 Brad was always the third wheel in public. Always the “unidentified friend.”

George marveled at how easy it was for Brad. He watched as Brad danced with other men. He heard them in Brad’s bedroom as he lay in bed with Kathy watching T.V. And when they were gone, he would sneak into Brad’s room and crawl into his bed with him.

“This just isn’t my thing,” Brad finally told him. “I’m not like…the others,” he said. “I duh‘wanna be a rock star’s wife. I don’t wanna be in your videos. And I damn sure don’t wanna be just one of your songs.”

“Too late,” George chuckled.

“What?”

George picked up his guitar and played “A Different Corner,” for him. “It’s about you,” he told him.

 “And if all that there is

Is this fear of being used

I should go back to being lonely and confused…”

                 Too much vodka. Too much Ecstasy.

               He went home with Kathy and woke up in bed with Brad.

Kathy loved George;

“I know you think that you're safe Sister Harmless affection that keeps things this way…”

George loved Brad.

“I know you think that you're safe Mister Harmless deception That keeps love at bay…”

                 Too much vodka. Too much Ecstasy. Too much of everything.

               He partied like a rock star because he was one.

                 But even he noticed the men dying all around him.

“You didn’t talk about it in those days,” his sister said, “Even if you knew—and I did—you pretended not to know, and life went on as normal. In fact,” she shrugged, “You pretended not to know what you knew so that life could go on as normal.”

               “Choose Life,” his T-shirt read.

               Choose Life.

               And he did, selfish as that may seem now.

               “I so scared

               Of this love…”

                 George changed the video he was watching on the computer.

               How could he?

If he had only known, then…

But back then he only knew…survival…not pride.

               Twenty-four seems so long ago now.

Thank God.

Track Twenty-two

“My mother had a brother…”

 “Who is this?” George asked his mother.

He was down in the basement, going through old boxes of books and clothes, when he found an old black and white photo, taken at Christmas, apparently—there was a tree and there were decorations; and people, some he even recognized—wasn’t that his grandfather—opening presents.

“That’s me,” his mum said brightly, hanging garland, “Could you lend me a hand, Yog?”

“But who is that?” George insisted, pointing to the young man beside her in the picture.

“That was your uncle, Colin,” she answered, simply, with her chin lowered and her eyes cast down.

 In 1963, the year that George was born, the year that photo was taken, to be a man like the man that George would become was a crime.

 George’s mother had a brother named Colin who was…like George.

“Same desire, different time…”

All that wasted time.

On the day George was born, Colin attempted suicide.

“…the empty spaces tortured him…”

According to records he was, “suffering from some sort of anxiety disorder,” and was hospitalized as an inpatient at Maudsley Hospital. He was let home on Christmas holiday when he took his own life shortly after the new year.

It was George’s mother who found Colin.

 As a boy, she feared for George—so like the brother she remembered. Over-sensitive and kind. She tried to protect him (his father could be so hard on the boy). But she worried, as his father did, that he was too soft. Like her brother.

“He wasn’t strong enough,” she said,

“My mother had a brother,” George sang years later,               “I thought I knew them all, I thought I knew              But she lied              I said, "Show me his face again, tell me again why he died."

 She worried for her boy. She worried that he would be like his uncle Colin.

There once was a waiter who worked at their family restaurant and who lived upstairs in a rented room.

“A poof,” George’s father scoffed.

George was forbidden to go upstairs when the man was there.

“She was so afraid that she had somehow passed this ‘gene,’ onto me,” George later said. “It was like she was afraid I could catch something. And that if this ‘gene’ was in me it would turn out the same way for me as it had for Colin.”

“Poor Mum,” he later said. “She spent years being so remorseful.”

Friends claimed George was haunted in later years by this uncle he never knew. He claimed to see his face in his dreams.

But this Christmas he couldn’t sleep, so there were no dreams to haunt him. No ghosts. Just that photograph which he still had and still held, now, in his hands.

“Mama will you tell him from your boy The times they changed I guess the world was getting warmer While we got stronger Mother will you tell him about my joy I live each day with him The sun came out, yeah, And I'm still breathing it in…”

Track Twenty-three through Thirty-one

“I knew you were waiting for me…”

                 George wasn’t sure he believed in love, much less love at first sight.

               But then…

 It was 1991.

It was at Rock in Rio.

His Royal Badness, Prince, opened the gig and George closed the next weekend, reuniting with Andrew for the encore on Sunday night. A surprise for the fans.

George was dressed all in black—tight black slacks, shirtless under a black leather vest. His hair cut short and dyed black, too; his long, blond hair long gone.  

Those days, he hoped, were over.

It was a hot night in Rio and the band was on fire. George bolted from one side of the stage to the other, his energy boundless, it seemed, but the truth was…

He was avoiding the right side of the stage…

There was a man there in the front, the most beautiful man George believed he had ever seen, and that man caught his eye even in the massive, swaying crowd.

But George did not want to be distracted while he was working. Putting on a show.

He was working. Dancing his ass off; singing his heart out.

Was that beautiful man watching?

Was he listening closely?

Listen…

 George, somehow, got to the end of the set. The big finale.

Was he still there? George bounded across the stage.

There he was.

“I knew you were waiting…

I knew you were waiting for me…”

George sang…to him.

George called Andrew out onstage and the crowd cheered. Andrew sat on a stool, center stage, with his guitar and strummed the opening chords of “Careless Whisper,” as George sang, standing behind him. The two hugged when the song ended, and the crowd erupted. After introducing the members of the band, Deon Estes, George’s bass player, played the thumping bassline that opened George and Andrew’s Wham! Song, “I’m Your Man.” George danced with Deon; then with Andrew and then sprinted across the stage, his face beaming.

And there he was. That beautiful man. Singing George’s song from the front row and singing the song back at George as he danced on stage.

“Baby,

I’m your man….”

Was he singing to him?

George sang back to the man dancing just below him…

“Don’t you know that…

Baby,

I’m your man…”

Back and forth before George danced across the stage and back again.

“One, two, three, go,” he yelled at the crowd

“If you’re gonna do it, do it right

Right, do it with me…

If you’re gonna do it, do it right

Right, do it with me…”

George ended his set, ironically, with his recent single, “Freedom 90,” dancing around with Andrew as he sang.

“Heaven knows we sure had some fun boy,

What a kick

Just a buddy and me-ee…”

George ran off stage after the song ended, glancing over to see if the man was still there, but he was gone.

 George waited for Andrew in the dressing room as he looked in the mirror and changed, putting the rock star away for the night. When Andrew walked in the room, the man from the crowd in the front row was with him.

“Mate,” Andrew said as they hugged again. “This is Anselmo,” he introduced the man beside him as he pulled back. “He designed this thing I got on,” Andrew stood back and turned, showing off the outfit he had worn onstage for their big reunion—a sharply cut fitted jacket and black slacks like the ones George wore.

“Nice to meet you,” Anselmo said. “I’m a huge fan.”

Oh God, George thought as he shook Anselmo’s hand.

Still, looking at Anselmo, he spoke to Andrew. “They’re throwing a party for us, but,” he blushed, realizing that he still held Anselmo’s hand. He let go, reluctantly. “I really don’t wanna go,” he said turning to Andrew at last. “Would you mind if we just went back to my hotel room?”

“No, it’s cool,” Andrew said. “Is that okay with you?“ he asked Anselmo.

“Oh I…” he stammered, suddenly shy and awkward.

“You’re coming,” George insisted because something told him (his heart was beating wildly) that he must insist.

“Okay,” Anselmo smiled at him. “If it’s what you want.”

George had never wanted anything—or anyone—more.

 Two years.

All of life in two short years.

George never spoke in detail about those two short years. Only that they were the happiest days of his life. Only that for the first time he loved someone without shame or disgrace and that it was Anselmo who taught him that he could love with pride because when you loved someone as he had loved Anselmo how could you hide it? He didn’t care—as he had before—who saw him with Anselmo. There was no sneaking in and out of his room; there were days on the beach or at home watching T.V; nights dancing in the clubs. George had danced among the other men back at Bolts as a teenager; but he danced with Anselmo now; held his hand when they went out to dinner or walked down the street. Was even photographed with him in public (George would have died if that had ever happened before).

How grateful he was for those photos now!

 It’s so easy to forget that the clock is ticking, that your days are numbered; that even the hairs on your head are counted, as the Bible says.

“Heaven sent.

And heaven stole.”

“Maybe we should all be praying for time…”

 Anselmo became ill with a flu that he could not shake. “The doctor says I should be tested,” he told George.

“Tested?” George asked. “for?” he asked, though he knew, had always known, had always dreaded this moment. Had always feared it was inevitable. It was, wasn’t it? Isn’t that what you get? He thought, then pushed the thought aside. Anselmo would need him now.

“For the virus,” Anselmo whispered, still holding George’s hand.

