#provided i have the christmas invasion.....

[queen-scribbles]

YES YOU WERE, hands down my forever favorite Doctor <3333

[philsmeatylegss]

I’ve seen a few people, mostly non-American, who don’t know who Henry Kissinger is or what he did. So your local history student and nerd is going to try to give a quick summary of the main atrocities he committed.

-Role in the Vietnam War: this is the first and biggest reason most people have for hating Kissinger. He unnecessarily extended and expanded the war prolonging the already frivolous conflict. He purposefully delayed negotiations. He approved large scale carpet bombings done with the use of B-52 bombs killed thousands to millions of innocent civilians. The Christmas Bombing was an intense, focused bombing that caused large civilian deaths in a short period of time. He engaged in negotiations with the North Vietnamese often without permission or knowledge from the US government. He was the National Security Advisor and overall had much knowledge about 1) how useless the war was 2) the travesties happening to both the North Vietnamese and South, as well as America’s own soldiers.

-Secret Bombing and Invasion in Cambodia: Kissinger (and Nixon) lead secret bombing campaigns in Cambodia aimed to destroy North Vietnamese trails and routes that ran through the country. Cambodia originally pursued neutrality in the war. Its citizens were not involved.

-Invasion and Bombing of Laos: Laos also held North Vietnamese routes, so Kissinger led Operation Lam Son which was a full scale invasion supplied with American air power and weapons. Not that it would matter, but this invasion did little to interrupt the trade routes. The North Vietnamese, made up of people who lived and knew the landscape of Vietnam, were able to adapt and find new routes. There was also secret bombings carried out in Laos, authorized by Kissinger, aimed to destroy the Ho Chi Minh trail, which, once again, wasn’t disrupted and just took innocent civilian lives in Laos. Laos also remained neutral in the Vietnam War. They were not involved, yet they were punished.

-Involvement in the Bangladesh Liberation War: this was a war between Bangladesh and Pakistan. Kissinger remained in a close relationship with Pakistan which, by now, was known to be committing horrendous human rights abuses, including large scale killings of the Bangladeshis. In fact, Kissinger and America provided funding for them. America was aligned in the first place because of bullshit Cold War alliances.

-Supporting and funding a dictator over an elected president: Chile had elected a *gasp* socialist president that really made Kissinger piss his pants. Project FUBELT, directly under Kissinger’s guidance, initiated covert actions to undermine and prevent the socialist President, Salvador Allende, from rising to power. Financial support was provided to anti-Allende groups and would eventually provided support to a military coup who would kill Allende. The leader of the coup, Augusto Pinochet, would then assume power and take rule an authoritarian government and become a dictator for 17 years. Under his rule, torture and executions were carried out against political dissidents and others. This wasn’t a secret.

-Supported the brutal invasion of East Timor: Indonesia would invade and occupy East Timor in 1975. Kissinger and Nixon had knowledge of the invasion beforehand and provided military support despite the knowledge of human rights abuses already taking place in East Timor by the Indonesians, abuses often using US weapons. Massacres, forced displacement, suppression of political dissents, torture, sexual abuse, restrictions of religious and cultural practices, and scorched earth policies are just some examples.

To my knowledge, these are usually the largest reasons cited, but please add more if I’m wrong. There are also lesser known atrocities either supported or funded by Kissinger, many taking place in Africa, that I thoroughly implore you to read about. Please correct any inaccurate things I said.

[teaspoonnebula]

VALL Chapter 1 - The Warning

So as a recap - yes I run this substack. No, I haven't read this novel. I'm really looking forwards to getting to experience new (to me) canonical Sherlock Holmes for the very last time in my life... and I'm going to write a bunch about it, so hold on tight.

“I am inclined to think—” said I. “I should do so,” Sherlock Holmes remarked impatiently. I believe that I am one of the most long-suffering of mortals; but I'll admit that I was annoyed at the sardonic interruption.

LOL I love how we jump right into Holmes and Watson banter. Watson's understated "“you are a little trying at times" reminds me of his reaction to Holmes shooting holes in the walls at Baker Street being "I felt strongly that neither the atmosphere nor the appearance of our room was improved by it."

Of course we don't get any indication of the tone in which he says these things, but I think we can guess Watson is countering with a little acerbic wit of his own.

So, Holmes has received a letter from a mysterious figure known as 'Porlock'

Picture to yourself the pilot fish with the shark, the jackal with the lion—anything that is insignificant in companionship with what is formidable:

This idea of the pilot fish is a very cool metaphor. Unfortunately it is entirely ruined for me because it was also used in the Christmas Invasion episode of Doctor Who to describe these things and that's always where my brain is going to go:

Porlock is one of Moriarty's henchmen or representatives! Which makes me interested in the fact that I've never come across this character in pastiches or adaptations or fanfic - why not?

(Also it makes no sense for Watson to know all about Moriarty but that's a Continuity Thing and we all know Arthur Conan Doyle didn't let that sort of thing get in the way of telling his story - more power to him, honestly.)

“You are developing a certain unexpected vein of pawky humour, Watson, against which I must learn to guard myself.

I JUST SAID THAT, HOLMES.

“May I be there to see!” I exclaimed devoutly.

Well THAT is a sucker punch of a line. No, Watson, you won't be there to see, I'm afraid. See, there will be this Swiss boy... anyway, we're getting off track.

Turns out Porlock is a bit of a mole (I wouldn't quite go so far as to say 'double agent'), and has been giving Holmes information provided he is paid enough. This includes a secret cipher which relates to a particular book, which Holmes assumes will arrive in the second post.

GUTTED I didn't read this book when I was 11, I loved ciphers and would have lapped this up.

“Your native shrewdness, my dear Watson, that innate cunning which is the delight of your friends...

"your friends" Lol Holmes just say "Me" we know that's what you mean - and gosh, he's being so sarcastic with Watson!

Billy the page shows up with the second post and readers, I CHEERED at Billy. Does he say anything? No. But BILLY!!! Alas the letter from Porlock says that he just had an unpleasant encounter with Moriarty (with an envelope addressed to 221b in his possession, whoops!) and so so he won't be sending along the key to the cypher.

I love that Holmes' reaction to this isn't frustration at not getting his cypher, but worry for Fred Porlock, and hope that Moriarty doesn't actually suspect him. THIS is why I love Canon Holmes - I think he is fundamentally kind...

“Perhaps there are points which have escaped your Machiavellian intellect.

Holmes points out that they might be able to work out which book is required for the cypher, and guides Watson through his deductive process - which is adorable. And I loved following along with it too - with my knowledge of Victorian ephemera I was hoping it was going to be a Bradshaw, but as Holmes notes to both Watson and me, the range of vocabulary needs to be broader!

It's a Whitaker's Almanac! But not the new edition - the old one. This is a fun little reversal which gives us a moment of Holmes thinking he's 'failed'.

The message suggests that someone called Douglas who lives at Birlstone House, Birlstone, is in danger.

(Clearly this is a totally different house to Hurlstone, from Musgrave Ritual....)

After deciphering the message, Holmes and Watson get a visit from an Inspector MacDonald. I was a little sorry this isn't one of the familiar Yarders (Hopkins, my beloved...) but I'm going to be interested to get to know him. Alas, Holmes is too late to save Douglas - he has already been murdered.

***

So, uh, I'm having the time of my life reading this, honestly. It's such incredibly good fun. I'm intrigued that whatever has happened to Douglas must somehow be linked to Moriarty.

There's a lot of banter about Watson's intellect which I feel should frustrate me more, a lot of the dialogue feels like it's bordering on being quite patronising to Watson, but I think his reactions suggest this is comfortable back and forth done from a place of security in each other.

[creepycranberry]

Orange juice

Rafe Cameron x reader

Kind of Platonic! Kie x Rafe?

Warnings: talk of alcoholism, drug use, grief, depression, pregnancy, rehab, parental issues, spoilers (?),not proofread, let me know if there’s more.

->->->->->->

Rafe knew Christmas wouldn’t exactly be ideal this year, he had tried his best to do the same as his family had done his whole childhood- sans the family.

Sarah was going to be giving birth soon so Christmas at theirs was small, Rafe had gotten the baby a gift as well as something for his little sister.

He decided to drop off the gifts a couple weeks before Christmas.

“Why are you dropping these off now?” Sarah asked, attempting to crouch to put the presents under the tree that she already had put up. Rafe took them from her and set them under the tree himself, “and who’s this third one for?”

“Kie.” Rafe clears his throat.

“Kie?”

“Yeah. Figured she’d had a pretty hard year. And I’m gonna be headed out of town around actual Christmas and I don’t know if I’ll see you before then so I thought I’d drop them off today.” He shrugs, itching the back of his head.

“What is it?” Sarah asks, looking at the poorly wrapped box, the snowman print crinkled in a way that made the snowmen’s faces seem oddly distorted.

“Nothing important.” Rafe shrugs, “I just- it’s nothing.”

“Okay. Well thank you for the gifts.” Sarah smiles, “where are you going for Christmas?”

“Just gonna be on the mainland for a few days. Business stuff.”

“Are you going to see her?”

“Who?” Rafe badly feigns cluelessness.

“Rafe.”

“Yeah. I am.” He conceded, “She thinks she may be ready to come back this year. Or that’s what Marjories telling me.”

Sarah smiles and begins folding the basket of freshly washed clothing. Over the last few months her and Rafe have become somewhat closer. Rafe had felt the need to help protect snd provide for Sarah and his niece or nephew. Last time he was over she was attempting to clean baseboards. Every time he comes over she seems to be doing something different to prepare her home “just in case the baby comes early.

Rafe thinks she’s become too used to things not going to plan.

And over the months as he’s come to visit Sarah he’s seen Kie more and more. She never talks much, if at all, but she’s less resentful towards him. And Rafe can’t find it in him to resent her when she always looks depressed, like she’s missing something. And he supposes she is.

“They’re letting you talk to her?” Sarah asks.

“She’s been out of the rehabilitation center for a while and she’s been living with her aunt. She’s Not exactly under lock and key.” Rafe retorts.

“You just haven’t mentioned talking to her in a few years.” Sarah shrugs, using her stomach to set a shirt on as she spoke, “I wasn’t sure if you were out of contact by choice or by like circumstances.”

“Well I’ve been somewhat preoccupied and I- I didn’t want her to know how I’d been the last few years. I want her to know me now, you know?”

“I get it.” Sarah says.

She seemed gentler now more than usual. It might have been the pregnancy but something in her was put at ease when they got back home. Rafe thought that perhaps if something else were to happen she would finally have an excuse to stay back, that her duty to her child would outweigh her loyalty to John B.

Or maybe it was just the pregnancy.

The sound of soft footsteps down the hallway catch rafe and Sarah’s attention. The both look up the see Kie pattering into the living room, wearing a tshirt that was clearly not hers.

Rafe was pretty sure he knew who it belonged to though, “hey, Kie.” He smiles easily, trying to make his presence in her home feel less invasive.

“Rafe. What’s going on?” Kie sighs, leaning against the doorframe.

“Just dropping off Christmas presents.”

“Isn’t that like a bit from now?” Kie asks.

“It’s in a week and a half.” Sarah smiles. She was used to Kies perception of time being off. It had been like this for months.

“Oh,” Kie clears her throat, clearly somewhat embarrassed.

“Creeped up on me too.” Rafe offers and Kie nods.

“Good to know,” she tried her best to smile and return rafe’s politeness. She was still getting used to him being on their side. She had to remind herself that he didn’t want to be their enemy, “Sarah, are there still leftovers from the other night?”

“I hid a smaller container away from the boys. It’s in the vegetable drawer.”

Kie smiles at Sarah and waves awkwardly to Rafe, turning and heading into the kitchen.

“Has she uh, been doing any better?” Rafe asks. He had listened to Sarah ramble about her anxiety towards Kies grief, he knew if there was good news to report it would give Sarah some sense of hope but if there wasn’t at least he could revel in the fact that Sarah is confiding in him again.

“Depends on what you mean by better but she’s more functional.”

“I’m glad.” Rafe says, seemingly surprising Sarah. She wasn’t used to him being genuine quite yet, “functional is a good step forward. I uh- I would know.”

Sarah smiles at him like she used to and it makes his heart jump. He went into this with the intention to fix his family for his father, but in the process he just remembered how much he loved her when they were little. Now it was more for human connection than anything to do with his father’s wishes.

Rafe excuses himself from the house and gets in his truck, letting the engine run for a minute to warm him up before he starts driving.

->->->->->->

You sat in the car with your aunt, silence thick between the two of you. Your parents had given up on you entirely after you had gone to the hospital with alcohol poisoning after sneaking out and not coming home for days. Aunt Marnie took you in. Flew you to New York, put you into a smaller teen rehab situation and you stayed there for months before actually being able to move in with her.

