#welcome to the goddamn ice cube

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

Books I Want to Finish This Year: December 2024 Edition.

Thanks for the tag, @sixofravens-reads!

I'm still clawing my way through typing my NaNo manuscript (trying to finish today!), but!! that means that I haven't been able to do my post-project binge reading, yet, and I love my post-project binge reading--that's how I know I Am Taking A Writing Break.

The three on top are the last three standing from my "24 in 2024" list (Driscoll-related)(Driscoll is my MC in an ongoing revision project), so I'm gonna start with those, and then the two on bottom are bonus reads for If I Get To Them. I've been pining after TIME'S AGENT since the pub deal was announced (and sure we're calling that Driscoll-Adjacent, for interdimensional reasons). I also do really want to read WELCOME TO THE GODDAMN ICE CUBE in winter, and the dead week between Christmas and New Year seems like the perfect time for that.

Tagging @e-b-reads and @asexualbookbird (just so you can see, you don't have to play i guess *sad face*), and anyone else who wants to play! Please tag me back, I wanna see whatever one else is reading!

[travelingviabooks]

Welcome to the Goddamn Ice Cube by Blair Braverman ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Genre: nonfiction, memoir, sports, travel

Country: USA, Norway

Review:

This book wasn’t quite what I was expecting, but it was still so good. I anticipated more information about dogsledding, but this book is more of a journey of healing. There were some parts of this book that were hard for me to read, but the ending and it’s joy and hopefulness made it worth powering through.

Would I recommend this book?:

I would definitely recommend this book, but with caution as the author does discuss sexual assault and emotional abuse.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

ash i love vince so much he is my number 2 babygirl (antoni number 1 babygirl forever)

i would like to formally request some vince having a Bad Time, either past stuff with owen or present with recovery being a bitch

because there is nothing better than lovely characters having bad times that they absolutely do not deserve

CW: Alcoholism, withdrawal/cravings, alcoholic anger, Vince and Jameson both PTSD-ing all over the place, guilt

Oh, poor Vince. Takes place post-the Same Bed Arc, after Vince is living with Nat and Jameson.

-

Vince doesn't even look up when he hears Jameson stop in the doorway. He just pours a few shots worth of the gin into the glass, staring fixedly down at it. The liquid, clear as water but with the herbal scent washing over him like a welcome spring rain, spreads over the ice with those gentle cracks he knows better than his own heartbeat.

God, it looks good.

His hands don't shake, now. His heart doesn't race. He doesn't feel sweaty, or upset, or like he'll be sick.

He just feels like he's staring at the solution to all his problems, and all he has to do is swallow it down.

This should feel awful - he knows it should. It should taste awful, there should be something to remind him of the damage he does to himself every time he drinks again. He should hear his sponsor speaking in the back of his mind, he should hear the voices of the others at the meetings he goes to - one for alcoholism, one for survivors of sexual assault, twice a week there's movie star Vincent goddamn Shield among the normal people and admitting he's barely human, just a wreck that only survived Owen Grant because Nat decided she gave a fuck about him for reasons Vince still doesn't understand.

Here he stands, a hollow shell wearing a nice face who let someone else suffer in his place and was grateful for it for far too long.

Kauri hates him but it's nothing compared to how much he hates himself.

Vince lifts the glass, hesitating at the last second with the cool rim just touching his lower lip. Gin smells like blacking out and right now he could use the blessed darkness, hangover be damned.

He can worry about that when the headache kicks in tomorrow morning.

He realizes he's waiting for the sickening crawl of guilt at letting Nat down, at-... at letting himself down. Maybe that will come later, but right now... He feels goddamn good. Settled. Calm.

He and Jameson meet eyes just as he tosses the drink back, three large swallows of juniper-scented gin down his throat like water, leaving only the ice cubes behind.

The burn is perfect.

He pours himself another drink, feeling the warmth slowly spread through his chest to his shoulders, eyes briefly closing. God, it feels like goddamn heaven.

He looks up.

Jameson is still standing there in the doorway, looking oddly soft in a loose sweater that's far too big for him and a pair of old jeans that probably cost a dollar at a yard sale and even that was too much. Vince has jeans that distressed, somewhere.