There was silence and then Anselmo stood to leave. George walked out to the patio. Stared out at the beach. Looked up at the clouds, numbed.

“Don’t you dare do this to me,” he begged, finally crying.

 “Maybe we should all be praying for time…”

 Anselmo went home to Rio later that year to finally have the test and George went home to be with his family. Normally Christmas, New Year’s and his mother’s birthday were a time of celebration—laughter and food and gifts. Late night watching old movies. Normally, the weeks before were hectic with preparations and giddy with anticipation.  But this year, of course, he was distraught: Was Anselmo sick? Was George sick?

“What’s wrong, Yog?” his mother asked.

“Nothing, Mum,” he promised, squeezing as she put her arms around him. “I’m just tired,” he said (and he was).

On the morning of November 24th his sister woke him.

“It’s someone wanting a comment from you,” his sister, Melanie, told him as she shook him awake, “Bloke insists it’s urgent.”

“George,” George’s press man, Martin, asked as soon as George picked up the phone, “George, have you seen the news?”

“You got me out of bed, Martin,” George replied. “And you wanna know if I’ve watched the news?”

“George,” Martin went on, “Freddie Mercury has died this morning. I’m afraid…We’ll need a comment for the papers, George. As soon as…”

George could not believe it. He was overwhelmed. First Anselmo��Anselmo might be…He might be…And now this. He burst into tears and simply sobbed into the phone. He wiped away his tears, gathered himself, gathered his thoughts. Said a few words he could not even remember once he hung up the phone. What had he said?

“Yog,” Melanie asked, “Yog, what happened?”

But, of course, he could not tell her. It might all come flooding out if he did and he didn’t want her to worry.

Let her find out about Freddie on the news.

George stayed in his bedroom the next few days as he had when he was a boy in the days when he dreamed that he was David Cassidy, safe above it all where nothing and no one could ever hurt him.

He lay in his room, avoiding even his mother, and waited for the worst.

 Four months later, in April, he was onstage at Wembley Stadium in front of 72,000 people, being broadcast around the world in seventy-six countries at the Freddie Mercury Tribute Concert with Anselmo in the audience as George sang Queen’s “Somebody to Love,” Anselmo—that beautiful man—looking up at him just as he did the night they met.

“I went out there,” George said later, “knowing that I had to do two things: I had to honor Freddie and I had to pray for Anselmo.”

 One more year was all that was left; though, thank God, they did not know it then.

George was home, signing charity copies of Live Five, the CD of his performance at Freddie’s concert, when the phone rang.

Anselmo insisted on being treated at home in Brazil. He could not risk that news would leak of his illness, that he was gay, that he was George Michael’s lover. His family was Catholic; his parents would never understand or forgive, he feared.

George was not the only one with secrets.

George respected his wishes. But now he wished he had not.

The phone rang again. George signed one last Live Five CD and picked up.

“Hello,”

“Is this George Michael?” a voice sked.

“Yes,” George answered. “You called my personal cell, so…”

“Sorry,” the man responded. “I’m so sorry.”

“Who is this?” George asked.

It was a friend close to Anselmo, the man explained. “We’ve known each other since we were boys,” he said. Was the man crying?

“What’s wrong?” George asked. “What’s happened?” he stood to his feet and walked out to the patio, looked out across the beach. The water coming in and rushing out again.

“It’s Anselmo,” the man said, “He’s…he’s had a brain hemorrhage,” the man said. “He’s…gone.”

               George dropped the phone in the sands below and glared up at the sun.

               “How could you?” he screamed. “How could you?”

                 He did his best to make sure that those last years were happy ones for the man he loved—despite the sickness and the pain.

“Take care my love, he said Don't think that god is dead Take care my love, he said You have been loved…”

Track Thirty-Two through Thirty-seven

 One last Christmas.

One last time.

 Three years had passed since Anselmo died. Three years and George had barely written any new music or performed, save for “Jesus to a Child,” his song for Anselmo written a year after he died and performed only once in November of 1994 on MTV Europe.

“So the words you could not say I'll sing them for you And the love we would have made I'll make it for two For every single memory Has become a part of me.”

               Three years passed and then George met Kenny.

They met at a posh Hollywood spa.

               “Not a gay spa,” Kenny said, “Just a regular…Hollywood spa”.

               George asked him out to dinner. Where did he find the nerve, even if he was George Michael, supposed rock star, George laughed later. He wasn’t even sure if Kenny was gay.

               But he was so handsome. A Texan. Southern drawl and all.

               Who could resist? Certainly, not George.

                 The next morning, George woke with Kenny still sleeping beside him. He got out of bed quietly and went down to the kitchen to make coffee. Tea? No, George thought. He’s an American and a Texan. Definitely, coffee, not tea.  

               He poured two steaming cups, placed them with sugar and milk on a tray and headed upstairs, anxious to surprise him.

               And then the phone rang.

               George put the tray down and picked up the phone. As he was standing, his back turned so that he as looking out at the ocean outside his window, Kenny watched and waited, uncertain what to do (George was on the phone but was not speaking, just listening), until George hung up the phone and turned to face him.

               There were tears in his eyes.

               “Darling, what’s wrong?” Kenny asked.

               George didn’t speak. He just stood there as Kenny held him. “Don’t go,” George finally pleaded, “Please don’t leave me.”

               “I’m not going anywhere,” Kenny promised him.

                 George’s mother was ill. Stage four cancer. Months, a year to live at best.

               George had just finished and released Older, his CD of songs for Anselmo. He was supposed to be going on tour. An MTV Unplugged performance was already scheduled for later that year. But now—as he had when Anselmo was sick, he called his manager and cancelled all plans indefinitely.

               “Will you come with me to England?” he asked Kenny. And to his surprise, Kenny said yes.

                 His mother was a fighter. Most days she was well and insisted that life go on as normal. No fuss. Never a fuss. Even when George or Melanie or George’s father took her for her treatments. For a while it seemed she might beat the odds even. She even insisted that George do the show for MTV in the fall.

               “I’m not leaving you,” he told her.

               “The we’ll come with you,” she said.

               And so, the show went on.

               Rehearsals went well, George was surprised to find (after all, it had been a long time).

               “You’ve never sounded better,” his mother told him as she watched.

               “You have to say that,” he teased, “You’re my mum.”

               The show went on. He opened with “Freedom 90.” Sang “I Can’t Make You Love Me,” for Brad. Sang “You Have Been Loved,” for Anselmo. He sang, “Praying for Time,” for his mother. He barely got through it. He started to cry right there on stage in front of everyone.

               “Hi, Mum,” he smiled, trying to hide the sorrow as he had done all his life.

               Finally, the show was over. They went back to the hotel so his mother could rest. The next morning, they flew home to London.

               “Did you enjoy yourself, Mum?” George asked.

               “I’ve never been more proud,” she told him.

                 They started making plans for the holidays.

               “George, Christmas is two months away,” his mother complained.

               “I know,” he said. “I know.”

               It might be her last Christmas, her last birthday, he feared, and he wanted it to be special. He made plans, so many plans; even wrote a new Christmas song. He wanted it to be perfect and straight out of Dickens (except for the ghosts), but by Christmas his mother had taken a turn for the worse and was in hospital.

               George slept in her room as she slipped in and out of consciousness, leaving the T.V. on all hours. He spoke with the nurses who tended to her (his father spoke to the doctors). One night, when he thought she was sleeping, he sang softly as he stared out the window at the blanket of snow that covered the ground below.

               “That’s pretty,” she said.

               He turned to her. “I didn’t mean to wake you,” he apologized.

               She reached out and took his hand. “Finish it,” she said.

               “It’s not finished,” he laughed. “I’m still writing it.”

               “Finish it,” she said again, closing her eyes.

               He sang what he had of the song he had only just begun, humming to fill in the parts undone until she was sleeping soundly again.

               Thank God, he thought.

               That Christmas Eve, he called his band down to London, to the hospital, and they put on a show for the nurses who cared for his mother. George wanted to thank them—he could not thank them enough, he thought. He only sang Christmas songs—“Last Christmas,” and the new song, “December Song,”—his only nod to his own repertoire. One of the nurses even joined him when he sang the Pogues “Fairytale of New York.”

               “Thank you, Sir George Michael,” she beamed.

               “Elton is Sir, love,” he smiled. “I’m just George.”

                 They made it through the holidays—Christmas and the New Year, his mother growing weaker.

               She died in February and was laid to rest near George’s home so that he could (as he did) visit her grave each day.

And for a thousand days, I was lost I said, 'Heaven knows I'm ready to be found', Underground But I think I'm ready now So please send me someone to love

Please send me someone, someone to love As much as I loved you.

Finale (Tracks Thirty-eight and Thirty-nine)

George had plans for this Christmas.

Brunch with Geri and Martin and Fadi.

Where was he?