She wasn’t one to let you slip up, she kept you going to meetings and therapy. Conversation wasn’t either of your strong suit, you had a shared understanding of one another and were content being in each others presence.

“The Cameron boy called.” Your aunt informs you and your eyebrows shoot up.

“He called you?” Aunt Marnie nods and you shake your head, “radio silence for three years and then he calls you?”

“He asked about coming down for Christmas and possibly taking you home for a couple weeks to visit.”

“What did you say?”

“I told him we’d see how Christmas went. And that he’d have to speak to you about it of course.”

You stew for a few Minutes and aunt Marnie waits, knowing you’ll say what you’re wanting to in time.

“Three years and now he wants to visit?” You ask incredulously, cynicism lacing your words.

“He sounds better than he was the last time I spoke to him.” She informs you and you shake your head.

“He’s such an ass.” You mumble, “and he couldn’t even contact me directly about it?”

“From what I understand the last few years have been hard on him. His father died not too long ago, let’s not forget.” Marnie always tried to see the other side of things. She was eccentric and positive and no nonsense.

“But what about before that? Before all of that shit?”

“Language, young lady.” Marnie warns and you press your lips into a thin line, “and that’s a question for him. Just hear him out before you let your anger get the best of you.”

You nod and look out the window. The snow was falling in a thick white haze. You hated New York when you first moved here. It was too crowded and the people were rude and traffic was hell.

But then one day you were sitting on the balcony at the rehabilitation home and you were painting. It was cold, you had your comforter wrapped around you tightly and a hot cup of coffee. The place Marnie put you in was unconventional at best. It wasn’t even really an official rehab center you just didn’t know what else to call it.

It was the home of an old woman your Aunt was friends with. There were only a few other kids there. It was quiet for the most part, it was relaxing and enjoyable at times.

Miss Leigh had a long list of rules, she didn’t allow many kinds of medicine, she was very against soda and she didn’t take shit from anyone. She checked rooms once a day to make sure no one had anything they shouldn’t have and she made sure to be very hands on in the healing process of the kids she took in.

Her son had died at nineteen from alcohol and drug use and she had dedicated her life from that point to helping kids like him. You weren’t sure if it was legally considered a rehab or even a business but it worked for you.

Each person there was on a schedule fitted to them. Yours involved a lot of distractions, hobbies, and chores. Distractions seemed to work for you so you didn’t think about the mental and physical toll that withdrawal was having on you. You read when you woke up, helped with lunch, ate lunch, helped clean the kitchen, took a walk, painted, helped Miss Leigh with her flower beds, helped with dinner ate dinner, sometimes dessert and then you would sit on the porch with Miss Leigh until her bedtime and then you painted some more. And then once a week your aunt would pick you up and take you to therapy, then to dinner and then back to Miss Leigh’s.

you painted outside mainly, listening to the birds and one of the records from Miss Leigh’s extensive collection and trying to keep from thinking about your parents or how much you wanted a drink and a blunt or a certain blonde haired girl and her brother.

It had been cold for weeks but there hadn’t been any snow, despite Miss Leigh sitting in the kitchen every day saying that today would be the day. It was dark outside and Miss Leigh had already gone to bed. The lights were on in the garden where two of the other kids sat on the fenced in patio with a chess board.

You were focused on your painting, humming along to a record when you heard some laughter and squealing in the garden. And when you looked you realized snow was falling heavily. You’d never seen snow this heavy before. You completely abandoned your painting to watch it fall. You watched it until you fell asleep and you ended up sick for days after but you didn’t mind so long as you could sit at your window and watch the snow fall.

You’d wanted to call Rafe about it so badly but you wouldn’t be able to actually talk to him until you went to live with your aunt officially.

You found yourself wanting to call him all of the time, more than you thought to when you lived in the same town as him. You never had to call him really, he was always there.

You missed it.

[theroyalhouseofwindenburg]

The Illusion of Loyalty

For more than three years, Cordelia's whereabouts have remained a mystery. On Christmas night in the year 1353, the royal family gathered at Windenburg Castle for an opulent feast befitting royalty. The dining hall glowed softly in the dim light as snowflakes danced outside, lending a cozy atmosphere to the occasion. King Edward, now approaching his sixteenth year, sat solemnly at the head of the table, his mind preoccupied with thoughts of his absent mother. Despite the festivities and merriment around him, the lingering absence of Queen Cordelia cast a somber shadow over the gathering.

Since 1350, numerous events have unfolded in rapid succession. In the autumn of 1352, the Kingdom of Bagley faced a formidable threat as the French launched an invasion in a bid to seize control of the land. Their massive army forced Bagley's royal family into exile, seeking refuge in Willowshire. Tragedy struck when Finchwick fell to the invaders, culminating in a devastating ambush on Bagley Castle that left it in ruins, the billowing smoke a grim testament to the chaos that ensued. As the summer of 1353 arrived, the once-proud Royal House of Bagley found itself teetering on the brink of collapse under the relentless onslaught of war.

Back at Willowshire Castle, the suffering persists. Priscilla, the Dowager Queen of Bagley and the last living descendant of the Tredonian Dynasty, a pure Tredonian lineage that has endured since the year 999, has grown gravely ill in recent weeks. She lay in her chambers, surrounded by family, being comforted by her daughter Corrine. Suddenly, she awoke from her slumber, looked to Corrine, and asked, "Wherefore art thou, Cordelia? Hast thou unearthed her whereabouts?" Corrine looked at her mother with sad eyes, softly shaking her head. The look of fear lingered in Priscilla's eyes as she responded, "My dear Corrine, as I lay here, feeling the weight of time pressing upon me, I must share with you a heavy burden that rests upon my heart. My soul trembles with the fear of the unknown. In these moments of uncertainty, I urge you to remember that even in darkness, there is strength to be found. Hold fast to hope, for it is a beacon that guides us through the darkest of nights. Trust in the resilience of our family, and believe that love will prevail, no matter the trials we face. Remember, my child, that courage is not the absence of fear, but the determination to persevere despite it. Let these words be a balm for your troubled spirit, and may they grant you the fortitude to weather this storm with grace and resilience."

Corrine provided assurance to Priscilla that their search for Cordelia would never cease, affirming the enduring legacy of the Bagley Dynasty. The next morning, Priscilla succumbed to her illness at the age of 66. Her grieving family gathered around her, draped in mourning attire, grappling with the unfathomable reality of her passing.

King Henry perceived the ominous signs accumulating around Bagley, the economy plummeting as the French ravaged markets and homes, spreading chaos through the once-prosperous kingdom. Amidst this turmoil, King Henry discerned an opportunity that could not be overlooked. Meeting with King Edward of Windenburg and his trusted Regent and Lord Protector, Lord Richard, King Henry orchestrated a pivotal meeting.

Gathered within the solemn halls of Windenburg Castle, Henry, Edward, and Richard engaged in negotiations fraught with tension and urgency. Aware of Bagley's dire state and the looming threat of the French invasion, Henry proposed a bold exchange. In a solemn pact, Henry relinquished the deed to Willowshire, a symbolic gesture of trust and alliance, in exchange for a substantial amount of gold from Windenburg that would provide them security for years to come.

The terms were meticulously crafted to ensure Bagley's survival amidst the ravages of war, the gold serving as a vital lifeline to protect the kingdom's interests and fortify its defenses. Edward, recognizing the gravity of the situation and the importance of solidarity among neighboring realms, graciously accepted the agreement. In an act of magnanimity, Edward extended hospitality to Henry and his kin, permitting them to remain within the walls of Willowshire Castle until the tumultuous war had run its course.

After the grandeur of the Christmas feast had faded and the halls of Windenburg Castle quieted down, King Edward retired to his chambers for the night. However, sleep eluded him, and a gnawing hunger stirred his stomach. With a sigh, he rose from his bed and made his way to the dimly lit dining hall, hoping to find a servant to attend to his late-night craving.

As he stepped into the corridor outside his chambers, his ears caught snippets of conversation coming from nearby. Against the stone wall, he listened intently as Lord Richard and Father Paul Leudemond engaged in a discussion that sent shivers down his spine.

"Intriguing," Paul remarked with a sly grin. "First, Bagley Castle succumbs to flames, a spectacle fit for legends." Lord Richard nodded in agreement, a knowing glint in his eyes.

"And then, the Dowager Queen Priscilla's demise. Quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?" The tone grew somber as they delved into the recent events, with Paul adding, "A cruel twist indeed. But let us not overlook the grand finale. Willowshire slipping through their fingers into Windenburg's embrace. Oh, the tragedy of Bagley seems boundless." Despite the gravity of their words, Lord Richard couldn't help but chuckle with a hint of mockery. "Ah, but there's one more delightful twist to savor. Our elusive Cordelia, hidden away amidst the chaos. Yet, we know precisely where she lies."

Paul nodded in agreement, summing up their thoughts. Both men erupted into laughter at their manipulation of power, oblivious to King Edward's vigilant ears absorbing every word.

Consumed by fury, Edward felt the weight of betrayal heavy upon his shoulders as he refrained from confronting Lord Richard and Father Paul. His mind echoed with their mocking laughter, each chuckle a dagger in his trust. As he retreated to the sanctuary of his chambers, the flickering candlelight cast shadows of doubt upon his once unyielding faith in those around him.

Inside, the room seemed to shrink around him, suffocating him with the enormity of his anger. His clenched fists trembled, his jaw tight with restrained emotions. The silence was deafening, amplifying the bitter taste of realization that trust, once a cherished virtue, had become a fragile illusion in the treacherous landscape of a political game.

[nodutra19]

Snowgrave Inspirations?

So we all know the Snowgrave route was inspired, or at least has the texture of being as such, by creepypastas in the sense a game is being broken and has an almost gestalt intelligence in its reaction to being so. Beyond specific references and such, what do y'all think specifically inspired it? I imagine shit like Ben Drowned and Godzilla NES factor in, but I want to provide a unique addition:

Persona 1, or more specifically, Revelations: Persona.

Some set dressing for the uninitiated: Persona 1 has two routes:

The main story is the SEBEC Route, which centers around the demon invasion and transformation of Mikage-cho as a result of the machinations and experiments of the shady SEBEC ("Saeki Electronics & Biological & Energy Corporation") and how one Maki Sonomura stands at the center of all this.

That's the story most experience, but there's a harder alternate route called the Snow Queen Quest, or SQQ for short. This route centers around the titular play which was performed at St. Hermelin High, the school of the game, and how the Snow Queen Mask came to be possessed with a vengeful spirit. But in order to activate this quest, you have to take a number of steps after leaving the school to visit Maki but before activating the SEBEC route, which most people do because of the natural flow of the story; while not the most cryptic or elaborate thing I've experienced, you definitely have to go out of your way in order to experience this part of the game.

While the SQQ is similarly hiemal as Snowgrave since the Queen freezes the school over and attempts to sacrifice a pivotal teacher to bring back the "Eternal Night," the main thing I want to talk about is:

The fact that in the original American release of the game, retitled Revelations: Persona, cut this alternate route out. Now, there's a lot to be said about this release of the game and P1 as a whole. For that, I highly recommend Snickety Slice's videos on it from his Compendium series of essays.

As Snickety Slice says in the SQQ portion of video 3A, which focuses on the American localization of the time, no one really knows why it was cut, by which is meant there is no definitive answer. The most popular theory, as he posits, is that this was done to meet the Christmas deadline, which is a tad ironic considering the atmosphere and setting of SQQ. However, you can actually access a tiny bit of it: if you return to the school, you'll see it's disappeared and when you enter it, an FMV of the school surrounded by three towers and a peak plays. Snickety remarks how confusing this must have been for American players at the time since the actual steps to activate the quest were cut out.

With cheats you can access it, but it's a glitchy, nonsensical mess. I mention all this because of the glitchy theme in Deltarune so far, especially as a result of Noelle's seeming magnetism for the unnerving and dark as revealed in the Spamton sweepstakes and Noelle's posts. I think the details of SQQ and Snowgrave are too disprate to draw real parallels so far, but I get the feeling Toby is drawing from its atmosphere, especially the disconcerting aura of the original American release and the stray FMV. As for the glitchiness, I get the feeling it was all concentrated into Spamton, especially given Spamton's role in the game so far.

I haven't gone through P1 in a very long time, so this is where my rambling ends, but perhaps someone else can draw deeper parallels.

The only real problem is I have no idea how much of Megami Tensei Toby Fox has played. He's a weeb of high caliber, so I imagine he's gone through most of it by now, maybe even early Persona, given how UT's and DT's Talk systems were inspired by MegaTen's demon negotiation, which was present in P1 and the P2 duology, which certainly lines up with his age and background. After all, he gave the Earthbound: Halloween Hack that "Shin Megami Tensei Bullshit."