His cost more than five hundred dollars.

He chokes on the next drink from trying not to laugh.

Jameson's eyes narrow. "What the fuck are you doing?"

"What does it look like I'm doing?" Vince takes another sip, eyes half-closed, letting himself take it slow this time and really enjoy the taste.

He'd honestly been surprised the little liquor store down the block even carried this brand of gin. Not that he wouldn't have bought whatever he could get, when he stood there feeling like he would die if he had to go another day, but still. It's nice to have seen his favorite stuff, top shelf, pricier than it had any right to be. It's not even that good, but it's still his favorite. It still tastes, to him, like the nights he sleeps without nightmares, few and far between.

Gin tastes like those nights he gets to sleep at all.

The cashier had looked surprised as she wiped off the dust and rang it up for him. Then, with a shy smile, she'd asked him if anyone ever told him he looked a lot like Vincent Shield. He'd been kind of sad she didn't card him - it would have been nice to see the look on her face when she saw his name.

Instead, he paid in cash, laughed, and told her the standard I get that a lot, actually.

Jameson doesn't move closer, or leave. "It looks like you're fucking yourself up," He says, lingering in the doorway. "You can't just start drinking again. You know that, right?"

"Oh, I sure as hell can." Vince laughs, but it's a bitter sound. He licks the gin lingering on his lips, then gestures at the bottle. "Have some with me."

He's caught, for just a moment, when he sees Jameson wearing an expression Vince has never seen on him before. He looks... nervous. Afraid, almost, instead of angry.

"I-I don't want to," Jameson says, but there's a way he says it that makes Vince think he'd drink if he offers again. Maybe he wants to, or maybe he just doesn't want to make Vince mad.

If he commanded it, if he gave an order... Jameson would be as he's told, wouldn't he? Damn, that would be some power to have over someone.

This must be why Owen liked it so much.

No.

He won't think about Owen right now.

Vince gulps down liquid until he's breathless, almost panting. The warmth is like the familiar cradle of a softer reality settling in. He makes himself slow down this time, picking up an ice cube and sucking the juniper taste right off it before crunching it with his teeth.

"Vince." Jameson's voice gets harsher, and something seems to break his brief paralysis. He moves closer, grabbing the bottle and pulling it away when Vince puts a hand out to pour the third drink. "Fucking... look at me. What the fuck?"

Vince's hand just... hangs out there, reaching for a bottle that isn't where it was. He stares at the empty space, and feels that dark inside of him threaten to well up yet again. "What?"

Jameson swallows, his eyes moving to the glass, back to Vince's face. He steps backwards, and Vince watches the bottle go with him with a piercing need that could easily knock him off his feet if he weren't holding onto the back of a chair. Jameson clears his throat. "Aren't you... like, sober now?"

"Mmmn. Was. Got the like... three month chip thing and everything." He's gotten thoroughly wasted so many times in his life. Nothing relaxes him better than enough alcohol to force his body to stop living in constant, unending fear of who might hurt him next. "Right now, I am tipsy instead. In about an hour, I'm going to be absolutely fucked up. Give me back my gin."

Jameson's hand moves - then he jerks it back, taking a few steps backwards until he's back in the doorway. His eyes are on Vince's face, watching him with a total focus that Vince recognizes from the others he's worked with over the years - Jameson's just a trained pet, in this moment, watching to see if the master will be angry.

It makes him laugh again, more bitterly this time. Is he the master? Has he ever been his own master, let alone anyone else's?

"I... I can't do that," Jameson says, and Vince hears that he doesn't say no. When Vince moves towards him, he backs up a little more, and Vince comes to a stop just a foot or so away.

"Am... am I scaring you?" He asks, suddenly.

It wasn't what he meant to say, he meant to demand his drink again. Instead, this question that... that just sort of falls out of him like a waterfall.

Jameson's jaw sets and his eyes narrow. "You're not doing shit to me," He snaps, but Vince knows he's really saying yes.

Is this why people buy pets? So they can see something pretend not to be scared, and know they're the monster not just under the bed, but in it?