 They had a row over nothing. George couldn't even remember what is was now. And Fadi left. George didn't know it, but Fadi was just outside sleeping in his car. If George had known, he would have gone out to him. Said, "Come inside. Let's make a fire." But he didn't. For all he knew, Fadi, too, was long gone.

There was still so much to look forward to in the new year. A new film about Listen Without Prejudice; the re-release of that CD and the MTV Unplugged show together. New music that he was excited about. If he could only finish it after the holiday.

George turned off the T.V. and finally went to bed. He could see the sun coming up outside his window—the sky turned violet and blue.

His last Christmas morning.

Track List

 Ch I: Track One

Do They Know It's Christmas?

Ch II: Tracks Two through Five

Praying for Time

Last Christmas

Faith

Freedom 90

Ch III: Tracks Six through Twelve

Waiting for that Day

Father Figure

Round Here

Too Funky

Careless Whisper

Fast Love (Live)

Freedom

Ch IV: Track Thirteen through Sixteen

The Edge of Heaven

Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me

Wake Me Up Before You Go Go

Monkey

Ch V:  Tracks Seventeen Through Twenty-one

A Different Corner

Hard Day

Cowboys and Angels

Happy

Kissing a Fool

 Ch VI:   Track Twenty-two

My Mother Had a Brother

Ch VII:  Tracks Twenty-three through Thirty-one

I Knew You Were Waiting for Me

I'm Your Man

Freedom 90 (Live)

You Know I Want To

The Strangest Thing (Live)

My Baby Just Cares for Me

Something to Save

Safe

Somebody to Love (Live)

CH VIII:  Tracks Thirty-two through Thirty-five

Jesus to a Child

I Can't Make You Love Me (Live)

You Have Been Loved (Live)

Praying for Time (Live)

CH IX:  Tracks Thirty-six and Thirty-seven

December Song

Please Send Me Someone (Anselmo's Song)

Ch X:  Track Thirty-eight and Thirty-nine

Fantasy

This is How We Want You to Get High

[austinpanda]

Dad Letter 081719

11 August 2019

Dear Dad--

That sound you’re not hearing is me screaming internally, as our huge plan begins to lumber into action. Zach has turned in his notice at the IRS, so he’ll start his last week there tomorrow. I’ll stay at Progressive through the end of the month. Did I have a chance to tell you, I gave them last weekend to decide whether they wanted me back on the phones (without saying so) and they actually came up with another special project to keep me working for another month? As I say, the supervisors who decide this shit didn’t do anything to consciously keep me employed there, they just realized, “Hey, we still need Rick for a thing.” I spent a couple hours last Tuesday getting trained on the special shit (over the phone) by a coworker with ADD named Heather, and spent the rest of last week doing the special shit. 

I could tell you what the special new task is, but again, it’s insurance, so you’d probably fall asleep. Put succinctly, there are glass claims (i.e. for windshield damage) where arbitration has determined that we have to pay a bit more money to the glass shop. I’m issuing the payments to the glass shops and the auto glass inspection service. They have a backlog of 900 of them, it seems. What I’m really doing, however, is NOT TAKING PHONE CALLS, which means I don’t have to speak to customers, and kiss their asses, whether I’m in the mood for it or not. This will continue until the end of August. At that point, I’ll leave Progressive, Zach will already be done at the IRS, and we’ll spend September preparing to move, then we’ll move around October 1st. 

Then we’re going to live in Maine, which, I don’t mind telling you, is providing me with a nice hot bowl of ambivalence every day. I want to move, but I fear it. I want to make new friends, but I mourn the ones I’ll lose. I want that snow! But I also wonder if I won’t be pining for a heat wave once I’m there for a couple of Februaries. Here’s what I think will happen: we’ll get there, and we’ll have a place to move into, even if only temporarily. Within a few weeks, we’ll find permanent housing, and at least one of us will have a job. By Christmas, we’ll have a place to live, we’ll both be working, and we’ll be surrounded by deep snow and Yankees. I won’t have to take phone calls for Progressive, but I will have rust beginning to form on the underside of my car. I predict I will be, on average, 4% happier. If I’m wrong about that, maybe we’ll give Marquette, Michigan or Spokane, Washington a try. Perhaps we’ll purchase an RV and become itinerant English majors. 

So, a bunch of change is about to happen. The only regret I’m feeling right now is that I don’t still smoke cigarettes. After meals, and when you’re in the midst of humongous life change, you really miss ‘em. Lately I’ve had some pretty big cravings! Possibly because I thought I might have a cigarette on my final day at Progressive. That sounds like a bad idea on its face, I know. You don’t quit something you’re addicted to and then reward yourself with it a few months later. Still, I’m cigarette-free since 3/3 and still counting! I haven’t cheated even once, though I don’t make any promises about the future, and I still have dreams that feature smoking cigarettes most nights. 

I must say, this moving out of state is, at least partially, meant to help me avoid one of life’s more insidious pitfalls: complacency. No matter how potentially scary the moving will be, I consider it less scary than the thought of living in the same place, doing the same job until I’m 70, and then quitting, having a brief retirement, and dying of heart disease. This way, I can move to Maine, live there for a while, stay or move elsewhere, whatever I feel like, and I die of a heart attack while shoveling snow (or, you know, fornicating) at age 145. I love the idea of exploring the earliest parts of the USA a bit! I don’t remember anything about the revolutionary war from school, and it still blows my mind that there are cities in America that are older than the country is, like New York! Started by the Dutch in the early 1600s as New Amsterdam. I’ll bet lots of New England towns have long and interesting histories. 

Oh, I captured a few more pics of hummingbirds yesterday! I’ll include them with this email! I’m encountering a problem which I predict I’ll no longer encounter once I’m out of south Texas: I have to tend to my hummingbird feeders a lot more frequently when the weather is hot, because the sugar water goes bad faster. I once saw a chart that displayed how long your hummingbird food would last, based on how hot it got outside. The chart didn’t go over 100 degrees, but by then, the chart was already suggesting you change the hummingbird food every day. And if I wanted a hobby that I could indulge in every day, I’d have children, you know? I want a hobby I can indulge in whenever the hell I feel like it, maybe once per week or so. (This is why I prefer to own a cat.) So I’m changing the sugar water more frequently, and the hummingbirds all look hot and tired. But I got a couple of good photos. 

I haven’t much else to report. There’s lots of fun political news happening, and I’m deriving a lot of entertainment (and upset stomach) from that. I’m also learning that, if I’m especially nervous about something work-related, there’s a chance it’ll make me throw up in the morning. (That’s been an awesome feature to learn about!) I sometimes wish I weren’t so affected by stress; it’s such a pain in the ass to exist at its mercy. So! Life goals for the coming week: Begin the last three weeks of fun, phone-call-free work. Tell stress to go fuck itself. Perhaps do some walking. Look for places to live in Bangor and possible jobs. Prevent the hummingbirds dying of heat stroke. When we move to Maine, we want to get bicycles and use them to explore the town, so...shop for bicycles. Should be easy. Will keep you posted. 

More next week. Lots of love to you both!

[chara-killer-bear]

all

gel pen: when are you most comfortable?

honestly, when talking to the bae

ballpoint pen: tell me about the day you’ve just had

- first day of school after winter break

- sleep

fineliner: what’s your greatest achievement?

living for this long :”)

highlighter: what are your best qualities?

why you ask me idek myself–

greylead: what is something you want to try for the first time?

- going to another place that’s not in the U.S.

- trying crepes without ice cream lmao

felt-tip: describe your aesthetic

- luminescent lights in the dark for sure

- flowers

- sunsets

- pretty architecture 

crayon: your earliest childhood memory

The earliest I can get is that one time where I was just running around the living room when I was 3 after watching Chucky :”)

scrapbook: something from your childhood that makes you smile

I recall how my grandma hosted my 5th or 7th birthday in our own house, and everyone in the family was there to attend–

It’s honestly my favorite birthday out of all the other ones–

sketching pad: describe yourself from a stranger’s point of view

“hello small person”

notebook: what’s your favourite quote?

“I reject your reality and replace it with my own.”

paper: what kind of book would you write?

Something around fantasy, or like a book that kind of trolls you a bit because you think it takes place in some fantasy world when actually the ending cuts off to reality.

stapler: out of all the people you know, who do you think you are closest to?

Bae

glue stick: what do you look for in a lasting relationship/friendship?