Also everyone here should check out the PSX OST. It has the best leitmotif.

[george-the-good]

King George VI - Christmas Message (1943)

Once again, from our home in England, the Queen and I send our Christmas greetings and good wishes to each one of you, all the world over. Some of you may hear me on board your ships, in your aircraft, or as you wait for battle in the jungles of the Pacific Islands or on the Italian peaks. Some of you may listen to me as you rest from your work, or as you lie sick or wounded in hospital. To many of you, my words will come as you sit in the quiet of your homes. But, wherever you may be, today of all days in the year, your thoughts will be in distant places and your hearts with those you love. I hope that my words, spoken to them and to you, may be the bond that joins us all in one company for a few moments on this Christmas Day.

With this thought in my mind, I wish to all who are on service good luck and a stout heart; to those who wait for them to return, proud memories and high hopes to keep you strong; to all children, here and in the lands beyond the seas, a day of real happiness.

I send these words of Christmas greeting to all of you who dwell within the family of the British Commonwealth and Empire. I know you would wish me to send a message of hope to our gallant allies who fight with us, and to all who, in the loneliness of exile or the horror of invasion, look forward to our coming victory.

In this year almost passed, many things have happened, under God’s providence, to make us thankful for His mercies. The generous strength of the United States of America, the tremendous deeds of Russia, the endurance of China under her long ordeal, the fighting spirit of France re-born, and the flower of the manhood and womanhood of many lands that share the burdens of our forward march - all these have played their part in the brightening of our fortunes on sea, on land, and in the air.

Since I last spoke to you many things have changed. But the spirit of our people has not changed. As we were not downcast by defeat, we are not unduly exalted by victory. While we have bright visions of the future we have no easy dreams of the days that lie close at hand. We know that much hard working and hard fighting, and perhaps harder working and harder fighting than ever before, are necessary for victory. We shall not rest from our task until it is nobly ended. Meanwhile, within these islands, we have tried to be worthy of our fathers; we have tried to carry into the dawn the steadfastness and courage vouchsafed to us when we stood alone in the darkness.

This is not the time for a chronicle of our progress. But there is one landmark in the sombre, world-embracing battlefield which I hope and I trust may endure. Wherever their duty has called our men and women, they have gained new friends and come to know old friends better. They have learnt to share the burdens, and to read the hearts, of their neighbours; they have laid the foundations of new friendships between nations, and strengthened old ones formed long ago. As a result, there is springing up in every country fresh hope that out of comradeship in sacrifice shall come power to restore, and power to build anew.

I saw proof of this when I visited North Africa in the summer. I saw many thousands of men of the United Nations, united in action, in heart and mind and purpose. The only rivalry between them was in the service of a great cause; their only aim was the defeat of a common enemy.

In the same spirit of unity, men of diverse races have come together in the council chamber and round the conference-table: some to meet the stern, immediate demands of war itself; others to heal the wounds that war deals to all humanity - to feed the hungry, shelter the homeless, mend the broken, and succour the poor. So, as we see the clouds breaking on this Christmas Day, we should take comfort from our faith that out of desolation shall rise a new hope, and out of strife be born a new brotherhood.

From this ancient and beloved festival that we are keeping, sacred as it is to home and all that home means, we can draw strength to face the future of a world riven by a tempest such as it has never yet endured. In the words of a Scottish writer of our day: ‘No experience can be too strange and no task too formidable, if a man can link it up with what he knows and loves.’¹

---

1. From Memory Hold-the-Door, by John Buchan (Lord Tweedsmuir)

[waterfallofspace]

What A Way To Start A Year

T/im learns a little something about karma, friends, and care. Seems even J/on isn't quite as cold as he seems.

A M/agnus A/rchives fic, set somewhere pre-season 1. Shouldn't have any spoilers, but proceed with caution just incase~ (nothing late game, just character dynamic things)

Welcome to "I meant for this to be a little drabble and I wrote 3k words"~ Having a bit of hyperfixation and burn out as I started this new year, soooo I decided to make T/im suffer <3 Not promising quality seeing as I wrote this all in the span of tonight, but consider it a lil 'too long' drabble, and happy new years!

Best way to start off the new year, giving one of your lil guys a lil snz <3

Characters: T/im, M/artin, S/asha, and J/on. Word Count: 3.9k

(CW: There is some swearing, and light descriptions of high fevers)

Christmas had been good this year, maybe the best it had in a long time. Life of the party as always, Tim had enjoyed getting to spend it with his old, and new, colleagues. On top of that, Jon had been laid up with a pretty awful cold for a couple days leading up to it, so he wasn’t around to crush any brilliant ideas Tim came up with. 

This led to the budget receiving a fairly substantial hit, though many researchers donated to the cause when they learned this borrowing wasn’t exactly approved. Hell, even Elias had pitched in, claiming something or other about ‘archivists fit for the job not exactly growing on trees’, and wanting to ‘save some of Jon’s sanity’. 

“Tim? Are you even listening to me?”  

Pulled back to the conversation at hand, Tim lifts his gaze to the taller man fidgeting nervously in front of him. Martin was never one for confrontations, and usually the first ‘no’ would have been more than enough to lead to a string of apologies for even asking. Today however, he seems to have grown a spine. At the worst possible moment. 

“Oh come on,” Martin continues, missing the groan slipping from Tim’s throat. “Even Jon agreed to it!” 

“I’m not really in the party mood,” Tim retorts, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, Jon didn’t agree to celebrate, he agreed not to stop the celebration. Not the same thing.” 

From across her desk, Sasha gives a low chuckle. “He’s got you there, Martin.”

“Can you at least give it a little thought before turning it down?” Martin insists, completely out of character for someone usually so eager to please. 

What the hell has gotten into him today? He didn’t even seem to enjoy himself that much at the Christmas party. Sure, he had a few drinks and mingled with the staff, but he’d left as soon as it was over, not waiting around for chatting like Tim and Sasha.

Clearing his throat with a grimace, Tim casts Sasha a dark look as she chuckles again. Knowing far too much, as usual. Especially when it came to him. If it was anyone else, Tim would hate it with all his being, but given that it’s Sasha… well it’s a welcome invasion. 

Still, it would be nice if she didn’t rat him out. And to Martin of all people, well let’s just say he saw what happened when Jon was sick. Yeah, passing on that one. Attention is great, Tim lives for it, but the coddling? Not really his style. 

“hiEH– guh…”

Damn, that had been a close one. Thankfully Martin seems oblivious, though Sasha sits up in her chair, reaching down into a drawer to fish something out. 

Turning his focus back to Martin, Tim provides an offer, desperate to just have the interaction come to an end. 

“Fine, I’ll show up, but I don’t want any part in planning it.” 

“Oh of course, I’ll handle all the details, I mean it’s just a new years party, how much can there really be to do? I mean food, timing, gotta make sure we have keys to the building– oh but if Jon’s there, that shouldn’t be a problem…” Martin says, rambling beginning to fade into the background as Tim finds himself unable to- 

“hH– ek’CHhiew!” 

“-Oh, bless you!” Martin says, his own thoughts long forgotten. 

Unable to get a word out, Tim merely waves a hand, ducking into his shoulder for another, “eTChhew!” 

“Bles-” 

And another, “iTSChh’ew!” 

“Oh ble-” 

And another, “ehh– kTChh’iew!” 

Silently Sasha stands, handing Tim a pack of tissues. Must have been what she was looking for in the desk. Once again, knowing more than she should, of course she picked up on his patterns. 

Accepting them gratefully, Tim pulls a few out and roughly rubs at his nose, pointedly avoiding Martin’s worried gaze. Gripping his still trembling nose through the tissue, Tim sucks in a tight breath through his teeth, holding for a beat, before finally spinning around in his chair for a final- 

“hH’ETCSHh-ieuw! Whew, bless me.” 

Martin’s hands are fidgeting again, seemingly unsure of what to do with himself as Tim gives his nose a light massage through the tissue. He’s aware enough not to point it out, but is nearly shaking with the effort of suppressing his concerns. 

With a sigh, Tim meets his eyes. “I’m fine, Martin. I always sneeze like that.” He leaves out ‘when I’m sick’. It also happens if he’s suffering allergies, though he doubts that would be a point in his defense given it’s the middle of winter. 

“Yeah he’s not kidding,” Sasha pipes up, throwing Tim a wink as he glares. “You should hear him in spring, once it starts he can be going for hours.” 

“I wouldn’t say hours, Sash-” 

“Remember the cherry blossom incident?” Sasha interrupts, sending a sugary smile over to Martin. “He was wrecked for the rest of the day, I was almost certain he was never gonna stop. Even considered giving a statement here, that reaction was almost supernatural.” 

Tim winces, an audible moan slipping from his lips. “We swore to never speak of it again.” 

Sasha laughs, Tim giving her another playful glare from behind his tissues. “You swore that, I did no such thing.” 

Thankfully Martin doesn’t pry, having enough common sense to offer a polite chuckle, and offer some excuse about ‘planning’. Still, he can’t help himself from shooting a meek “I hope you feel better soon” over his shoulder, Tim giving him finger guns in return. 

“This is karma, you know,” Sasha calls after Martin’s outside earshot. “You took pleasure in Jon’s suffering, so now it’s your turn to suffer the same fate.” 

“No, thi- eTChhew! Scuse me,” Tim says, rubbing his nose with the tissue one last time before depositing it in his nearly overflowing trash can. Another tissue is plucked as his eyes begin to water, nostrils flaring with reckless abandon. Never just one. 

“kTChh’uew! hh’iTChh –uew! Tihhckles… eTCHh! etchh’uh! hiehh–” 

The last one toys with him, tracing the rims of his nostrils, back up his sinuses, a gentle itch that seems to burn against every inch of his nose. Finally, with a desperate gasp, Tim ducks into his wrist for the last, “heh’ATChhh –iew!” 

“Many blessings. Sounds like you need them,” Sasha offers with a wince, tossing another pack of tissues over, which Tim catches with a single hand, the other still gripping his nose. 

After taking a moment to clean himself up, Tim shoots her his signature smile, ignoring the eye roll she shoots back. “Where was I?” 

“Admitting this is karma?” 

“It’s not karma, it’s lack of common sense. Going to a party where a coworker is sick, and still drinking and eating the same meals” Tim says, aiming a rough cough into his sleeve. 

Sasha winces once more at the quality of the cough, hands rummaging through her drawers once more as she tosses a reply back. “And yet you’re the only one who caught it. Seems like karma to me.” 

Closing the distance between them in a single stride, Sasha places a hand on Tim’s shoulder, voice softening. “It’s two days till new years, why don’t you go home and try to get some rest? I doubt Martin will object, and I’ll cover for you with Jon.” 

Before Tim can form his rebuttal, Sasha places a box of paracetamol and a jar of vapor rub in front of him. Nodding his thanks, Tim lets out another harsh cough into his arm, leaning as far away from Sasha as he can manage. 

With a light rub to his shoulder, Sasha walks to the door, holding it open with a pointed look. “Go home, you sound awful.” 

“Alright, alright. I got the message. hH’ETchhiew!” Tim says, gathering his care package and beginning his walk down the hallway. 

“If I hear the rest of that fit happening in this building, I’m telling Martin how ill you really are,” Sasha calls after him, a smile flashing over her face as Tim holds up his hands in mock surrender, before ducking back into his arm with another muffled burst. 

— 

“You look horrible.” 

Tim manages a weary smile from behind the tightly wound scarf. “Thagk you.” 

Martin winces, standing in the doorframe, seemingly oblivious to the winter chill soaking into Tim’s bones. Even just the walk from the train station was hell on earth, standing out here is doing him no favours. 

Turning away with a throat scraping cough, Tim manages to clear the congestion enough to finish the sentence somewhat understandably. A great feat, given how fast his voice is retreating. “May I remind you that I’m only here because you insisted.” 

“Right, well I… I didn’t know how bad-” Martin begins, realizing spreading across his face like a wildfire as a chill leaves Tim breathless. “Oh god, I’m making you freeze to death while you’re already this sick, I’m so sorry, come in, I’ll go make you a tea.” 

Tim nods his thanks as he piles inside the warm institute, cursing his aching lungs as each breath of warm air seems to burn them from the inside out. Martin rushes away, nearly crashing into a few researchers as he makes his frantic dash for the kitchen. 

The scarf is reluctantly removed, a shudder running through Tim’s back as the warm air does nothing to soothe what he’s now certain is a growing fever. A few researchers wave to him, offering some idle chit-chat as he makes his way inside.