"Oh," He whispers. "What is it? Why are you scared? I'm just a drunk asshole, why are you scared of me?"

Jameson bristles, but then he offers - as if it's pulled out of him against his will - the softest explanation. "Brute and Robert got drunk all the time. I know what happens when-... when people get this kind of drunk."

There's a look in his eyes Vince has seen before in Kauri's. Not fear of him, not directly, but fear of someone like him, maybe. Fear of having demands made that can't be denied.

Is this how Owen felt, every time Kauri had to playact the loving boyfriend with bruises on his wrists and terror making his heart race? Is this how it feels to have power over somebody else when you can't even control yourself?

It's... it's good, almost.

It feels better than he thought it would.

"Back up, Shield," Jameson hisses, like a cat spitting and arching its back, ready to attack with claws and sharp teeth not because it's confident in victory but because it's so small it has to fight to have even the slightest chance to survive.

Vince looks him over, reading with an actor's expertise how he's projecting a confident swagger he never feels, how the irritation layers itself so carefully over a vulnerability that he sees as weakness. Vince has lived that way, too, since he was twenty-one, since his best friend turned out to be a rapist who wanted Vince to himself, since he started drinking to forget every single night and putting on the perfect face during his days.

They both survived, didn't they?

Jameson just did it by fighting his way out, and Vince by pretending to be someone he wasn't until nobody knew who he actually was, and that's a way of surviving, too. Wear another face, and make sure no one sees the fear in your real one, so they can't refuse to help you... because you've never asked.

"No." At least one of them can say it. Although that makes Vince's heart twist with ugly guilt, the petty cruelty of the thought. "Give me my gin," Vince says, pitching his voice low, and holds out his hand. "Now, Jameson. Give it to me."

"I can't." The strength is gone from Jameson's voice, and he looks at Vince with those dark eyes searching his own, trying to make himself understood. "If you drink, your-... your body's not used to it anymore, if you drink the same amount you'll fucking kill your stupid liver."

"What do you care about my liver?" Vince's voice drops low, almost a whisper. "What do you care about me, about my goddamn joke of a life, huh? What the fuck do you care? Why should anyone care?"

There's a flicker of something in Jameson's eyes - recognition, maybe. Something that lights up, just for a second, before the other man shoves Vince to the side with sudden violent strength and stalks to the sink, turning the bottle over and pouring that expensive artisan gin right down the drain.

"No!" Vince's voice is a ragged shout as he lunges after him, but it's too little too late.

Jameson's foot kicks out and slams into Vince's calf, sending him stumbling, clawing desperately as the gin is gone, glug glug glug, down into the pipes, disappearing towards the ocean.

Rage and terror fight in Vince's mind in a sudden white noise and he gets to his feet, grabbing Jameson by the arms and squeezing as hard as he can, shoving him back across the room. He hears Jameson hit one of the chairs, the clatter of wood and Jameson's grunt of pain as both hit the ground hard. The bottle is in the sink, and even when Vince scrambles to pick it back up, there's less than an inch of gin left.

He sucks it down, and only once he's gotten that final drop does he suddenly go still.

Oh.

There's the guilt and the horror and feeling sick at himself, just... twenty minutes too late. He sets the empty bottle carefully down, and then turns slowly around to look at Jameson.

Jameson sits on the kitchen floor, staring up at him with wide eyes. His face is pale, making the scar that twists the corner of his mouth stand out even more. His hair is nearly grown back in now, the bald patches hidden by the rest.

Vince exhales in a rush. "Oh, hell. Jameson-" He holds out a hand.

Jameson flinches.

Vince pulls his hand back, backing up until his back hits the edge of the sink. "Right. Okay. I'm-... I'm sorry Jameson-"

"Yeah." Jameson's voice is gruff, all the vulnerability and fear wiped away as soon as he realizes it's showing. He gets to his feet, shoulders protectively hunched, arms crossed in front of himself defensively. "Whatever. Sure you are. Drink yourself to death, shitbag, if that's what you want."

"I'm so sorry."