Happiness/Trust/Honesty

tape: tell me about your longest friendship

Tbh, the longest friendship I had was with a toxic person named Taylor. We met in 3rd grade I believe when we were going from classroom to classroom and she started fiddling with the class decorations and I laughed. It ended in 7th grade, because she had to move schools after asking my friend if he already lost his virginity and from his account, he said somewhere along the lines that her “friends” told on her, which led to her moving schools. I think I still kept the note where she told me “goodbye” that day she left–

Although we were pretty close and lasting, she was pretty toxic. I remember she would talk shit about my other friends, and most notably my crush at the time (she didn’t know that I did but it still pissed me off). She would drag me to places with her and pretty much didn’t give a shit if I didn’t want to or not. She pretty much tried to isolate me from my other friends, saying how I should trust her more because she knows better. She was also very pushy– like if I didn’t want to do something for her, she would be like “fine then I’m not your friend anymore” or “cmon pleeeeeeease” and continue poking me or steal my stuff until I agree. 

ruler: what line will you never cross?

cheating (the unfaithful kind)

eraser: what do you consider to be your biggest mistake?

Ex from hell or back in 5th grade

scissors: ever had a bad break-up?

My first boyfriend was p bad, considering that it was the first and it was a catfish my “friend” played on me and never admitted it

My second boyfriend we kind of just parted ways- according to my plan. I pretty much stayed on hiatus until he sent the message “yknow if it keeps up like this, we may have to break up” and I’m just like “let’s just break up”

Ex from hell was the worst one so far, I believe- like the breakup wasn’t that bad, considering I was the one who broke it off, but the aftermath of that breakup were the things that made it so bad. 

calculator: list fifteen things that make you happy

- bae

- flowers

- puppies

- tumblr

- OCs

- looking at the moon/stars

- youtube

- looking back at old times

- CHRISTMAS LIGHTS

- whenever I’m with friends

- sleep

- drawing

- for some reason staring off to space every now and then

- sunshine

- my lil kiddos

protractor: an unpopular opinion/angle you have on an issue

can’t really say for certain, plus whatever it is it might bring up discourse

sticky note: something about yourself you’d like to change

being a lazy piece of shit :”)

stamp: a date that’s special for you and why

secret~

bookmark: a book that means a lot to you and why

Can’t say for certain tbh– although I really loved the book The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane–

folder: describe your family

Dad- deceased

Siblings- nonexistent 

P much it’s just me and my mom :”)

whiteboard: tell me your plans for tomorrow

- sleep

blackboard: tell me about a memory that has affected who you are today

6th grade trauma haha in a bad way but still lives on today

pinboard: what are you focusing on in your life right now?

secret

tablet: tell me your plans for the future

secret

stencil: who are your role models?

if I said it, you guys probably think I’m a weeb :”)

envelope: tell me a secret

Tbh, there’s not much secrets to pass on about me–

Like ye– I tend to hide stuff every now and then, but most of them are pretty useless facts or minor things–

#hello your local open book at your service

[mattprivettwrites]

Is it really necessary to affirm the virgin birth?

Author’s Note: This post was originally written on December 17, 2010, and posted at my original web site, The MATTrix. As I transition away from that web site, I’m re-posting some things here along the way.

___________________________________________

Every year there seems to be a survey with conflicting information with regards to what a majority of Americans believe about this or that pertaining to the Christmas story, and in particular the virgin conception of Jesus Christ. One survey will say most Americans affirm it, another will say most Americans deny it. I’m inclined to think the latter is more than likely true.

I think there is little debate, really, that the virgin birth of Jesus is in great doubt amongst the majority of Americans and the world. And that is to be expected. That should not shock us one bit. Men love the darkness rather than the light. There is a lot of useless huffing and puffing some Christians get caught up in this time of year over stuff like “Merry Christmas vs. Happy Holidays,” and that’s not even an important debate. The virgin conception is much more important, yet still, no believer in Jesus Christ should be surprised when the world doubts the truth. It takes an act of God, the new birth, to get us to love the truth. We shouldn’t expect unbelievers to really believe in the virgin conception.

But must we believers really believe it, either? After all, it sounds absurd based on what we know about science and the reproductive system and how babies are born into the world.

One pastor and author who has gained some popularity over the last few years, especially among those in my generation and younger, is Rob Bell. He encourages those who read his books to challenge and question Christian doctrine and he says that verses in the Bible “aren’t first and foremost timeless truths.”

Regarding the virgin birth of Jesus, Bell says that if we were to take the virgin birth away and instead, tomorrow, learn that “Jesus had a real, earthly biological father named Larry [not McCord, by the way], and archaeologists find Larry’s tomb and do DNA samples and prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the virgin birth was really just a bit of mythologizing the Gospel writers threw in to appeal to the followers of religious cults that were hugely popular at the time,” we would essentially not lose any significant part of our faith because our faith is not about truths, but more about how we live.

Don’t want you to overlook that… that the Christian faith is more about how we live than it is about truth. That’s why, to Bell, the virgin birth is of little consequence.

I believe the virgin birth is something we must believe in, and it’s because of teachers like Rob Bell and many others like him that I believe this question merits our attention, even if we all agree beforehand that the virgin birth of Jesus as revealed in Scripture is 100% true. Because when this doctrine, the virgin birth, falls and when we allow the world to redefine something the Scriptures could not be more clear about, it completely redefines Jesus for us.

We find the accounts of Jesus’ birth in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke. Neither of these men was likely gullible or dumb. Remember that Matthew was a tax collector before Jesus called him out of that. Luke, meanwhile, was a physician. Luke, in particular, would have known that virgins don’t have babies. And the fact that these two men weren’t stupid, but wrote these Gospels under the inspiration of the Holy Spirit, and included the virgin birth in their account of Jesus Christ, lends credence to the truthfulness of their claims.

Luke wasn’t merely a doctor, but his Gospel is a testimony to that fact that he was a good reporter and historian. In the first four verses of Luke he reveals that he investigated everything carefully. He spoke to eyewitnesses. He probably spoke to Mary herself about the birth of Jesus. How else would he have had such detail about Mary and her visit to Elizabeth and her prayer? So this wasn’t a myth that was concocted.

Matthew’s Gospel, in particular, reads like an apologetic, a defense, against the most popular Jewish claims of the day against Jesus Christ. Writing around 25-30 years after the death and resurrection of Jesus, we find in the Gospel of Matthew reference after reference to the Old Testament to prove who Jesus is. Matthew is the one who makes reference to the conspiracy of the chief priests after the resurrection to say that the disciples stole the body. His account of the resurrection disproves their conspiracy. And likewise, his account of the virgin birth disproves the popular idea in Jesus’ day that His mother conceived Him illegitimately.

So God used Matthew and Luke, two men who would’ve had to have been sharp to do what they did, to communicate the divine truth of the virgin birth.

Let’s consider Luke 1:26-27:

Now in the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent from God to a city in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the descendants of David; and the virgin’s name was Mary.

Two times in verse 27 Luke makes reference to the fact that this woman is a virgin. At this point in the story the fact that she is a virgin is the singular most important thing about her to the story. Mary is the favored one, and the Lord is with her, according to verse 28, but there is nothing inherent in Mary that makes her special to carry out the birth of the Savior. God chose her, and at this point that fact that she is a virgin is what stands out in the story.

Over the next several verses the angel Gabriel tells her that she will conceive and bear a son and name Him Jesus, and He will be called the Son of the Most High. The angel is literally telling Mary that her Son will be the Son of God, that He will be the One who will reign forever. So there will obviously be a very supernatural element to His birth.

Mary’s response is the obvious one in verse 34.

Mary said to the angel, “How can this be, since I am a virgin?”

Again, we see that fact that she was a virgin stressed here. It serves to emphasize to the reader the uniqueness of what was going on here, and so the angel answers her in verses 35-37:

The angel answered and said to her, “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; and for that reason the holy Child shall be called dthe Son of God. And behold, even your relative Elizabeth has also conceived a son in her old age; and she who was called barren is now in her sixth month. For nothing will be impossible with God.”

Just for good measure, to give Mary confidence in the truthfulness of the word of God, God had given evidence of His supernatural power to bring life into the world through Mary’s relative Elizabeth. She was old and barren but now she was pregnant. So if God could do that through Elizabeth, someone Mary was obviously close to, He could conceive a child in a virgin’s womb. Nothing is impossible with God.

Matthew’s account also makes much of Mary’s virginity. In Matthew 1:18-25 he makes it clear that before Mary and Joseph, to whom she was betrothed already, before they came together, before they ever had intercourse, she was found to be with child by the Holy Spirit. And Matthew includes the important fact that Joseph kept her a virgin until she gave birth to a Son, and he called His name Jesus.

The accounts of Matthew and Luke are reputable enough in their own right to make clear to us that Jesus was born of a virgin, but consider for a moment the lack of any record of repudiation on the part of the apostles and the early church. There is no record of any apostle or any other early church father rebuking the Gospels of Matthew and Luke for including such an outrageous idea, of a virgin giving birth.

Surely the apostle John, who lived longer than any of the apostles, would have said something about it. Surely Paul, who was close to Luke, would have said something about it. Surely this would have been a huge fight within the early church into the second century. The earliest disputes over whether the virgin birth was real don’t happen until late in the second century and into the third centuries, and even then those questioning the doctrine are on the fringe.