For the most part, people give him a wide berth, apparently he looks as bad as he feels. Tissues in hand, gripping them like a lifeline, Tim finds his way to a couch and lets himself sink into it. The party buzzes around him, fading into background noise. 

Martin returns soon after, the mug vibrating slightly as he attempts to steady his hand. “I wasn’t sure what kind you’d want, we have a pretty limited amount, but I have a few extras in my desk– oh I could have probably found one for colds and flus, I’m not sure which this is, I thought cold before but you look-” 

“Martin,” Tim interrupts, voice cutting uncomfortably through his raw throat. “Can I have the cup?” 

“Oh, right, sorry!” Martin says, a sheepish grin crossing his face, nerves more than anything else, as he hands Tim the mug. Tim gives another appreciative nod, taking a cautious sip. 

The warm liquid feels like heaven against his throat, and he barely manages to choke back a whimper. The flavour is still a mystery, Martin never actually got to that part. Given how little he can taste at the moment, seems it’s gonna remain that way. Still, the heat beginning to warm his chest is a welcome relief, and Tim has to fight to keep his eyes from drifting shut…

“Watch out!” 

The voice rouses him, his eyes snapping open just in time to witness Jon dropping to his knees in front of the couch. The realization doesn’t sink in for another minute, Tim blinking the tired from his eyes and trying to figure out why people are staring… and why there’s a hand on his finge– 

Oh, the tea. Thankfully Jon’s reflexes seemed to kick in just in time, his hands guiding Tim’s cup to the table next to him. Judgement clouds the boss's eyes as he turns back, fully ready to chastise Tim, no doubt. Jon opens his mouth, one hand beginning to point, but as his eyes scan Tim’s form, his demeanor changes instantly. 

“You don’t seem well.” Jon’s voice is still firm, but with a hint of something Tim can’t quite place. On anyone else, he’d call it concern. On Jon… perhaps concern isn’t far off, though the underlying criticism of the statement irritates him. 

“I wonder why that could be? It’s almost as if someone came to the Christmas party sick enough to fall asleep standing. Twice.” Tim says, sarcasm lining his words, alongside the congestion he can’t seem to fully shake. 

“Well in that case,” Sasha chimes in, cheerful voice a natural antithesis to the misery coursing through Tim’s system. “Seems you’re halfway there!” 

“Hey, I was lying down, that’s hardly the sahh… same thing– hH’ETchh!” 

“Here we go,” Sasha says, already turning on her heel to find a tissue box as Tim’s hitches increase in desperation. 

“aHTChh’ew! gn’tchhew!” 

“Bless,” Jon offers, a brief confusion crossing his face as Sasha laughs, shaking her head. 

“He’s not done,” She says, handing over the tissue box. 

Tim grabs for it blindly, too caught up in the fit to even attempt dignity. Still, the eyes on him do leave him with a hint of embarrassment, and the onslaught is muffled as best he can manage. “hH’MMpshhew! eMPFShh’ieh! hh’MFSHhueh!” 

Blessings sound out from the room, Tim managing to wave a hand towards the ones offering them, eyes still watering. As the fit seems to stall, he lowers his tissues, red nose now visibly twitching. 

“Are you alright?” Jon asks, the hint of concern from before now plainly evident. That’s frankly more alarming than it should be, and Tim finds himself wanting to… reassure the boss. 

“I’m okay, it’s juhh… j-just… huhh–” But it seems his nose has other plans, a tissue being raised once more as Tim paws at the appendage. “‘Scuhhse me, I still have… hahhve to… to… hiHh– eTCHh’ew! hk’ASCHh–oo!” 

This time the tickle fades with the final pitchy sneeze, Tim letting out a low groan as he mashes his nose into the ever growing collection of tissues he’s clutching. A few people call out final blessings, Sasha laughing out hers as Tim’s face goes red once more. 

Martin picks this time to enter the room with drinks, Tim letting his eyes flutter shut as the focus shifts off his misery. A gentle touch keeps him from drifting off to sleep, prying open an eye to find Sasha settling onto his left. 

“Careful, don’t want to catch this,” Tim manages, leaning against his right shoulder to muffle another stream of chesty coughs. Sasha winces as it goes on past the realm of comfort, her hand finding his back. 

“Don’t worry about me, I haven’t earned this cold, I didn’t make use of Jon’s or your suffering,” She says, the playful tone not masking the growing worry in her posture. 

While she can read him like a book, she’s no mystery to him either. The tension in her fingers, absentmindedly stroking patterns on his back. The way she subconsciously tries to support his body weight, despite them both sitting. The look in her eyes when he manages to stall the coughing long enough to meet them. 

With this brief respite from the attack, Sasha takes the chance to bring Tim’s tea back, his fingers wrapping around the warm mug. The first few sips burn, his lungs protesting, begging to return to their efforts to expel all the irritation. By the third, however, the warmth is spreading once more, easing the spasms. 

“Alright?” Sasha asks, beginning to stand from the couch. Tim nods his reply, taking another slow sip. “Think you’ll make it till midnight? We’ve still got a few hours to go.” 

He nods his approval again, not yet trusting his voice enough to make an attempt. Sasha simply smiles, easing back into the party that– Tim had almost forgotten existed. That fever must be worse than he thought, given how loud it is. A fact that’s now pounding against his head in harmony with his heartbeat. 

The party continues on, Sasha and Martin taking turns checking in on Tim as he slips rapidly in and out of consciousness. Seconds turn to hours, and before he knows it, it’s two minutes to midnight. 

As Tim blinks against the harsh fluorescent lighting, it’s Jon that stands before him, hand hovering near his side. Tim begins to speak, breaking off into a cough as his voice comes out rough with sleep and congestion. 

“What’s up boss?” He manages with the second attempt, not missing Jon’s wince at the nasal quality. 

“You simply look… well, the festivities are nearly over, I was just inquiring as to…” Jon seems to get stuck, eyes wandering down to the couch as he finishes. “I know you took the train here, I was seeing if you needed an escort home.” 

“How kind, I’d be delighted to have your accompaniment,” Tim responds, the wit clouding the fact he… hadn’t actually considered needing to go home. Jon seems to take this answer as satisfactory, ignoring all the sarcasm as he gives a tight nod and an out of practice smile. 

From across the room Martin calls out, something about a countdown. Tim attempts to pull himself to a stand, finding Sasha’s arm around his waist, guiding him to the wall. Leaning against it, he lets his rough voice join the chorus as they count into the new year. 

Despite how the lights and noise had pounded into his skull, everyone chanting in unison helps Tim realize that… there actually aren’t that many people here. Aside from his coworkers, there’s only a few researchers, and Elias is not in attendance.

Honestly, thank whatever cosmic being may exist for that one, he had been none too fond of Jon’s arriving sick. Tim shudders to think what he would have said about this state. He shouldn’t have come, but… something about how insistent Martin was… well he just couldn’t disappoint that loveable idiot. 

Somehow Tim finds he’s managed to keep up with the counting, despite being worlds away in his thoughts. As they approach the final numbers, a feathery sensation begins to spread through his nostrils- no. 

Absolutely not, this is not the time. It’s never just one, there’s not enough people here, someone’s gonna notice. And I mean, it’s not like he’s hiding the fact he feels like death, but… drawing that much attention is also not the goal. 

“Five! Four!”

“hiehh- h’ngTchh!” He manages to stifle the first, the congestion pounding in his head as the tickle seems to only get worse. 

“Three! Two!” 

“I cad’t– nNDtch! nGTCh’uh!” 

“One–” 

As the cheers begin to erupt, Tim ducks into the tissues with a scraping, “ehg’TCHhiew!” 

“Happy new years!” 

“yiEShh’iew! etchh’uh! hH’AESHH –oo!” Tim dips into his hands again, managing to sink down against the wall as he lets out a congested blow, ending the fit.

“What a way to ring in the new year,” Comes Sasha’s voice, her form blocking the light from Tim’s eyes as he looks up, fever blurring his vision.

“Shud ub.” 

“Christ Tim, you sound awful,” Jon adds, his form appearing behind Sasha’s. 

“Thagks boss,” Tim retorts, groaning as he notices a third form, Martin’s nervous fidgeting easy to spot even from this angle. Martin remains silent, though his eyes seem to hold more concern than any of them, and… guilt? Or maybe that’s just the delirium. 

Glancing up to meet Sasha’s gaze, Tim offers a weary, “Tibe to go hobe?” 

She nods softly, kneeling to help him to his feet, Martin wordlessly taking his other arm. Jon stands off to the side, hesitating. What for, who knows. All Tim can focus on is one step after the other, just gotta make it home, then he can sleep. For the rest of forever, at this rate. 

As they get to the door, Martin helps wrap the scarf around Tim’s neck, forcing him to lift it from its perch against Sasha’s shoulder. Sasha, for her part, supports his weight with ease, she was always stronger than she looked. 

Martin keeps casting glances towards Tim, obviously fretting over something. Too tired to manage his usual charm, Tim gives Martin the softest look he can manage. “Jusd say id, please. You’re makigg me nervous.”

“I’m so sorry I asked you to come, you’re obviously so unwell, and I know I didn’t really know that at the time, but I should have, or at least texted and checked in, I just… I wanted us all to get along so bad and I thought if you came it would mean more fun because you’re always so lively and good at talking to people and-” 

Tim holds up a hand, eyes glazing over as Martin stops short, breath coming almost as rapidly as Tim’s. After a minute goes by, Martin starts to open his mouth, seeming confused by the interruption, before nearly jumping out of his skin as Tim ducks into his fist. 

“eTCHh’ew! hH’YEAShh –iew! Sorry, I feld those cobigg… waid– hih’ETCHhew! heAYSHh’oo!” Tim ducks down again, Sasha grabbing him tighter to support the harsh shudders as he attempts to keep his balance. 

“Oh bless you,” Martin offers, voice coming out timid. Tim gives him, what he hopes is, a warm smile despite the fever taking hold of the last corners of his mind.

“If I didn’t wanna cobe, I would have stayed hobe. I dod’t blame you.” 

Martin nods silently, a relief seeming to flood his face. Taking his place once more supporting Tim, they move towards the exit. Opening the door, the first wave of cold floods the entryway, and a chill so violent runs through Tim that both Martin and Sasha take a step back to brace him. 

It’s now that Jon speaks up, voice strained with a type of worry Tim hadn’t heard before. “No, we’re absolutely not doing this, I refuse.” 

The trio turn towards him. Though perhaps a more accurate description is that Martin and Sasha turn, Tim simply goes along for the ride. Martin mumbles something about ‘no other choice’, but Sasha asks what Jon’s on about. 

“It’s too cold out there, it’s the middle of the damn night, there’s no way I’m letting him go home like this.” 

“And what do you suggest we do as an alternative? He can’t stay here-” Sasha begins, pausing as Jon turns towards her. 

“Why not? I’m the archivist, this is my archive,” Jon begins, pausing for a moment, before adding, “Well, Elias’s, but I hardly think he’d suggest we send an employee home in this weather while they’re this sick. That’s just bad management, he’ll freeze to death before even reaching the train.” 

As if to confirm this assumption, Tim shudders violently, ducking into his chest with a tired, “hh’eshhew! eTCHh’iew!” followed by a heavy sigh. Martin mumbles something about covering, but quickly silences himself as Tim begins to tremble again. 

Sasha gives Jon a look, seeming to read him for any hints of doubt, perhaps searching for an ulterior motive. After a brief pause, their eyes meeting, she gives a tight nod, approval of some kind. 

“Come on Martin, let’s get him back to that couch, he can sleep there for the night,” Sasha directs, Martin nodding his acceptance. 

Tim manages to catch snippets of the conversation as they get him settled. Jon fetching him a blanket he keeps in his office. Martin providing some more tea. Sasha grabbing tissues and medication for when he wakes up. Something about Jon sleeping in his office so he’s not alone, and Sasha coming in early to help him home. 

With his final bout of consciousness, Tim holds up a hand, the conversation immediately pausing. “Thagk you guys. And… esSHhh’ew! And, I’b sorry.” 

All three stare at him for a minute, before Sasha breaks first. Her laughter fills the silence, Martin joining in soon after, and even Jon letting a few chuckles slip out. When they’ve finally collected themselves, Sasha gives Tim a warm smile. 

“Sleep well, Tim. I’ll come fetch you in the morning.” 

With a content sigh, Tim lets his eyes drift shut again, his consciousness fading to the soft hum of his friends in the background. 

Alright, so maybe coddling isn’t quite so bad after all.

[thepiedsniper]

Getting people into Dr Who:

People who make them start with Classic Dr Who: you are the kind of person who sends someone a twenty minute YouTube clip and forces them to watch it immediately, in front of you.