Jameson's jaw works. "... Everybody's always sorry. Then I get fucking hit again." Then he turns and walks - limps, really, his knees threatening to give out with every step - away. Vince stands there, frozen, listening as he makes his slow, painful way up the stairs.

Vince stares at the place he was for a while - he isn't sure how long. The gin is sinking its velvet claws into his mind, and he's drunker than he should be after only two drinks.

But then, it's been months.

Months, he made it without taking even a sip.

He swallows, again and again, and then pulls his cell phone out of his pocket, finds a contact, and presses the button to make the call.

The phone rings until he's certain it'll go to voicemail, before a voice he knows as well as his own is in his ear.

"What the hell do you want?"

"I-I need to talk to you," He stammers, his heart cold. "Please. Please. I-I've been drinking. I need... I need help."

There's a pause.

"From... me?"

"Yeah... yeah. You'll-... I need somebody who won't be nice to me-"

"Oh, well, if there's anything I love it's the chance to be mean to you, let me drop my entire life to come listen to you whine about yours."

"Please."

An exhale. "Whatever. Yeah, okay. I'll be over there in like... half an hour? An hour, maybe. Drink some water and I'll be there as soon as I can. Don't leave the house."

"Thanks... thank you, Kauri."

Kauri hangs up.

Vince pours himself a glass of water over the leftover gin-soaked ice, sipping it, barely flavored with a hint of the liquor he wants so badly. He rights the chair he'd accidentally shoved Jameson into, and listens to the creaking floorboards and muffled cursing above him as Jameson makes his halting painful way from stairway to his room, a couple thumps when he clearly falls and had to force himself back upright, until the pacing abruptly stops when he must have collapsed into his bed.

He hears the gentle patting of Trash Cat's paws as she leaves her place on the living room couch and follows him, too, her soft meowing until Jameson opens his door to let her come in after him. Then silence again.

Vince sits back down at the table, leaning over with his head in his hand, staring as the ice slowly melts, cooling the water around it.

He should have called his sponsor instead.

Whatever Kauri is about to say can only make this worse.

But he deserves it, anyway.

Vince doesn't move a muscle until he hears the sound of Jake's truck pulling into the driveway, crunching briefly over gravel before it's on the pavement again, when he raises his head.

Kauri walks in without knocking, stops in the doorway to the kitchen, and looks at him like his younger self ashamed of what he's grown into. Vince knows Jake must have driven him, but he's nowhere to be seen - maybe just staying outside, for now. He's clearly dressed for bed in a matching navy blue silk button-up and pajama pants, barefoot even.

"Hey," Vince says, weakly. The alcohol feels like poison now, not the soothing warmth it had been before. "I... I fucked up, Kauri."

"Yeah, I can tell just by looking at you, you're a goddamn mess." Kauri looks at Vince head-on, even though it still hurts him to do it, and Vince can see the flinch he suppresses as the headache kicks in. His blue eyes are identical to Vince's in nearly every way, except that Kauri's gaze has always been stronger. "What the hell did you do?"

"I got... I drank."

"Yep. I can see the gin bottle. Did you drink all of it?" Kauri's voice is flat and businesslike. It's like having his own younger self dressing him down, and somehow that feels... really good. Better than he thought it would.

"... No. Just a couple drinks. Jameson poured the rest out."

"Good for him." Kauri flickers a smile. "Where is he?"

"I-... I scared him."

"... you scared him?"

"Yeah. I was-... I wasn't-... I didn't mean to, but-"

"Shut up. All right. Tell me what you did. I'll fix it. This time, taking your place so I suffer for years while you run off and become obscenely wealthy is off the table, got it?"

Vince looks at him in horror only to see a surprising warmth in Kauri's smile. Not... not affection, but something like it. A wry compassion, maybe. Something else he doesn't deserve. "I don't know. I don't know if I can fix this, Kauri. I don't know."

"Well... I happen to the resident expert in trying to avoid dealing with your problems while making them all worse, so talk to me. Tell me what you did, start to finish. We'll figure out what comes next."

Vince lowers his head into his arms.

"Thank you," He says, muffled.

"Not enough thanks in the world, dumbass. Lucky for you I'm an amazing person who just happens to have spent most of my twenties making stupid drunk mistakes. So stop stalling and start talking."