Paul, for his part, may have made an implicit reference to the virgin birth in Galatians 4:4 when he writes, “But when the fullness of the time came, God sent forth His Son, born of a woman, born under the Law.” Two things about this verse:

First, the word translated “born” there does not merely mean “born” in the way we think of it, but it carries the weight of “coming forth.” It expresses the idea that Jesus didn’t come into existence when He was conceived in Mary, but this was the way in which came forth, from a woman.

Second, Paul makes no reference to a human father. He was born of, or came forth from, a woman, not a woman and a man. Why no reference to an earthly father from Paul? It would seem he believed there was no earthly father.

So the New Testament evidence and the early church evidence sides overwhelmingly with the virgin birth, but as if that isn’t enough, the Old Testament shows that the virgin birth wasn’t just some new idea the early church came up with to make more out of Jesus than there really was.

The most familiar Old Testament reference to the virgin birth is, of course, Isaiah 7:14: “Therefore the Lord Himself will give you a sign: Behold, a virgin will be with child and bear a son, and she will call His name Immanuel.”

Now, in the context of Isaiah’s prophecy this was directed at King Ahaz to show him that the kingly line of David would remain even in the midst of foreign threats. And there is some question as to whether the word “virgin” in Isaiah 7:14 ought to be translated instead “woman” or “maiden.”

However, one of the big time rules of interpreting the word of God is that the best way to interpret the word of God is with the word of God, and thankfully, God has not left us in a state of confusion on this verse because Matthew has given us the correct interpretation in his Spirit-inspired Gospel. In Matthew 1:23 he quotes Isaiah 7:14 with the word “virgin,” and he translates Immanuel to mean “God with us.” So Matthew’s interpretation makes clear that in the Old Testament God promised a virgin birth.

There is another, lesser known, more obscure, reference to the virgin birth in Jeremiah 31. And this chapter is, of course, one of the main chapters that teaches us about the new covenant God is making with the house of Israel and the house of Judah. In this chapter God is talking about how He is going to turn Israel’s destitution and sorrow into joy and triumph. And we read this in verse 22.

How long will you go here and there, O faithless daughter? For the LORD has created a new thing in the earth —A woman will encompass a man.

In other words, a woman on her own shall develop a man. This is the new things the LORD is creating in the earth. And this is a Messianic text. In fact, if you look down to verse 27 and to verse 31 and following, that is where the LORD is declaring the new covenant.

And it is, of course, Jesus Christ, who ushers in the new covenant. Luke 22:20, at the Lord’s Supper, Jesus says, “This cup which is poured out for you is the new covenant in My blood.” In 2 Corinthians 3:6 we are servants of a new covenant when we are servants of Jesus Christ. The writer of Hebrews is speaking of Jesus in chapters 8 and 9. In Hebrews 9:15 and 12:24 he refers to Jesus as “the mediator of a new covenant.”

In short, the Old Testament, the New Testament, and the early church testify to the promise, the fulfilling, and the truthfulness of the virgin birth of Jesus Christ. Still, there are those who are not Christians, and even some who claim to be Christians, who think this doctrine is not important.

So what is at stake if we lose the virgin birth?

If we lose the virgin birth then the story of Jesus changes greatly. As one writer put it, “We would have a sexually promiscuous young woman lying about God’s miraculous hand in the birth of her son, raising that son to declare he was God, and then joining his religion. But if Mary is nothing more than a sinful con artist then neither she nor her son Jesus should be trusted.” 

The first implication if the virgin birth is untrue is that Mary, at the very least, engaged in sexual immorality with somebody, if not Joseph. That would make Jesus an illegitimate child and would make Mary and Joseph flat out liars. It would also mean that the angels did not visit Mary and Joseph, and even if they did in some way they lied in what they said. It means that the Holy Spirit did not conceive in Mary’s womb, so that throws out the idea of Jesus Christ being the Son of God. His deity is out the window. That would mean that he was born of the seed of a man, and the seed of man carries with it the guilt of Adam. Jesus Christ would have been conceived in iniquity, just like David says in Psalm 51. He would have been born a sinner and thus He could not have been our Savior.

We need a Savior who is sinless, but if Joseph or someone else was Jesus’ earthly father than Jesus would have been born a sinner in need of a Savior. Nothing divine about Him.And if there is no Son of God, if there is no perfectly righteous Savior, then the cross was nothing more than a blasphemer rightly being put to death. And that means there is no perfect righteousness credited to those who trust in Him, and there is no forgiveness of sins, because the Lamb who was slain was not without His own blemishes… if there was no virgin birth.

Some, throughout the history of the church, have denied the virgin birth by asserting that Jesus was not literally human, but rather a divine apparition or something like that who merely appeared human. Well, just as no virgin birth eliminates the deity of Christ, to eliminate the virgin birth on with that type of argument eliminates the humanity of Christ. And if Christ is not fully human, then we do not have a great high priest who can sympathize with our weaknesses, tempted in every way we are tempted, yet without sin.

Jesus must be fully God and fully man or He cannot be the propitiation, the wrath-absorber, for our sins, and He cannot be the Mediator between God and man.There must be a virgin birth or Christianity is the biggest joke in the history of the world. Our faith is futile without the virgin birth because, in addition to all of the other problems we have if there is no virgin birth, we lose the inerrancy and authority of the Scriptures as well. And if we lose that we can’t trust anything we read in the Bible, can we?

I thank God and praise Him for the virgin birth. I praise Him for the timeless truths of Scripture that define what Christianity is and is not. I grieve for those who teach that Christianity isn’t primarily about truths but about a way of life, and I grieve for those who buy into that lie. Jesus is the way, the truth, and the life. God has revealed Himself through His Word. It’s true that Jesus changes the way of life for someone who trusts in Him, but if that changed life isn’t grounded in the timeless truths of the word of God, such as the virgin birth of our Savior, then you will eventually not follow Jesus as the way, but you’ll go your own way. And there is a way that seems right to a man, but in the end it leads to death. The truth, however, sets you free.

So cling tightly to the truth of God’s word. If this is the way God has chosen to reveal Himself, then this is the way for us to defend our faith and everything essential to it, including the virgin birth.

[furederiko]

"Shin Sakura Taisen Rekidai Kayoushuu" Review

During the weekend, a friend of mine was kind enough to let me listen the whole "Shin Sakura Taisen Rekidai Kayoushuu", including the fresh tunes from the new PS4 game released last week on December 12th, 2019. Being a long time fan, naturally, I would like to share my impression for these new songs!

With that said, it has been a while since I posted an album review, because life happens and all. So I'm going to have to take it slow this time. Several songs for each post and you're looking at Part 1 of 4!

By the way, I haven't played the game itself (don't ask why. I need to get a PS4 first, right?). But there might be certain aspects from these songs that might (or might not) dive into details of the story and such. Henceforth, SPOILER ALERT! Without further ado, I'm gonna start with the first three: the group songs.

Geki! Teikoku Kagekidan <Shinshou> (Assault! Imperial Floral Troupe <New Chapter>) by. Teikoku Kagekidan Hanagumi

"Shin GEKITEI", for short. This song and its official instrumental/off-vocal track had been released on iTunes, Google Play Music, and other channels since November 26th, 2019. If you're a Sakura Wars fan, you have obviously have heard about this version over and over again by now. It's been used in every promotional video. And it's obviously featured in the game's opening sequence that you can watch above, which came out months ago. But you're still wondering about the difference to the original version sung by Sakura Shinguuji (Chisa Yokoyama)? This one has a new melody in the verses, interlude, as well as that "Yume wa yomiageru... Warera aratanaru" twist in the final chorus. The duration itself is quite similar, clocking as the shortest track of the album. While Sakura Amamiya takes most of the first verse, the remaining Shin Hanagumi members each get a line or two on the second. My one complaint is that Ana doesn't get a new line here. The pronunciation of the new verses is a challenge to sing along, especially to those who can't speak fast like yours truly. I actually bit my tongue while trying to sing this song! Then again, did the voice actresses shared the same difficulty? I mean, it wasn't easy to catch the lyrics at first (particularly Hatsuho's "no" and "wa"), since they worded it a bit differently. Not that it's that big of an issue, of course. Personally, I think it sounds fantastic and stands on par with the 1996 version. It sounds nostalgic, but with a touch of new and modern flares at the same time. I came into the fandom because I fell in love with the original "GEKITEI" the second I heard it. It thrills me to know that this new rendition might reach and attract younger fans too!