People who start by showing them "Rose" (start of 9/reboot): you probably started watching Dr Who in 2005 and it rewrote your brain chemistry.

People who start with "The Christmas Invasion" (start of 10): you started/someone else started you here and you have decided to perpetuate the cycle of violence for others, or 10 is your favourite Doctor and you said "fuck it" to the context 9's season provides (why??).

People who start with "Blink": was this just your favourite episode or do you genuinely believe this is a good episode to introduce people to Dr Who? The episode doesn't even feature the main characters all that much. I would posit that this episode is only really enjoyable if you have enough context going in, and otherwise it just kind of ruins the experience you'd otherwise get from an organic, linear progression. It's like starting Avatar: the Last Airbender with "The Ember Island Players." I don't trust you.

Any other mid-season episode: much the same as above, but this seems to be less common so you're probably a special kind of freak (and good for you, I guess).

People who start with 11: you are either too young to remember 9/11, or you are just Basic (no shame).

People who start with 12: you hate fun (shame).

People who start with 13: you're probably so young that if I met you irl I'd call you "kiddo", but you're alright.

[pickalilywrites]

A 104th + Porco, Pieck and Marcel snowball fight on Christmas eve

thank you! hope you like it :)

snowball fight

104th trainee squad. marley warriors. modern au. 1522 words. read on ao3.

Reiner ducks behind the wall of snow he and his friends have built for protection. He breathes heavily, clouds of white escaping his lips as he tries to catch his breath. He doesn’t dare to look up and risk being pelted by an enemy snowball. They have so few men to begin with, and he’s not sure his team can afford any losses. His eyes dart towards Bertholdt who is busy providing them with even more ammunition to throw at their enemies. 

“Bertholdt, status report?” he asks. 

Bertholdt finishes off his most recent snowball and places it along with the others. The dark-haired giant listens for a bit before looking carefully over the wall of their snow fort. Just as quickly, he ducks back down. He scoots closer to Reiner, keeping his voice low to prevent being overheard. “They’ve temporarily ceased fire although the reason is unclear at the moment. I advise we take this time to stock up on supplies and ready ourselves for the next attack. It would be unwise to go on the offensive when they outnumber us.” 

“They also have Mikasa,” Porco growls. Like Reiner, he has taken refuge behind the snow fort. He rubs at his shoulder, sore from throwing so many snowballs. “I haven’t been able to leave the fort at all. She has incredible strength and accuracy. It’s like being pelted by a sniper that only shoots snowballs.”  

Reiner nods as he listens to Porco’s input. “It’s agreed then, we’ll take the time to rest and recover our supplies. How are the others...?” Reiner’s voice trails as his gaze travels towards Pieck who is patting down snow on one side of the fort. 

At first glance, it looks as is Pieck is reinforcing the snow fort and making the walls sturdier in case of an invasion, but on closer inspection she is simply making a small snow cave. She doesn’t notice her comrades staring at her until a beat later. Upon being caught, she gives her friends a dazzling smile. 

“Ah, are we still fighting the good fight?” she asks.  

“We’re fighting the good fight,” Porco snorts. He gestures towards her snow cave with a gloved hand. “What the fuck are you doing? You’re supposed to be helping us!” 

“I am helping! I’m keeping our most valuable warrior protected,” Pieck insists. She points towards Annie who lies sleeping inside the snow cave like a hibernating bear.  

“Okay, and what are you doing?” Porco asks his older brother who is sitting on the other side of the cave and reinforcing one of its walls.  

Marcel looks up with a guilty expression on his face. He had initially been taking part of the snowball fight and had even taken down part of the enemy’s snow fort by pelting snowballs, but he had seemingly disappeared without anyone noticing and gone off to help Pieck with her side quest. He shrugs pathetically and gestures towards Annie. “Just ... supervising,” he says with a guilty expression on his face.  

“I don’t think building a small snow cave needs that much supervision,” Reiner says. While Porco is nodding his head in agreement, Bertholdt does have an expression of concern on his face as he peers worriedly into the cave.  

“Is Annie okay? Isn’t it dangerous to sleep in the snow?” he asks. He can’t see very much in the cave. It’s quit snug and custom-built for Annie.  

“’s fine,” Annie can be heard mumbling before curling herself deeper into the cave so as to not be disturbed.  

Reiner looks troubled. Three people are currently out of commission: one is hibernating while the other two are ensuring their safety. “We’re going to have to rethink our strategy,” he mutters. 

Meanwhile, the other side of the battlefield is facing their own issues.  

Connie Springer lies on his back, eyes closed as he breathes raggedly. Sasha and Jean look down at him, their faces filled with worry. One of his hands is clasped in Sasha’s and the brunette is close to tears as she looks at the sorry state her friend is in. His clothes are covered in snow and he lies shivering, the tip of nis nose red despite the many layers he wears. 

“Connie! Connie! Stay with me! You’ll get through this! I promise we’ll get through this together!” Sasha cries. She holds on so tightly to Connie’s hands that her knuckles are turning white. Her lip quivers as she watches Connie’s breaths begin to slow. 

“I’m afraid ... it’s too late for me,” Connie chuckles weakly. His eyes flutter open just enough so that he can look at his friends one last time. He gasps and clutches at his side with his other hand. He winces at cold snow that permeates through the fabric of his mittens. “Those bastards got me good ... This may be goodbye.”  

Sasha and Jean watch in horror as Connie’s eyes flutter and his breathing slows to a stop. They pretend not to notice the shallow breathes he takes or how the corners of his mouth twitch upward in a smile he’s trying to suppress. 

“No!!!” Sasha cries. She crumples over Connie’s seemingly lifeless body and lets out exaggerated sobs as she mourns her friend’s fake death. 

“Don’t worry, Connie. We’ll avenge you if it’s the last thing we do!” Jean vows and stares back at the weapon of mass destruction that Armin is preparing that Jean refers to as “Hell’s Snowball.” He stalks over to the massive snowball, his boots crunch against the crisp snow. “Is the weapon ready, Arlert?” 

“It’s ready, but I’m afraid we don’t have a way to use it against the enemy. We don’t have anything large enough to throw it,” Armin says. He gives the large snowball, which is half his height, a few more pats just to check that it’s sturdy enough. “We should really have a catapult if we want to use this. Pushing it to the other side isn’t realistic.”  

“We don’t need a catapult. We have Mikasa!” Sasha says. She scrambles off her knees, kicking up a flurry of snow as she makes her way to Mikasa. Desperately she clasps Mikasa’s hands and looks into her friend’s gray eyes with fervor. “Mikasa, will you help us?” 

Mikasa looks down at Sasha’s desperate gaze. She then turns to look at the snowball that is as large as a small child. She returns her gaze once more to Sasha and reaches out to brush a hair from the brunette’s face, tucking it behind Sasha’s ear. “No,” she says sweetly. 

As Sasha’s face falls, Eren stands up. The pouch of his hoodie is filled with snowballs and he holds even more snowballs in each of his hands. His green eyes blaze with a passionate fire.  

“Don’t worry, Sasha. I’ll avenge Connie. I’m going to fucking destroy those bastards,” Eren says. He looks towards the snow fort on the other side of the snow. “They’ll rue the day they ever went to battle with us.”  

“Eren, no!” Armin says, clutching desperately at the elbow of Eren’s hoodie but Eren shakes him off. “Eren, it’s a suicide mission!” 

“Oh, just let him go,” Jean says, already waving Eren off. 

“Rrrragh!!!” Eren roars as he charges towards Reiner’s camp. He is pelted with more than a dozen snowballs five steps in and falls over, completely defeated. 

Historia, who has been strangely absent from the entire battle, appears with a tray of steaming mugs of hot chocolate. She smiles brightly, her cheeks rosy red from being in the kitchen preparing her friends holiday drinks. “Does anyone want any hot chocolate?”  

“Ooh, me!” Sasha says, bolting right towards Historia and grabbing the first mug. She drinks one long sip and squeals with delight. “Delicious!”  

“Wait, wait for me!” Connie calls, following close after Sasha. The scent of sweet, delicious hot chocolate has revived him. 

Soon, everyone is drinking hot chocolate, arguing about which team was closer to winning and how they definitely would have won if the battle had been extended five more minutes. As Eren describes how he could have defeated everyone if he had gone with his original plan — having Armin roll him up into a giant snowball and using him as a giant snow bowling ball to knock out all of Reiner’s team like they were bowling pins — Ymir sidles up against Historia. 

“Don’t you regret slipping away from the battle and missing out on such stimulating action?” Ymir asks with a grin. She elbows Historia. “But I guess making hot chocolate means you were able to stay warm and cozy instead of freezing your ass off in the snow.”  

Historia elbows Ymir back, a pout on her lips. “At least I was actually helpful. You just stood in the kitchen and watched me make hot chocolate for everyone,” Historia sniffs. 

“Oh, that’s my way of helping. If I had even touched the stove then the I would have burned the hot chocolate,” Ymir says and Historia laughs.  

The two girls take the last mugs and clink them against each other before taking a sip, smiling as their friends chat and laugh around them.  

[literary-illuminati]

Book Review #1: Hummingbird Salamander, by Jeff Vandermeer

Okay, so 60 books and a review for each one, totally reasonable New Years resolution, right? Lets go. First up is the one I got for Christmas.

I’ve been a fan of Vadermeer for a long time, and his work’s always worth reading (though the first one I read was Annihilation and nothing he’s written since has really lived up to it). This was no exception – though it was by far the least genre-ficcy thing of his I’ve ever read. Which, low bar – note the lack of invasive xenoforming processes or building-sized flying bears or alternate universes – but still, I kept expecting it to get weirder than it did?

Not that it didn’t get weird – just, ‘technothriller 20 minutes in the future’ weird, not ‘cosmic horror’ weird. Though the ending did blur the lines a bit, I suppose.

The overall tone of oppressive, apocalyptic dread, of everyone just keeping their heads down and trying to keep going about their days as the natural disasters pile up and things keep falling apart, is really very well done and vivid. Even if the politics are a bit deep green and the portrayal worst-case, it really was a future sliding into dystopia and apocalypse that felt plausible and lived in and real, compared with what a lot of climate fiction goes with.

Beyond that – plot wise, the book kind of reminded me of Strange Bird? Not so much because of any of the beats in particular, but just because it felt to a great degree like a story of failure? Like, Jane’s primarily, but also everyone else’s. There’s a lot of bathos, of missed opportunities and fuck ups and conversations that never happen and relationships ruined and people hurt for basically no gain at all. There are multiple time skips where Jane just gives up for months or years, too. The ending’s a bit redemptive, a bit transcendent, but even that – Silvina died too, and she was as close to a world-shaking heroine as the story can provide. And a lot of the suffering on the way to the ending was less necessary and more just bad luck.

Jane as a protagonist was interesting – so self-deluding, so self-destructive, so totally incapable of having a single open and honest conversation with literally anyone. To the extent the book is a technothriller, ‘security consultant whose also a former semi-pro bodybuilder and built like a brick shithouse’ sure feels like a description of a Tom Clancy knockoff’s hero (and it’s definitely a case where taking a very generic character and gender-flipping them makes them much more interesting), even if all the muscle mass in the world didn’t really end up helping too often against knives and rifles.

Anyway, as usual with Vandermeer the prose was lovely, and the cryptozoology believable and downright hauntingly beautiful to read about. Guy really should just write a birdwatching guide, or something – he’s very clearly in love with nature, in a way that’s halfway uncanny but always lovely when you read it.

Still not better than Annihilation, but not at all unhappy about having read it.

[katherinewilliams221b]

Ol’ Saint Nicholas

Part 1/2: Aurora

Summary: Against her wishes, Kate returns to her home for the Holidays, dreading the threats that await her in Williams Manor. She will have to face once more who she considers her mortal enemy and possibly the cause of Jacob’s disappearance.

Pairing: Implied/ Mentioned Charlie Weasley x ofc/Jacob’s sibling

Warnings: Mature, death/murder

A/N: Not your typical Christmas fic, it won’t be jolly, always here to provide angst and weird shit. The pairing is referenced because all my stories happen in the same universe. This is the Christmas after starting year 6 of Hogwarts. I stopped following hphm storyline in year 4 so maybe I took some liberties.

A proper christmas fic with charlie in it would be A very Walsh Christmas

-

Wouldn't you know that you'd

Be responsible for all the holiday noise?

Wouldn't you know that we'd be just like

Other little girls and boys?

-

The day was clear, disgustingly bright for the mood I was in, and it didn’t suit the place either. Tall, black metal fences opened when the black carriage that took me to this… my house arrived.