-

@finder-of-rings @endless-whump @arlin-always-writing @newandfiguringitout @doveotions @pretty-face-breaker @gonna-feel-that-tomorrow @boxboysandotherwhump @oops-its-whump @whumpyourdamnpears @cubeswhump  @whump-tr0pes @whumptywhumpdump @whumpiary @orchidscript @outofangband @hackles-up @grizzlie70 @mylifeisonthebookshelf @keeper-of-all-the-random-things @autophagay

[cricketnationrise]

Congrats on the followers!!

I would love some Kent Parson, 1:13am, in Vegas. I’m thinking The (Shipped) Gold Standard - Fall Out Boy for vibes and the rating is up to you, I’m good with any!

I’m dairaliz on AO3

ngl, as much as i love this song on its own and for Kent post-draft in particular, i was really worried about writing this one. i haven't actually written Kent POV before, so i hope i did him justice and that it's even a little bit what you were hoping to get 💜🦗

read the rest of the ficlets here

🏒🏒🏒🏒

1:31am, las vegas

Parson! Over here, Kent! What do you think about Jack Zimmermann’s overdose? No comment.

The bar Kent’s sitting in didn’t even card him. 

For all Kent wants to pretend he’s got his life together—he’s got his dream job, he’s moved out of his parents’ house for good, he’s making enough money to buy his mom a goddamn mansion—he’s scared fucking shitless. 

Every clink of the ice cubes against the bottom of his glass grates on his brain, a sharp reminder of the weight of an entire fucking franchise sitting on his shoulders. A franchise that might be settling for second-best, the only option available. Kent will never know—too terrified to ask—if Vegas would have drafted him regardless of Ja—Zimmermann’s presence; will never know just how he and Zimmermann would have done playing on opposing teams, how they would have stacked up.

And the bar didn’t even card him. Sure, he was dragged out by his new teammates, was being welcomed to the fold with alcohol and non-diet-approved bar food, was surrounded by boisterous young men who were putting their faith in him—

It’s fine, probably. They definitely picked this bar because they don’t card regularly. It’s not his teammates’ fault that the idea of one night of drinking being enough to tip the scales, to irrevocably tank a promising career, a future—is spiraling around Kent’s head, circling the drain. Zimms had been right there with him, neck and neck, constantly battling for more points, for bigger numbers. They’d pushed each other, pulling the best performance out of the other both off and on the ice. And in the blink of an eye, the flash of lightning, the space between one breath and the next: Jack had been ripped away—from hockey, from the NHL, from Kent.

Kent knew. He knew as soon as he saw Jack on the floor, skin a shade no skin should be, empty orange pill bottle next to his limp hand, and dialed 9-1-1 that life as he knew it was over. No matter what happened next, this would change everything. Part of him was panicking, practically hyperventilating, as he half-yelled, half-sobbed through the phone at the dispatcher, as he hovered ineffectually around the medics as they strapped Jack to a backboard. The other part of him railed from behind a wall of mute shock and horror and resignation as Jack blocked his phone number, kicked him out of his room, told his parents not to let Kent visit.

Each time Jack shut him out, another layer of chill settled around Kent’s heart. The wall around his real self got another brick higher every time a reporter asked about the draft. Deep in the core of himself, he wants to lash out, to push back, to scream that the boy he loves won’t talk to him and what did he do to deserve that—but even Kent isn’t self-destructive enough to say any of that where someone else can hear. So he’ll drink with his teammates, in a sketchy Vegas dive bar, and count down the days until the season starts.

It’s the only thing he’s got left.

Kent, what do you say to those people who say you only went first in the draft because Zimmermann wasn’t there? Haha, um...I guess we’ll never know what would have happened, will we? A great big mystery for us all. I’m just excited to get started on winning the Aces a Cup.