Aratanaru (Something New) by. Sakura Amamiya (Ayane Sakura), Hatsuho Shinonome (Maaya Uchida), Azami Mochizuki (Hibiku Yamamura), Anastasia Palma (Ayaka Fukuhara), Clarissa Snowflake (Saori Hayami), Huang Yui (Sumire Uesaka), Lancelot (Manami Numakura) & Elise (Nana Mizuki)

Is this the ending theme for the game? Hmmm... The song title was kept as SECRET until the December 11th's Teigeki Report. On that occasion, series composer Kouhei Tanaka-sensei was one of the guests. He revealed that the goal of this song was to evoke the sense of "Sakura Taisen 2"'s ending theme "Yume no Tsuzuki" for the new generation. And in a way, it succeeded. It does showcase a grand finale of some sort, having most of the lead female cast members lending their vocals into one song (sorry Margarete, sorry male Captains!). Shin Hanagumi takes center stage, while Elise leads the non Hanagumi in the brief interlude. My issue is not on the music, which is pretty much Kouhei-sensei's signature big group number. Rather, I feel that lately, many modern voice actresses share similar voice tones to one another. Mind you, SEGA did a good job by selecting a diverse sound for this new cast. But it still took me a few listen to figure out which character sang which part. This was never a problem in the original games. Heck, even when all 18 VAs (from Sakura to Subaru) sang "Yume no Tsuzuki" at the "Sakura Taisen Budoukan 2" Finale, I could tell them apart without any effort. They certainly had a more distinct vocal style. Anyways, it does grow on me, and in several more encores I'm sure I will fully enjoy this. And if it IS indeed the ending tune, then I'm sure the player will be pleased due to the happy ending it implies. PS: Hold on, this doesn't hint that Yui, Lancelot, and Elise became new Hanagumi members in the end, right? I sure hope that's not the case. Oh, and there's no representative from Moscow Kagekidan yet, perhaps later in the TV anime soundtrack...

Kiseki no Kane (Taishou Nijuukyuunen-ban) (Miracle Bells (Taishou 2019 Edition)) by. Teikoku Kagekidan Hanagumi

A second title had been kept SECRET during the monthly broadcasts. Surprise, surprise! Turns out, it's none other than another modern rendition of the franchise's beloved and popular song! Is it just me or Sakura sounds a bit different here? As well as Hatsuho? Just like "Aratanaru", this song once again points out how the Shin Hanagumi members sound somewhat similar when they sing together (except for Azami, of course). I believe it's due to the lack of heavy 'otokoyaku' type of voice. Both Hatsuho and Ana seem to fit into that category, but they showcase a high range of vocals too. By modern take, I meant that quite literally. This sounds more like a common pop festive song now, thanks to the completely new accoustic and synthesized music, amidst the exact same melody. The kind you would catch on a Christmas special concerts on TV or streaming sites, performed by a slightly older girl-band. I'm not complaining though. This game launches in December, thus, it's the perfect time of the year. In fact, I've been listening to past Sakura Taisen's Christmas songs on repeat since the month began. So I definitely need this. That sleigh bells chiming in the intro will totally ready you for the winter wonderland. Though I'm not sure how the international audience will react when they receive this game in Spring 2020 (at the earliest)! Ahaha... late Christmas? PS: This is the 4th version of the song. It was first featured in a Christmas episode in "Sakura Taisen 2". Then it had a Sakura, Sumire & Maria's trio version for the year-end celebration. Later, it became the opening tune for "Sakura Taisen the Movie", a version which remains to be my favorite one of them all.

Check back tomorrow, same time same channel, for the next three songs: Sekai Kagekidan Renmei (WLOF), themes of the new cities!

Video is available on SEGA Official Youtube Channel. "Shin Sakura Taisen" is produced by SEGA, and RED Entertainment. Credits and copyrights belong to their respective owners.

[weekendwarriorblog]

WHAT TO WATCH THIS WEEKEND April 26, 2019  - AVENGERS: ENDGAME!!!

This is the big one, the start of the summer movie season – like last year, one week early – but also a singularly movie that is likely to crush pretty much everything still playing in theaters, and that is…

AVENGERS: ENDGAME!!

What’s being promoted as the finale of storylines that have been set-up over ten years of Marvel movies finally hits theaters one year after the fateful ending of Infinity War. Sadly, I won’t be seeing this until early next week, since I’ll be busy attending the Tribeca Film Festival over the weekend. (See more details about that below.)

Still, it’s hard to deny the draw of a sequel to last year’s Avengers: Endgame, which had such an astounding cliffhanger ending that few will want to wait to see this one, mainly to see how the surviving heroes deal with Thanos and get their friends and colleagues back.

I guess that’s all I have to say about the movie (other than my box office analysis at The Beat), until I see it so let’s get straight to the…

LIMITED RELEASES

If you live in New York, I beseech you to go see Pamela Green’s doc BE NATURAL: THE UNTOLD STORY OF ALICE GUY-BLACHÉ  (Zeitgeist Films), narrated by Jodi Foster, when it opens in New York on Friday. It will open at the IFC Center in New York plus a few other cities as it slowly expands to other cities. It’s an amazing story about the first-ever female filmmaker who was around during the earliest days of cinema in France.

Ralph Fiennes’ directs and co-stars in THE WHITE CROW (Sony Pictures Classics), an amazing film starring Oleg Ivenko as ballet dancer Rudolf Nureyev, who travelled to Paris with his ballet company, ended up meeting and falling in love with Clara Saint (Adèle Exarchopoulos) and defecting. Fiennes plays Nureyev’s early teacher, but it’s a fairly small role as he allows his younger cast to shine in a terrific story that covers much of Nureyev’s early life before defecting. It’s a fantastic film, regardless of whether you’re into ballet or not. The White Crowopens in New York and L.A. on Friday.

Not quite as amazing (but a movie I had been looking forward to seeing since Toronto last year) is Justin Kelly’s  JT LEROY (Universal Home Entertainment), which stars Kristen Stewart as Savannah Knoop, the young woman who pretended to be author J.T. Leroy, an abused transgender young man, who was duped by actual author Laura Albert (played by Laura Dern) to help fulfill the ruse for the press and other celebrities. Jim Sturgess plays Geoffrey Knoop, Laura’s boyfriend and Savannah’s brother while Diane Kruger plays Eva, a character clearly meant to be Asia Argento, who made The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things based on “Leroy’s” novel. I was very interested in this film, partially because I interviewed Argento for that film without knowing the story until seeing Jeff Feurzeig’s doc Author: The JT Leroy Story. The movie, co-written by Knoop and Kelly from her own book documenting events, is okay, but I feel that the screenplay could have been a lot more interesting if adapted by a better writer, and I’ve generally been mixed about Kelly’s work as a director, as well.  I guess if you’re interested in this story, you can check this out in select cities or On Demand.

Josh Lobo’s thriller I TRAPPED THE DEVIL (IFC Midnight) stars Scott Poythress as Steve, a man who is holding a man hostage in his basement who he believes is the Devil himself. When his brother (AJ Bowen) and wife (Susan Burke) arrive for the Christmas season, they discover Steve’s secret and begin wondering if the man is in fact the Devil.  I liked the movie’s premise more than the execution, as I didn’t think too much about the cast.

Roxanne Benjamin made her directorial debut as part of the horror anthology Southbound. She also had a segment in the XX anthology, and she now makes her feature film debut with BODY AT BRIGHTON ROCK (Magnet Releasing). It follows a young woman who is working as a summer employee at a state park, but who takes a wrong turn and ends up in a crime scene with no communication to the outside world. Bravely, she must spend the night in the wilderness protecting the crime scene on her own.


Opening on Wednesday at Film Forum is Carmine Street Guitars (Abramorama), Ron Mann’s documentary about Rick Kelly’s West Village guitar shop that’s been where he and his apprentice Cindy Hulej design and build custom guitars for the musical superstars. Some of the guitarists who pop in and are captured on camera include Charlie Sexton, Marc Ribot, Lenny Kaye and Bill Frisell with a special appearance by Jim Jarmusch. If you’re into music or are a guitar player, you’ll want to check this out.

Maia Wechsler’s doc If the Dancer Dances (Monument Releasing) goes into the dance studio of Stephen Petronio as they try to breathe new life into Merce Cunningham’s 1968 piece “RainForest.” The movie is being released in conjunction with Cunningham’s centennial, opening Friday in New York at the Quadand in L.A. at the Laemmle Music Hall.

A Thousand Thoughts

LOCAL FESTIVALS

The big festival starting on Wednesday is the17thAnnual TRIBECA FILM FESTIVAL, which kicks off on Wednesday with Life, Animated director Roger Ross Williams’ new documentary The Apollo, which is having it World premiere AT the Apollo Theater in Harlem. Other special events held at the Beacon Theater, also far north of Tribeca, include the 35thAnniversary of This is Spinal Tap and 40th Anniversary of Francis Ford Coppola’s Apocalypse Now, a special talk between Tribeca co-founder Robert De Niro and his longtime director Martin Scorsese, as well as special concerts/talks following docs about the Wu Tang Clan (Wu Tang Clan: Of Mics and Men) and Phish frontman Trey Anastasio (Between Me and My Mind).  