I said my goodbyes to the chauffeur and stepped out while securing my backpack on my shoulder, leaving my trunk behind.

Just as I was about to walk, Prim, one of my grandfather’s assistants apparated next to the carriage, grabbed my trunk and disapparated just as fast. I just hoped that they wouldn’t confiscate the gifts that the Weasleys gave me that summer for my birthday.

I sighed at the thought of Charlie, the Burrow, and the goodbye kiss we shared at King’s Cross, while staring at the block of stone and bricks that was the Williams Manor.

It stared back at me in the distance, tall and long, smirking at how all my secrets would be revealed when I crossed its threshold. I had to close my eyes, concentrate on something that wasn’t the splendid summer I had spent with the Weasleys, something other than a certain redhead that miraculously reciprocated, and most importantly, erase the memories of the start of this year at Hogwarts.

The first step I took towards the Williams’ grounds couldn’t have been more of a warning; looking down, I found my converse half-deep in mud and I sighed once more. 

The terrain changed into grovel, and I rounded the black fountain, now frozen, towards the front door. I didn’t jump at the clunk of the gates smashing against each other behind me, or at one of the stone sirens at the fountain following me with her gaze, nor at the two suits of armours, one on each side of the doors, who suddenly pointed their spears towards my face.

“You should be able to recognise me by now.” I stated at them. “I live here.”

No response.

“Or maybe someone could update the system to something less invasive? Like a voice sensor or a secret code?”

I cocked my head to one side, delaying the inevitable. “How about a doorbell?”

The knights crossed their weapons, blocking the door, and I considered just for a brief moment apparating out of there. It would be illegal, yes, and difficult. Bill had been teaching me, but I couldn’t seem to get the hang of it just yet. Maybe running fast enough I could catch the car back to London…

If you are going to stand there… careful with the new vines that we planted.

A shiver ran through me. I almost forgot what it was like, what the feeling of the house being inside your head at all times was. I didn’t recognise the voice, maybe it was Nicholas, maybe one of the knights. Either way, I couldn’t resist a response.

I would prefer them over this.

Resigning myself after waiting for another attack on my psyche, the fear of freezing to death convinced me to just… accept it.

I reached out my hand aiming at one of the spears, and the knights were on the move again. They never cut too deep, just enough to draw out a single drop of blood. I hissed when it pricked me. I almost forgot that pain, too.

The drop travelled rapidly down the spear, growing bigger as it went, leaving silver sparks wherever it touched, and disappearing just as fast. The knight pointed at the lock and the drop jumped inside. I crossed my arms around myself as the two guardians returned to their original position, unmoving.

I patiently waited for the soft click that I heard, and after a loud thump both doors opened before me, letting me see the interior. Of course, one more obstacle awaited me, the magic detector barrier placed at the threshold, courtesy of Nicholas Williams.

I stepped through the invisible curtain, which glowed with my presence. My backpack opened with force, spitting my wand and a pair of earmuffs. Both of the items were left floating at my sides.

Almost immediately, Prim apparated before me. That day he chose a tall, languid, unhealthily pale appearance. Metamorphagi could turn into anything they wanted, and it never failed to surprise me how Prim seemed to prefer looks that make him resemble a serial-murderer. The only way to identify him was the unmistakable odour of the perfume he, in my opinion, bathed with instead of water.

“What is that?” He asked, pointing at the earmuffs.

“Hello, Prim. Merry Christmas to you too. That is for herbology homework.”

The lie slipped out of me too easily. Since I started being able to talk, I learnt how to take advantage of Prim’s poor knowledge of… everything. The man was as dumb as a teaspoon.

He hummed and clearly needing to attend to more important matters, he disapparated once again, not before cleaning my shoe with a hand gesture and a disgusted expression.

I picked my wand and earmuffs from the air and put them back in my bag again as I walked the long hallway inside.

To my left, the lights distracted me and I stopped to admire the living room, fully decorated for Christmas. I had to admit that as much as I hated staying inside the house, preferring my room or the outdoors whenever possible, the holidays decor deserved to be admired. Approaching the threshold, I peeked as carefully as I could, trying to avoid the guests who sat on the couches to see me. At least there was no sight of Nicholas, and since the living space was mostly empty, I would not be reprised for being the last to arrive. That gave me a bit of time to settle.

Taking one last look at the roof-high tree in front of the fireplace, I resumed my way.

The house was surprisingly quiet for Christmas, except for the music coming from the living room and the faint murmur of dishes being handled in the kitchen as I approached the also Christmas adorned staircase.

I couldn’t even take a step upstairs when the sound of a door opening came from my right. I turned my head, holding my breath, waiting for her to come out. However, the door to my grandmother’s studio only opened more, with no one stepping out.

Contemplating if I should just ignore it or giving in to the clear invitation, I heard steps coming down the stairs. I held my breath for a second, only to see Henriette, one of the cook’s assistants, murmuring under her breath with haste.

She halted when she spotted me, and I recognised the terror of almost encountering someone she didn’t want to. The same terror she probably saw on myself.

We relaxed and shared a smile.

“Merry Christmas, Miss Williams. It’s good to see you.” Her green eyes clouded with worry.

“Merry Christmas, Hattie. Is everything all right?” She huffed a laugh and gave me a sweet smile.

“Perceptive as always.” She glanced at the studio’s door and returned her attention to me. “Just a change of menu. I was going to help extend the table…”

Something above my shoulder prevented her from finishing her sentence. I turned around to find Prim staring at us from a distance.

“I must go. I hope you had a nice start of classes.” I just nodded, watching how both disappeared through the living room door.

I turned again, facing the opened studio. No one had come in or out. Fine.

Walking to it and opening the door fully, I found my grandmother sitting at her desk, her perfectly symmetrical built-in bookcases at her back. The cream walls were always plastered with paintings of dead ancestors that would judge me as soon as I entered the room.

Soft music came from a violin playing itself in the air at the corner.

She hadn’t looked up from the parchment she had in her hands, but I was sure she knew of my presence.

She had perfectly brown-dyed hair, slicked back and cut just below her ears, which were adorned with big pearls. They matched her brooch in her grey suit. Her expression was focused, I almost thought she was too busy to mind me attention but at last and without looking up, she spoke.

“What a gracious Christmas gift to bless us with your presence.”

“Aurora.” I saluted while entering. I ignored the numerous pairs of eyes that followed me from the walls. She still didn’t look up. I sat on one of the green armchairs facing her desk.

“One would think you don’t live here anymore.” She spat again.

I can handle her, I repeated mentally. Her speech was velvety and murderous, but Aurora was never dangerous. I had to force myself to remember that when she finally lasered me with her icy blue stare.

“I sent a letter saying I wouldn’t come back for the summer.” I defended myself “I even said I would buy my new textbooks by myself.”

When she didn’t answer, I kept going, “I figured one less person in the house would be one issue less.”

“Considering the headaches you caused at Hogwarts for five years and the situation with your brother, it is not ideal for you to disappear for six months.”

“I did not disappear. I sent an owl and if you were worried I didn’t go to class, you could have contacted professor McGonagall.”

She interlocked her fingers in front of her. “We did actually.”

I only answered with my eyes, So?

She sighed with a subtle roll of the eyes. With her scrawny fingers grabbed a quill, inked it and made a final annotation on her parchment before rolling it with care.

“I assume you had time to take your O.W.Ls with your Curse breaking extracurriculars…” she threw, while putting away the paper and grabbing another one.

I wasn’t sure if she wanted to see the scroll or my word would be enough.

“Acceptable in history of magic and exceeded expectations in astronomy.”

She looked at me again with predicted disappointment.

“And the rest?”

“Outstanding.” I offered simply. She seemed satisfied as she resumed unrolling her parchment.

“Hm… Isn’t history interesting enough for your time?”

I managed to relax back into the chair and watched her grab the quill before resuming her writing.

“I prioritised potions. I wanted to be able to take the NEWTs classes. Professor Snape said he wouldn’t accept any other mark.”

“To do what, exactly? Last year was curse breaking, the prior potioneer, before that was teacher…”

“I’m still debating my options with professor Sprout. I’m really into herbology at the moment.”

The violin stopped abruptly. Aurora lifted a neatly plucked eyebrow at me. I hate I got that ability from her. She considered me for an uncomfortable while.

“Is that why you brought those earmuffs?”

Snitch, I accused Prim mentally.

“Yes.” I offered with confidence. She hummed again and focused her attention to her desk once more. I could sense her losing interest.

Waiting for her to do some remark about suitable careers for me, of how I should follow her path with Arithmancy since I seemed to pass my classes “with ease”, or try as soon as possible to insert myself into a position in the Ministry.

There was none.

“Go freshen up and change. The rest of the guests will arrive soon.”

I watched in disbelief how quickly she dismissed me. She didn’t lift her gaze when I stood up, nor when I crossed the room, and I could swear she wasn’t bothered when I closed the door behind me either.

With that taken care of, I hurried upstairs before Prim and the new guests that were crossing the magic barrier spotted me.

My bedroom was the last door to the right on the second floor, with views of the backyard. Although I mostly complained about the oppressive interior of the house, always packed with rugs, clocks, paintings, mirrors and fireplaces on every corner, my room was originally made for guests, so it was very much empty in comparison.

I finally could breathe when I leaned against the closed door. It’s not that I hadn’t enjoyed my stay at the burrow for the summer, or that I didn’t enjoy having Rowan and Penny as roommates, but I needed to come back here, despite having trouble admitting it.

All the furniture matched with the same dark wood: my canopy bed, now with green and gold bedding; the big armoire on the other side of it; and my favourite addition that I stole from my mother’s room, a cylinder desk with enough drawers and nooks for my trinkets and jewels.

I threw my bag on the bed to retrieve my earmuffs.

This was the moment of truth.

Borrowed from Sprout and modified by Flitwick as a favour, one that I would have to pay with duelling set-ups and dummy maintenance, the earmuffs would serve a crucial role in keeping my sanity intact.

I covered my ears and instantly felt a light buzzing, as if I was hearing a distant swarm of bees. The only problem was, I didn’t know if Nicholas would be able to get in my head or not. He was powerful, a master in legilimency; I doubted that a pair of old earmuffs would prevent him from reading me like a book. But at least it would be more difficult.

Even from the second floor, I could hear movement outside the building. I crossed the room, dug one knee on the built-in seat below the three big windows that showed the backyard and looked down.

Aurora’s silhouette skittered across the grovel path towards two men I couldn’t recognise. They towered over her, but it was clear who was in charge when she turned towards the house and they followed two steps behind her.

Closing the curtains, I stepped away from the window, thinking about what to do with my time. Aurora said to get ready for dinner, but the house was mostly empty, Nicholas wasn’t anywhere to be seen, and Mom and Dad hadn’t arrived yet. I figured I could read a bit before I was robbed of any kind of alone time.

I picked my wand from the handbag and crossed the room again to open the wardrobe. Big enough for two people to sit, that piece of furniture was originally at the end of the hallway, guarding my uncle’s flying brooms and quidditch balls before I claimed it for myself. Squeezing inside and pushing books and boxes away from me, I thought about how I just decorated my room with furniture no one wanted.

With the door closed, I sat with my knees to my chest, surrounded by darkness.

Lumos.

I immediately grabbed the book on top of the small tower I had made months ago, Death Omens: What to Do When You Know the Worst Is Coming by Mauricios Carneiros, one of the few volumes in this house’s shelves that was half interesting, and that’s saying a lot since I wasn’t particularly attracted to divination.

After finding a comfortable position, I started rereading Chapter 3 and soon I lost myself in the reading session.

I was about to finish the chapter when the creaking sound of my bedroom door made me look up. Attempting to listen, I could identify the sound of the door closing, and steps around the room.

I didn’t want to move a muscle, but I had to shake the wand slightly to turn it off.

I held my breath.

The steps got closer, silenced for a moment when they stepped over the rug, and reverberated again when they hit the wood once more.

I gripped my wand tighter.

The doors of the wardrobe flew open, and I hissed when my eyes met a new light that wasn’t my wand.

“Aha!”

Relief cursed through me when the figure kneeled down to reveal mom’s face. I threw my head back, resting it on the wood.

“I thought it was my last day.” I mumbled, pressing my palms to my eyes.

“You chose Carneiros to entertain yourself. Your reward is paranoia.” She said with sparkling eyes and the Irish tilt to her voice that I realised then I missed terribly. “And what is that?” She pointed at my earmuffs.

“Tell Aurora to renew her collection, then.” I replied, taking the earmuffs off.

I slithered out into mom’s open arms and closed my eyes when she squeezed me against her.

“How did you know I was here?” I asked against her black dress. She started caressing my back.

“Jacob used to hide in there, too.”