I’m not sure why, but I tend to gravitate more to the docs at Tribeca than the narratives, maybe because there have been maybe a dozen narratives at the festival that I truly loved. On the other hand, the festival has become renowned for so many amazing docs, and this year, there are goods ones about Stones bassist Bill Wyman (The Quiet One), Woodstock: Three Days That Defined a Generation, Maiden (about the first all-woman around-the-world sailing team), another one about movie sound (Making Waves) and one about a Ohio factory that shuts down but then is resuscitated by a Chinese company that offers the community new hope (American Factory). I’m also looking forward to seeing the doc Other Music, about New York’s indie record store which recently shut its doors. Add to that other music docs like Linda Ronstadt: The Sound of My Voice and Mystify: Michael Hutchence, and there’s quite a bit that I’m going to want to check out. 

Some of the narratives that I’m interested include The Kill Team, starring Nat Wolff and Alexander Skarsgard, and Kevin McMullin’s Low Tide, which has its World Premiere. Also, soon-to-be-released movies like Mary (American Psycho) Harron’s Charlie Says, starring Mat Smith as Charles Manson, and Joe Berlinger’s Extremely Wicked, Shockingly Evil and Vile, starring Zac Efron as Ted Bundy, will screen at Tribeca before their respective releases on May 10.

Hopefully, I’ll find some more hidden gems as the festival progresses.

Up in Toronto, Canada, one of my favorite cities, this year’s Hot Docs begins on Thursday. As the name might imply, this is a documentary film festival with an amazing array of docs, many getting their world premieres. I’m a little busy with Tribeca to go through all that is being offered, but if you live in Toronto, then you should be able to find some interesting subjects covered.

REPERTORY

METROGRAPH (NYC):

Metrograph Pictures’ second release is a restored rerelease of Djibril Diop Mambety’s Hyenas (1992), a comic adaptation of Friedrich Dürrenmatt’s play “The Visit” about a rich woman who is visiting a small African village with enough money to back the man running for mayor of the town. Instead, she reveals that he got her pregnant and abandoned her with child, leading her to a life of misery before coming into money. She offers a bounty to kill the man who did this to her, and the village needs to decide whether they like the mayoral candidate, a popular shopkeeper, as much as they need the money being offered. It’s a pretty fascinating film, beautifully shot, and it’s nice to see the Metrograph reviving it through their distribution arm. On top of that, the retrospective of Brazilian filmmaker Nelson Pereira Dos Santos continues through Sunday, including a few repeat showings. Late Nites at Metrograph  offers Gaspar Noe’s recent Climax, as well as Evangelion 1.0 and Evangelion 2.0for the Anime fans.  Playtime: Family Matinees ends the month with a classic Kurt Russell Disney movie, The Barefoot Executive  (1971).

THE NEW BEVERLY (L.A.):

Weds. afternoon is a screening of Melville’s 1956 film Bob Le Flambeur, while a double feature of Sydney Pollack’s The Yakuza  (1974) and John Woo’s A Better Tomorrow II  (1987) runs Weds. and Thursday. The Extended Version of Sam Peckinpah’s Major Dundee  (1965), starring Charlton Heston, screens on Friday and Saturday, followed by the double feature of Peter Sellers’ 1966 film After the Fox and Elaine May’s The Hearbreak Kid on Sunday and Monday. Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight and the 1983 comedy Doctor Detroit are the Friday and Saturday midnight movies, respectably. This weekend’s KIDEE MATINEE is Lord and Miller’s animated Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs, while Monday’s matinee is David Fincher’s Fight Club.

FILM FORUM (NYC):

The “Trilogies” series continues this weekend with Andrzej Wajda’s “War Trilogy” (A Generation, Kanal, Ashes and Diamonds) on Wednesday, Jean Cocteau’s “Orphic Trilogy” (Blood of a Poet, Orpheus and Testament of Orpheus) on Thursday. Ingmar Bergman’s “God and Man Trilogy” (Through a Glass Darkly, Winter Light and The Silence) screens on Friday, and then Nicolas Winding Refn’s Pusher trilogy begins on Friday then continues on Saturday, April 27, and the third part on May 4. (Trust me, this is not an easy series to watch in one sitting.) Also, Marcel Pagnol’s “Marseilles Trilogy” will screen on Sunday. Film Forum Jr. shows Satyajit Ray’s Pather Panchali (1955), which is also part of Ray’s “Apu Trilogy” for the “Trilogies” series. See how that works?

BAM CINEMATEK (NYC):

BAM is killing it this week with a number of releases including a restored rerelease of Nina Menkes’ 1991 film Queen of Diamond with Menkes present for a QnA on Friday night and a panel on Saturday night. Set in Vegas, it deals with a disaffected blackjack dealer who drifts through a series of encounters. On Wednesday, BAM’s “Screen Epiphanies” series continues with Vanity Faircritic K. Austin Collins presenting Brian De Palma’s thriller Femme Fatale, starring Rebecca Romjin. Lastly, on Sunday, the “Beyond the Canon” series continues with a double feature of Charles Lane’s Sidewalk Stories  (1989) with Charlie Chaplin’s The Kid (1921).

EGYPTIAN THEATRE (LA):

The Egyptian gets in on Aero’s Classic Movie ClownsThursday with a Marx Brothers double feature of A Night at the Opera (1935) and A Day at the Races  (1937) with authors Robert Bader and Josh Frank signing their book. Friday sees a Stanley Donen tribute with a screening of Singin’ in the Rain  (1952), plus there will be an encore screening of the 7-hour War and Peace  (1967) on Sunday and Disney’s Mary Poppins (1964) on Sunday with a panel in conjunction with the Art Directors Guild Film Society.

AERO  (LA):

A new series called “Cowboys and Samurai” begins this week, and it’s little surprise that most of the samurai movies are from Akira Kurosawa. It begins on Thursday with a double feature of Rashomon (1950)and High Noon, then continues Friday with The Searchers (1956) and The Hidden Fortress (1958) and Seven Samurai (1954) and The Wild Bunch  (1969) on Saturday. Sunday’s double feature is Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven (1992) and the 1962 film Harakiri (1962) (not directed by Kurosawa!). Sunday is also a rescheduled screening of the musical Annie (1982), as part of the Albert Finney remembrance.

IFC CENTER (NYC)

Waverly Midnights: Parental Guidance  continues with Poltergeist  (1982), Weekend Classics: Love Mom and Dad screens Charlie Chaplin’s The Kid  (1921), while Late Night Favorites: Spring shows Jodorowsky’s El Topo (1970).

MOMA (NYC):

Modern Matinees: B is for Bacall will show 1956’s Written on the Windon Weds, How to Marry a Millionaire  (1953) Thursday and then end the series on Friday with a reshowing of Vincent Minelli’s Designing Woman  (1957).

MUSEUM OF THE MOVING IMAGE (NYC):

The museum’s See it Big! Action series continues with two screenings of William Friedkin’s The French Connection 1971) on Friday and Saturday, Bullitt  (1968) on Saturday and George Miller’s Mad Max: Fury Road on Sunday. There will also be a showing of William Lustig’s 1980 horror film Maniacwith Lustig in attendance as part of its Disreputable Cinema series. This weekend is the first I’ve ever wished I lived out in Astoria, Queens.

QUAD CINEMA (NYC):

Wild Things: The Ferocious Films of Nelly Kaplan ends Thursday, but I don’t have any information for the weekend as of yet.

LANDMARK THEATRES NUART  (LA):

This Friday’s midnight movie is John Carpenter’s The Thing (1982), also starring Kurt Russell.

That’s it for this week. Next week: Four new wide releases that aren’t Avengers: Endgame!

[thrashermaxey]

Ramblings: Vegas JAM; Boeser Injured; Laine Snipes Again – December 18

One day after a 48-save shutout from Carter Hutton was needed for St. Louis to defeat Winnipeg, it was much the same kind of domination by the Jets on Sunday. They jumped out to a 1-0 lead in the first period thanks to Adam Lowry and shots on goal were 21-10 for Winnipeg halfway through the game. St. Louis has a couple of injuries in the lineup, but they have been one of the better defensive teams in the NHL this season, and Winnipeg was shredding them.

Patrik Laine shredded them for his 16th goal of the season, this one coming with the man advantage (his 10th PP goal). It looked like a play where the team would have to continue setting up, working for a good shot. Laine had other ideas, and it’s shots like this that make him one of the most dangerous shooters on the planet:

that laine shot tho pic.twitter.com/lbwGuHJmKP

— Michael Clifford (@SlimCliffy) December 18, 2017

That he can shoot at that angle with the goalie in a set position, and make said goalie look as if he had no chance, is something special.

Mark Scheifele and Josh Morrissey each scored in the third period to salt this away. Connor Hellebuyck held on for the 24-save shutout. Jake Allen faced 45 shots, giving the Jets 93 shots (!) in two days against St. Louis.