I let her hug me a little while, and I felt her need my embrace as well. My brother’s topic was still a delicate matter, cause of many fights among all the members of the family who all had different, and quite strong, opinions about Jacob’s whereabouts.

“Tell me everything about Belgium.”

“And you tell me everything about this Charlie person.”

I looked up petrified and found her teasing smirk.

“I wasn’t snooping. You just left your things all over your bed.”

I tsked. The bloody letter that said Charlie with a heart on it.

“Well…” She chuckled and started to get up.

“Come on. Let’s get you ready for dinner,” she sighed,  “It’s going to be a long night.”

--

[Next Chapter] >

[denimbex1986]

'GamesRadar+ verdict: 4.5 stars

A near-perfect end to the Doctor's 60th anniversary adventures. David Tennant and Catherine Tate bow out of the series in an often jaw-dropping episode that points the way to a bright new future for Doctor Who. Allons-y!

Doctor Who's trilogy of 60th anniversary specials comes to an end with The Giggle, the biggest and, by quite some way, the boldest episode of this show for many years. There's a returning enemy, a global threat, and a long-awaited regeneration - but that's just the half of it.

In some ways these episodes have mimicked the structure of returning showrunner Russell T Davies' seasons past. The Star Beast was a fun and frothy family adventure reminiscent of season-openers like Rose or Partners In Crime. Last week's Wild Blue Yonder recalled the show's mid-season turns to the weird in episodes like Midnight. The Giggle, then, is a classic RTD season finale, epic in scale, with wild swings of tone and mood, big ideas, UNIT battles - and a dance.

Wild Blue Yonder ended with a touching reunion with Bernard Cribbins' Wilfred Mott. It was, sadly, the only scene the Doctor Who production team were able to film with the beloved actor, though he does make a brief audio cameo this week (in a dialogue sample snatched from season 4 episode The Poison Sky). The Doctor (David Tennant) and Donna (Catherine Tate) have returned to Earth, only to find the planet in chaos caused by the arrival of the Toymaker - played by Neil Patrick Harris with malicious glee. A sinister laugh transmitted through every screen on planet Earth has caused everyone to become convinced that they are always correct, leading to a wave of violence that UNIT are desperately trying to keep in check. To put things right the Doctor and Donna must enter the Toymaker's realm and, quite literally, beat him at his own game.

That's the initial premise, anyway. The Giggle takes many bizarre and surprising twists and turns across its 61 minute run-time, including a visit to Soho in 1925 (which provides the episode with a distinctly creepy image in the laughing form of ventriloquist dummy Stooky Bill) and a memorable raid on the huge new UNIT headquarters (which has strong Avengers Tower vibes and will surely be an easy target in the next alien invasion). It's all leading up to a moment that we've known has been coming for the last 19 months: the regeneration of David Tennant's Fourteenth Doctor into Ncuti Gatwa's Fifteenth incarnation.

As most of you reading this by now will know, there's a lot to talk about there (and if you need a handy recap, we have an in-depth ending explainer right here). For now though, and with our spoiler-free remit in mind, we'll simply say that Gatwa makes an immediately winning first impression: charismatic, funny, and with an edge of unpredictable danger. I can't wait to see where this Doctor goes and what they do next. Thankfully it won't be a long gap, with the show returning on Christmas Day with another special, The Church On Ruby Road.

But let's not forget David Tennant. His reprisal of the role caused many a raised eyebrow in the admittedly easy to wind up world of hardcore Doctor Who fandom, but it may yet prove to be showrunner Davies' canniest choice on returning to the show that he revived all those years ago.

Whatever your thoughts on the quality of the last few years of the show, there's little doubt that it had fallen out of the public imagination somewhat, even if the rumors of its imminent demise from the worst sections of the internet were undoubtedly overblown. Bringing back the most popular actor to ever play the part before handing over to a brand new Doctor, played by a rapidly rising talent, was both a smart headline-grabbing action and a chance to find new shades in both Tennant and Tate's performances.

Because, while the Fourteenth Doctor is, in many ways, simply an older version of the Tenth, that difference in age and experience is important, as The Giggle makes clear. This Doctor runs as fast as ever, but they're sadder and more care-worn. They've been bruised by the events of the Flux, which left half the universe destroyed (what seemed at the time to be a dangling loose thread, now beautifully woven into the Doctor's character), and by everything else that has happened to them over the course of, for Donna, 15 years and for the Doctor, literal aeons. Crucially, they're willing to give up everything to protect their companion. OK, so the Doctor was never afraid of self-sacrifice, but there's something more than that here. "It's not about me," Donna says at one point, and Tennant's "Oh yes it is!" is said with desperate conviction. This was never simply a lap of glory for Tennant, but a chance to round out the character that made him a household name in the UK.

Tate, too, is fantastic. Donna has also aged, but she's only grown warmer, wiser, and more determined. A scene where she faces off against one of the Toymaker's traps is laugh out loud funny as she unflappably deals with a monster in a wonderfully straightforward way.

Elsewhere, Neil Patrick Harris makes for a wonderfully sinister villain - by turns camp, silly, and genuinely terrifying. A handful of throwaway lines may hint at bigger threats to come (and perhaps the return of another old enemy), but there's something unknowable, strange, and - as the Doctor puts it - "elemental" about this character. They invoked superstition in last week's episode and now here they are, tussling with what is effectively a god. This is Doctor Who played on a grand and mythic scale.

Not everything works perfectly. The Vlinx, a surprising new bit of UNIT tech, is left unexplained for now and strikes an oddly goofy note in the episode. The nature of the giggle itself offers Davies the chance to make some pointed statements about the state of our world, but fades into the background as soon as the Doctor and the Toymaker meet. And while the episode looks generally pretty amazing, there are some spotty VFX in places. But so it always was with Doctor Who, a show that never let a lack of time or money stop it from going to places much bigger shows would never dare.

These are small quibbles in an instalment that marks a near-perfect cap on a trilogy of episodes that have been simply a joy to watch these last three weeks, and which point to a blazing future for Doctor Who, one that feels genuinely unpredictable and unmissable again. Farewell David and Catherine. Welcome Ncuti! Next stop: everywhere.'

[bitletsanddrabbles]

The Gift Reflects the Giver

Since I did Valentine’s Day fiction last Christmas for @alex51324 ‘s Island of the Gays, I decided I should do Christmas for Valentine’s Day. Got an idea all thought up...made a false start...or two...and then burned out on writing for ages.

It being Christmas time again and me being stuck at home for the day (It’s raining! IT’S RAINING! Go little rain drops! Melt that ice!) I decided it was a good time to write it.

This probably won’t actually go up on Ao3 for Christmas...at least not the first day. Might get it up before the 12th, we’ll see. I need to read back over the Island and see if I can’t get Mr. Braceridge sounding more...well...himself. Turns out it’s kinda hard to write from his PoV and still have him sound right. But for now, Merry Christmas, everyone.

-

-

John looked around the cottage’s parlour, frowning. The place looked as festive as one could ask, but there was something missing. Much of the village had gone out gathering greens for decorating. Timothy had been kept at home by his rheumatism, John had eagerly lead the party, pointing out which plants had weak branches that could be sacrificed for the cause, which were too young and should be left alone, and which plants - namely ivy - were invasive weeds that didn’t belong but which somehow kept making their way to the island and could be ruthlessly harvested for the season. Berries had been added to the collection and strung on strings for garlands. John and Timothy had gotten their fair share of these and they were now strewn artistically around the room. An empty bird’s nest from the barn perched on a particularly sturdy set of boughs, for luck.

Timothy had proclaimed it perfect, but there was something missing…

“We need a tree.”

Timothy looked up from where he was working on notes for the coming Sunday’s sermon. “We do not need a tree, John.”

John turned his frown on his husband. “But it’s tradition! Surely you want one.”

“I’m happy with the room the way it is,” Timothy informed him, setting down his pen. “Besides, if we get a tree, other couples will want one too. We can’t afford to chop down that many, especially the conifers. Alders, perhaps, but alders don’t make very good Christmas trees, even if you could find one that would fit in here.”

“If you say so,” John muttered, turning back to his examination of the room.

“I do.”

John let the subject drop, but despite the other man’s assurances, he couldn’t bring himself to believe his husband wouldn’t be happier with a tree. He looked at the time and shook his head. “Ah well, time for me to get started on the stew, I suppose.”

Timothy had gone back to his sermon notes. Without looking up he said, “It’s raining cats and dogs outside, so cook it in here or you’ll catch your death.”

“Yes, dear.”

-

The tobacconists shop had a shipment of mistletoe shipped over from the mainland, since unlike the ivy it hadn’t made its way over. Fitzroy had also gotten in a selection of Christmas cards and ornaments, which other island residents had purchased for hanging off the greens they’d gathered. After a boat shipment had brought over a collection of ornaments from Brancaster castle, specially requested from Lord Hexham from some cousin he had on the mainland, John could stand it no longer.

If the Marquess was surprised to find the former scout master on his doorstep, he hid it well, simply inviting the other man in and offering him a cup of tea.

“I wouldn’t say no,” John replied, taking in the interior of the other man’s cottage. It was certainly well turned out, and far more glamorous than his own home, although John privately thought he preferred the strings of berries to the glittering gold and silver of Lord Hexham’s ornaments. At the other man’s gesture he took a seat in what proved to be a very comfortable wingback chair as Lord Hexham placed the order for tea with his butler. John didn’t think a cottage this size really needed a butler, but it did, he suppose, provide employment for at least one of the villages residents.

“Right then,” the Marquess settled himself in another chair, which was a completely different design than the one John occupied, but no less elegant. “What can I do for you, Mr. Braceridge?”

“Well, it’s like this,” John explained, frowning, trying to gage the best approach to his request. “I think Timothy would like a Christmas tree. I know,” he added hastily, “we’ve never had one before. Everyone’s said that, including Timothy.” He had, by this point, broached the subject with several other members of the community and run up against just that protest. “But I can’t help feeling that he’d be happier if he did.”

“Alright,” the other man replied, frowning slightly. “Er, has he said he’d like a tree?”

“He hasn’t, but that’s because there are so many reasons not to get one. Lack of room in the cottage, lack of proper trees…they’re all good points, but the don’t mean he wouldn’t like a tree.”

Lord Hexham didn’t look overly convinced, but he didn’t interrupt.

“But I’ve been thinking and there’s that spruce just off the cricket pitch, between it and the church, that’s not too large -”

Here Lord Hexham did cut him off. “I say, old thing, I’m not overly familiar with Father Timothy, and I’d certainly not imply that you don’t know your own husband better than I do, but I can’t see him smiling on the idea of cutting down a village land mark like that. More to the point, I can’t see anyone else smiling on the idea either.”

“Oh, no, of course not!” John hurried to assure him. The thought honestly hadn’t crossed his mind. He wasn’t certain whether Timothy would disown him, skin him like a hare, or simply write a year’s worth of very cross sermons, but none of them bore thinking about. “No, I had something else in mind completely. Still, I’d like it to be a surprise, and so I’d need help pulling it off…”

-

John was up and out of bed early enough on Christmas morning to have the tea brewed before he heard Timothy stir. He quickly poured a cup, added the cream, and made his way into the bedroom where his husband was just blinking awake.

“Heavens, you’re up early,” the other man noted in a groggy sort of manner, propping himself up on the pillows and reaching for the offered beverage. “Thank you.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” John explained, trying to make it sound off handed, as if he’d simply suffered from a bit of insomnia rather than being too excited to lie still any longer. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas.” Timothy smiled at him over the rim of his cup. “Did you make breakfast too?”

John shook his head. They normally made breakfast together for Christmas, instead of the meal being made by whoever was up first, and he wasn’t about to break that tradition. Then he admitted, “No, but I did get the eggs laid out and the pan ready and sliced the bacon, so that’s ready to go.”

Timothy gave a little laugh of surprise. “Gracious, and here I am lounging around in bed! I should get up so we can get started on the cooking.”

“No, no, you have a lie in,” John protested. “It’s Christmas and you’ve been busy. I’ll just get myself a cup and come sit with you.” Before his husband could reply, he ducked back out and went to pour himself a cuppa’. While he was in the kitchen, he sporadically checked the weather again. Not that it would hurt if it was raining - and would be quite picturesque if it was snowing - but he was quite pleased to discover it was still dry, if overcast. That would allow for good visibility. Armed with his tea and a triumphant smile, he headed back into the bedroom. “Weather’s looking good for caroling later,” he announced, settling himself on his side of the bed. Caroling was one of Timothy’s annual projects, although since most of the village came along the actual door-to-door part was rather short. It ended with everyone in the parish hall having a general sing along and good time.