*

For those that may have missed in on The Athletic, Paul Campbell had a nice article breaking down the adjustments Connor Hellebuyck made in the off-season as it relates to being quieter, more compact, and not relying on pure athleticism/size all the time. His save percentage now sits at .920 after that game. If he can be anything close to that goalie, with this team playing the way it is, they are a legitimate Cup contender.

*

Alex Pietrangelo was activated off the injured reserve on Sunday in time for the Blues’ game against Winnipeg. He missed four games with a lower-body injury. While it’s obviously good news for the Blues and Petro’s fantasy owners, it’s bad news for fantasy owners of both Colton Parayko and Vince Dunn. Both blue liners had seen some top PP time with the team’s top defenceman out of the lineup, and that PP time is sure to disappear now.

It should be said, though, that Parayko was kept on the top PP unit for Sunday’s game, even with Pietrangelo back. I doubt it lasts, but it’s worth mentioning.

*

Patrick Kane got the scoring started for Chicago, potting his 13th of the season in the middle of the first period, and his 14th in late in the second frame. He’s now on pace for 35 goals and a shade over a point per game. This is pretty much the Patrick Kane fantasy owners have come to expect, outside of his career year in 2015-16. He and Artemi Panarin undoubtedly had great chemistry, and we’re seeing a return to normalcy for Kane with Panarin in Columbus. It’s no coincidence his two highest five-on-five on-ice shooting percentage seasons came with the talented Russian on his left wing, so expecting Kane to pass 100 points again is asking too much. He’s undoubtedly one of the elite offensive talents in the NHL, but he can’t do it all himself.

Alex Stalock faced 45 shots, stopping 42 of them in the loss while Corey Crawford stopped 27 of 28 for the win.

Richard Panik was scratched again for Chicago, his third game in a row (if I’m counting correctly). It’s a confusing situation, but if you were hanging on to him, it’s probably best to just drop him now. Even if he were to make his way out of the press box, it seems pretty unlikely he jumps back into a top-six role.

*

Minnesota got a boost last night as Jared Spurgeon slotted back in the lineup after missing three weeks with a groin injury. He had been on pace for career-highs across the board until being forced to the sidelines, so it’ll be interesting to see how he rebounds. At the least, this will help the Minnesota defence that has been inconsistent at best this year, which in turn should help Devan Dubnyk get on track once he himself returns from his current injury.

I will say, though, this team hasn’t been great defensively all year, with or without injuries. Over the last month, with a mostly-full roster, the team is 20th in adjusted shot attempts allowed. Now, they still aren’t giving up a lot of scoring chances, so maybe their defensive system will hold up as it has for a couple years now. We’ll see how this goes.  

*

So, uh, sorry, Canucks fans?

Here is the play – Boeser blocks the shot on the PP#Canucks pic.twitter.com/drRssHnrl1

— Ryan Biech (@ryanbiech) December 18, 2017

Boeser did not return to the game. It’s doubtful we get an update on the severity of the injury until sometime Monday afternoon at the earliest.

It wasn’t long ago that Baertschi-Horvat-Boeser was one of the top production lines in the league. Now, Horvat has a broken ankle, Baertschi is out for another month with a broken jaw, and we’re awaiting the severity of the injury to Boeser. I suppose by default the Sedins are now the top line again, but this is going to be a slog of an uphill climb. I suppose Rasmus Dahlin is a decent consolation prize?

*

Mark Jankowski scored his sixth of the season in the first period of Calgary’s game on the road against Vancouver. I know Flames fans were hoping for more when he was originally drafted, but Jankowski is on pace for nearly 20 goals playing 13-15 minutes a night on the third line. For a guy that took five years to make his NHL debut, it wasn’t always certain he’d pan out. If he could even be a middle-six winger for the next decade for this franchise, that is a huge win. By the way, he has given some sparse top PP minutes tonight with the Johnny Hockey line. If that can continue, he could be a viable fantasy option in most leagues. That’s a big if, however.

Mark Giordano added a couple goals for the Flames in their rout of Vancouver with David Rittich picking up the win in net.

Sam Bennett picked up four points here, a goal and three assists. After going pointless in his first 15 games, Bennett has 15 points in 19 games. If you own him in a league with hits, you're laughing. It's nice to see him right the ship after the rough start to the year. 

Of course, all fantasy goodness was secondary to the health of Boeser. He had such an incredible start to his career. Let’s all hope it’s nothing serious.

*

The game of the night was Florida/Vegas, without a doubt.

Michael Matheson and Radim Vrbata scored less than two and a half minutes apart in the first period to get the Panthers out to a 2-0 lead. Nate Schmidt and Colin Miller replied for Vegas to give us a 2-2 game at the end of 20.

Erik Haula tipped home a Miller shot in the third period that would stand as the game-winner.

Jonathan Marchessault scored an empty-netter and added two assists, meaning he’s now a point-per-game player on the season with 29 points in 29 games.

I talked about it a couple weeks ago with regards to Miller, but one thing that has been fun to watch in Vegas this year is how guys who had been typically third-pairing guys for their careers are now performing in Vegas. Miller is absolutely crushing it in all facets; Nate Schmidt is having a rough year in the shot-share department, but is doing much better playing away from Luca Sbisa (surprise, surprise); Brayden McNabb is performing as expected, and even earned himself a new contract. Guys who couldn’t earn a top role in other spots are flourishing for the Golden Knights. I’m sure there’s a lesson to be learned here from league execs/managers, though we’ll see if they actually glean anything.

*

A bit of news regarding injuries to a few of New Jersey forwards. Taylor Hall skated with Nico Hischier in practice on Sunday, indicating his return to the lineup is imminent. He missed two games last week with a knee bruise, but looks ready to go for Monday’s game against Anaheim. Those in weekly leagues, don’t forget to activate him; with three home games and a relatively soft schedule (Ducks, Rangers, Blackhawks), you don’t want to leave him on the bench by accident.

Kyle Palmieri also skated on the top line with Hall and Hischier, which means he’s likely ready to return Monday after missing four weeks with a broken foot. Palmieri averaged 28 goals and 55 points over his first two years in New Jersey, and had showed promise skating on the top line earlier this year that he could repeat close to that level again. Like Hall, if you’re a weekly fantasy owner, it’s time to get him back into your lineup.

Marcus Johansson, on the other hand, appears to not be quite ready to make his way back into the starting lineup. He did practice with his team on Sunday, but skated as an extra, meaning he will likely miss at least one more game. He’s officially a game-time decision for Monday night.

*

An update on Logan Couture:

Logan Couture out tomorrow (at least) with a head injury, per DeBoer. Day to day

— Kevin Kurz (@KKurzNHL) December 17, 2017

Readers will remember that Couture left San Jose’s game against Vancouver in the third period after taking a hit to the head. As always, concussions are a fickle injury, and when Couture will be ready is anyone’s guess. It could be a couple games, a couple weeks, a couple months. There’s just no way to know.

With Couture out of the lineup, Chris Tierney moved up to the second line with Tomas Hertl while Kevin Labanc took Couture’s spot on the top power-play unit. In practice on Sunday, though, Hertl shifted to the middle of the second line with Labanc and Melker Karlsson on his flanks. My guess is that this is probably just a situation to avoid, and looking for a direct replacement for Couture from the Sharks roster is not advised.

*

Nikita Zaitsev was placed on injured reserve by the Leafs and Martin Marincin was called up to take his place. That will keep Zaitsev out until after the Christmas break, which is a break in itself for Toronto as the team only has three games in the next 10 days.

It has been a rough year offensively for the 26-year old, but he was still valuable in real-time stats leagues averaging nearly two hits and three blocked shots per game. It shouldn’t be too difficult to replace him on waiver wires, however. It depends how deep your league is, but a couple blue liners that can help replace Zaitsev’s production include Derek Forbort and Calvin de Haan. Keep an eye for more information today on de Haan, though, as he was seen in pain after the team’s overtime win on Saturday night. It may be nothing, but no need to pull the trigger on the waiver add just yet.  

*

Colorado could get Alex Kerfoot back tonight after missing a few games with a foot injury emanating from an unintentional blocked shot. On the season, Kerfoot has nine goals and 21 points in 29 games, with 10 of those points coming with the man advantage.

While this could be construed as a good thing for fantasy owners, it might be time to see what he can fetch in a trade. He’s averaging just over one shot on goal per game (seriously, he has 30 in 29 contests), and the team is shooting 12 percent with him on the ice at five-on-five. All his numbers are going to regress over the final 50 games of the season, and it could be severe. Anyone that took the chance on him with a late-round flyer in September should be looking to trade him now. You got as much value as you could have hoped for. It’s time to move on. 

from All About Sports http://www.dobberhockey.com/hockey-rambling/ramblings-vegas-jam-boeser-injured-laine-snipes-again-december-18/