“Good,” Timothy sighed. “Not that I mind the snow, but it will be nice not to have my rheumatism acting up. And rain just isn’t very festive.”

“Not very, no.” The two of them drank their tea in companionable silence. John thought he did a very good job of acting natural through the whole thing, as if he wasn’t dying to suggest that Tim get up and dressed and they go make breakfast and that Tim look out the window…

Finally, after what seemed twice as long as normal, Timothy set his cup aside with a sigh. “That was a wonderful start to the day,” he smiled up at his husband, “thank you, dear.” With a stretch, he pushed back the covers and swung himself out of bed.

“It was no problem,” John assured him. “None at all. Christmas deserves something a little bit special, doesn’t it?”

“It does.”

John waited as patiently as he was able for his husband to get up and dressed, which wasn’t very patiently at all. In fact, he left after a couple of minutes to putter around in the kitchen and check out the window. It might have been his imagination, but it seemed like the overcast had lifted a little, making the world lighter and the scenery more visible. He smiled, then stoked the stove, got the lard ready, and pulled out the remaining kitchen utensils.

Timothy walked into the kitchen to find everything ready and waiting. He gave his husband a puzzled smile. “Are you particularly hungry today, dear?”

“I wouldn’t say that,” John smiled. “More that I’m invigorated. Ready for the Christmas festivities to begin.”

Still looking bemused, Timothy went over and looked out the window, clearly checking the weather.

John held his breath.

The other man blinked once. Twice. Then, without turning from the window, asked, “John?”

“Mm?”

“Are there berry strings on the spruce?”

Slowly, careful not to rush or betray any signs of excitement, John slid over to the window.

“And, are those ornaments?”

Unable to contain his excitement anymore, John grinned from ear to ear and slipped an arm around his husband’s waist. “Merry Christmas.”

Timothy laughed, shaking his head. “How did you manage it? You were inside all night, I know. It’s cold enough I’d have felt if you got up.”

It was true, the one down side of the whole project had been that he hadn’t been able to help decorate. That would be fixed next year. “I was, yes. It was supposed to be a surprise, after all! I asked Lord Hexham, as one of our foremost citizens, if he’d take control of the organizing the thing. He got some of the lads, not sure which ones, to slip out with lanterns after we’d turned in last night, and dress it up.”

“So that’s why you were in such a hurry to get to bed!”

“I was thinking we could make it an annual tradition,” John continued. He could see future trees in his minds eye as he spoke. “Since there aren’t enough trees for everyone to have their own, I thought we could have a community tree. Lord Hexham has already donated some ornaments, along with a few other people, but I thought we could have everyone donate something each year. Maybe have Bill Thorn teach people how to carve their own. That way it would really be our tree. What do you think?”

By now Timothy had turned and was watching him with a warm, if perhaps slightly exasperated, smile. He glanced back out at the tree and said, “I think it’s a lovely idea. And I’m glad I could give you an excuse to get your Christmas tree.” He leaned over and kissed his husband’s cheek. “Now, let’s get started on breakfast.”

[mysteriesofmarcy]

(Late) Mystery Monday #32: Amphibia's Motif

So I haven't done a Mystery Monday post in a while. But it's Christmas time! Between my job, decorating the house, baking treats, hosting and visiting my friends and family, shopping for gifts, traveling, etc., I've been super busy and I'm sure you have too. I did want to get this post out though.

Anyway, today I noticed a motif in Amphibia. (For those unaware, a motif is an element of a story that is present in the beginning, the middle, and the end, and sort of ties the story together.)

Now, I could have gone with things like change, responsibility, friendship, family or teamwork, but I felt those are moreso themes than motifs. I'll cover them separately. But for now, we're focusing on the conflict between going home and enjoying the experience while it lasts.

First, the going home part:

The entire series started because Anne didn't go home for her family birthday party because (presumably) Sasha didn't want to go home to her divorced parents, and because Marcy didn't want to be home with her parents about to move.

From the moment Anne first met Sprig, and even before that, she was trying to find a way to get home. This plan, however, is continuously thwarted:

First, in season 1, Anne does not know how the music box works, and she can't even find out because she cannot escape Frog Valley due to the snow blocking the mountain pass.

Then in season 2a, it takes some time for the family to travel to Newtopia. And once they get there, it takes more time for Andrias and Marcy to figure out how to get the music box working again.

By the time the Plantars have to go home after they spent A Day at the Aquarium, Anne isn't ready to leave them and decides to go home with them.

In season 2b, it takes more time to go to the temples and actually recharge the stones.

Then in the season finale, Anne's quest is again thwarted, first by Sasha showing her True Colors, then by Andrias showing his True Colors, and finally another wrench is thrown in by Marcy showing her True Colors.

In season 3a, the roles are reversed: it is Anne who is home and the Plantars who miss theirs. (Especially evident in If You Give a Frog a Cookie)

In season 3b, the goal is again changed: the only way for the Amphibians to go home (or rather, go back to their real homes) is to beat Andrias and stop his draining of their resources and his invasion of earth.

Now on to the "enjoying the experience" part:

At the beginning of the series, Sprig offers to "be [Anne's] friend in the meantime"

In season 1 (especially the first half), Anne goes from hating the Plantar house to loving it and seeing it as a second home, while the family goes from seeing her as just a monster from another world to a member of the family.

In season 1 (especially the second half), Anne goes from hating Wartwood to loving it and seeing it as a second home, while the residents go from being extremely suspicious of her to voting her Frog of the Year.

In Fort in the Road, the kids want to enjoy the journey to Newtopia and have some fun experiences along the way, but Hop Pop wants to get them all there in one piece and feels it is too dangerous to stop.

The whole principle of enjoying the experience while it lasts is particularly present in the Newtopia chapter. Especially right after The Plantars Check In, when some people cough cough Sprig want to enjoy and explore the city while others just want to relax.

Speaking of which, Marcy's entire attitude towards Amphibia is that she wants to enjoy the experience and never wants it to end. (Not unlike a certain other Disney cartoon girl whose name starts with Ma.)

This is why, in their preparations for The Third Temple, Marcy encourages Anne to "live the fantasy" with a new look.

And in several episodes of season 3a, particularly Fight at the Museum and the beginning of Adventures in Catsitting, the Plantars are enjoying being houseguests of the Boonchuys.

This element seems to be mostly absent from season 3b, but the finale provides some enjoyment in everyone's happy ending.

Since it is Christmas time, I will continue to be busy for the rest of the month. The next Mystery Monday post will probably come next year. Topic TBD.

Have a very Merry Christmas and a happy New Year!

[slickshoesareyoucrazy]

What Turns Me Grinchy

Believe it or not, this post is another love letter to J. It’s just…an unconventional one, I guess, with a cameo appearance from Dr. Seuss’s beloved (?…he’s beloved, right?) Aspiring Christmas Stealer.

I’ve written for over a year here, and for more than 3 years somewhere about what a calm, capable, loving, and wonderful man J is. I’ve written about his compassion and his commitment and how he works so hard and how easy he is to trust (and he deserves that trust) because he’s so concerned with people’s safety and he makes people feel safe. I haven’t really written much explicitly about his quiet confidence, but he does have it and I think that’s heavily implied in most of the things I write about him and in the fictional heroes I’ve created that are inspired by him too.

But even confident, amazing heroes have insecurity sometimes. J’s isn’t anything like my constant, multi-faceted, insidious and invasive insecurity (thank goodness). His hardly ever shows. But each year around the holidays, because of inane holiday marketing, I’m reminded of one place J’s insecurity tends to reveal itself.

J grew up poor. He didn’t grow up ‘not rich’ like me. I mean, I grew up living in an apartment with two working parents who sometimes had $5 left in the bank at the end of the month (and this was with free full time child care from my dad’s parents for me and from ME for my little brother) and openly bickered with each other about whose parents we’d have to move in with when the inevitable happened and we couldn’t make the monthly budget stretch (I was always rooting for my dad’s parents when they were still living for obvious reasons). But we never actually HAD to move in with any of my grandparents (thank goodness…I guess…although honestly, I’d have liked to have lived with my dad’s parents). And my parents never applied for public assistance. J’s family did. A friend of mine online reminded me of this Everclear song the other day, which isn’t totally J, but these lines definitely are…

"I hate those people who love to tell you Money is the root of all that kills. They have never been poor; They have never had the joy of a Welfare Christmas."

J’s dad always worked full time, but his mother was unable to work (she couldn’t drive a car), and J remembers walking to the grocery store and helping his mother do math and count change to pay for the things they needed that SNAP (food stamps) didn’t cover when he was The Boy’s age. He remembers going to free stores to get new winter coats every year. He remembers being on the receiving end of anonymous donations at holiday time…the same anonymous donations we MAKE now for other families.

J does know what a Welfare Christmas feels like.

We live a very comfortable life together now. I mean, we have a life beyond my wildest dreams of what kind of life I could have. If I went back and told my 5 or 15 or even 25 year old self that I’d be living my current life with J, I’d have not believed it. J works hard for us to have a great life, and he takes great pride (and should) in taking care of me and The Boy when it comes to providing us with material and financial security. But I know there are still times he thinks and worries about it.

The first time J met my parents was the day after Christmas in 2003. We’d known each other for almost 4 weeks and had been on 4 dates alone when we went to dinner with my parents at a modest sit-down restaurant (not fast food, but certainly not fancy). My dad picked up the entire check for the party of 5 (my parents, my little brother, who was 14 at the time, and J and me). J thanked my dad sincerely. And when the two of us got into his car alone to drive home, the first thing he said to me was, 'Your dad knows I can buy your dinner, right?’ My dad was trying to be magnanimous and welcoming. Neither of my parents are particularly affectionate people, but they do know how to buy people things as a way of showing approval or 'love.’ I told J this. 'My dad can’t say, 'Nice to meet you,’ like a normal person, but he can buy your dinner. That’s all that meant.’

On our first Valentine’s Day together, J bought me a white gold and diamond chip necklace. I was speechless. I’d never received a gift that nice before, and I loved it…I loved the implied commitment. But I can remember casually mentioning that it was 'a lot.’ I treasure that necklace, and I still wear it out on special occasions. And J bought me an engagement ring and a wedding ring, and another necklace for one Mother’s Day, but he doesn’t buy me jewelry for every gift giving occasion, and I don’t want him to. I think part of the reason he bought me that necklace was to show me that he could. It was mostly the commitment…to show me how seriously he took me and our potential future together. But I think it was at least a little bit, in J’s mind, something to indicate to me what he could do.

Which brings me to the shifty holiday marketing that makes me think about this every year around Christmas (and Valentine’s Day…and Mother’s Day…) All the 'He went to Jared!’ and 'Every kiss begins with Kay’ commercials just grate on me. They turn my Grinch feet ice cold in the snow. I don’t like the implication that women want (read: expect) jewelry for every gift giving occasion and I don’t like the implication that these gifts earn men affection and prove how much they love the women in their lives/are indicators of what kind of partner they are/can be. Those things aren’t true. At least it’s not true for me as a woman. And I know many men who can and do buy jewelry regularly who don’t show their partners respect or affection regularly. I’m not trying to judge jewelry negatively here. I just don’t like the marketing implication that an expensive gift = love.

And I know that despite all the progress made in the past 60 years or so with debunking gender expectations, men are still conditioned to believe that financially providing for their partner is a requirement, and it can still cause insecurity. And particularly in the world we currently live in, where it’s hard for so many people to get the basic things they need like food and shelter and clean water and health care, we are extremely fortunate to live with as much comfort and security as we have. I know men still feel pressure to buy expensive things for their partners as gifts. Things that mass marketing tells them are 'romantic.’ Buying her that stand mixer you know she’s gonna use every week is sexist, but buying her a diamond says you love her. Taking her to the book store to get a hot cocoa and a book or two from the paperback sale rack is cheap; take her to the jewelry store and let her pick something out there instead…

My kisses don’t begin with Kay. J doesn’t have to buy me a new life. I love the life we’re already living. About 5 Christmases ago, J asked me what I wanted for Christmas and I told him I couldn’t think of anything; I already have everything; he’d given me everything but the kitchen sink. And he bought me a new kitchen sink (really…engineers are wicked literal…and J is kind of a smart ass…but my kitchen sink is really nice, for real). In all seriousness, I hope J knows that while I am grateful for and appreciate how hard he works for our comfortable life…and that he’s now given me everything INCLUDING the kitchen sink, I’d still love him even if he couldn’t buy my dinner at a non-fast food restaurant. He provides my soul security with his consistent love. That’s what I want to keep getting for Christmas every year. He can’t buy that in any store.

“And what happened then? Well, in Whoville, they say That the Grinch’s small heart grew 3 sizes that day.”

I love that guy. <3