[sergeifyodorov]

Do u perhaps . Have a list of book recs ? I actually went over to a local library to check out the Russian 5 partly bc of u, so that'll be a read for thr near future :D

sorry I took so long to get to this one! there was a book that i was midway through that i planned on adding, but i had to finish it first 😭

hockey nonfiction

the russian five: a story of espionage, defection, bribery, and courage, keith gave. the book that made me a fedorovista. fascinating study of soviet an post-soviet hockey politics. a story both heartwrenching and batshit insane.

the game, ken dryden. did you know that canadian member of parliament ken dryden played hockey once. he was pretty good at it, too

the game of our lives, peter gzowski. this one is kind of a deep cut and it might be hard to find -- as far as im aware it's been out of print for a while. a thorough examination of the freshly post-merger edmonton oilers, gretzky, canadian culture, and what makes players generational.

other nonfiction

moneyball, michael lewis. equal parts philosophy, business, and baseball. what really makes a team good?

welcome to the goddamn ice cube, blair braverman. on fear, misogyny, and arctic survivalism. this woman is possibly my celebrity crush.

[lazyrants]

The LazyTown Snow Monster (prod 210)

Original airdate: December 15, 2006

Story by Magnus Scheving

Written by Magnus Scheving, Mani Svavarrson, Noah Zachary

Directed by Magnus Scheving

Executive producers - Magnus Scheving, Ragnheidur Melsted, Raymond P. Le Gue, Brown Johnson, Kay Wilson Stallings

Starring Magnus Scheving, Stefan Karl Steffanson, Julianna Rose Mauriello

Puppeteers - Gudmondor Thor Karason, Jodi Eichelberger, David Matthew Feldman, Julie Westwood, Sarah Burgess, Ronald Binion

Review of a Christmas special - valid because Christmas in July!

Sportacus is in his airship and he's playing with a katana. Oh, go ahead and motivate kids to play with sharp things, okay. He throws a strawberry in the air and catches it with his katana. Same with a grape, a lemon, another strawberry, and a blueberry. He decides to unlock/open the door, AND HE THROWS THE KATANA OUT.

Then, he gets out a hook to bring the katana back up. The fruits are all in ice cubes, and he puts them all in a bowl. He calls them 'Sportscandy Ice Cubes' and puts them in a glass of water, and takes a sip.

I should probably point out he calls them cool. I really hope that pun was intended. It's a lovely snowy day in LazyTown, and Milford seems to be looking for something when Stephanie comes in. Stephanie questions the smell ('Welcome to LazyTown' reference?), and it's Milford's bait for catching fish. He tells Stephanie he can't find his fishing hat. Whaddya know, he was WEARING IT. But Stephanie is looking for something of her own.

It turns out to be a costume. The kids have been playing Catch the Snow Monster and Stephanie is the snow monster this time, so she needs a fluffy, scary, tremendously horrifying. What do you know, Milford's wearing it. So they do a hat swap.

Stephanie looks ridiculous. Milford thinks he looks pretty. Self-love crosses into delusion, but OK. So the kids are playing Snow Monster on the field, when Steph sees Ziggy on the court, scanning in front of him for her. Then she scares him and he dives for some reason. Pixel has a device to catch her. (Why does he wanna catch his crush..?) And Trixie's going old-school, using a net (that she just found). And Stingy asks when it's his turn to be the Snow Monster. Meanwhile, Milford is fishing.

He thinks he found a fish but he goddamn well knows he didn't. The kids are still playing Snow Monster when Stingy's whining about being it wakes up Robbie. He questions why they're playing outside in winter (If I was them, I'd be drinking hot cocoa with marshmallows next to the heater, watching a movie.. ah... these Americans, so lucky with their snow. IT'S WINTER WHILE I'M WATCHING THIS AND IT'S NOT EVEN COLD!!). He decides to check out what they're doing, and he sees the Snow Monster Steph, and RUNS AWAY while dabbing.

Stefan Karl brought so much life to Robbie Rotten. Then he realizes snow monsters aren't real and reluctantly goes back to the periscope. He realizes it's just the silly kids. THEN he feels something coming. It's either a brilliant idea or his periscope hitting him in the back of the head.

Double dipper. Coincidentally and conveniently, Robbie literally already has a SNOW MONSTER COSTUME. Meanwhile while Milford is fishing, the ice starts to crack and instead of getting out of there he watches as it breaks. Or maybe he's waiting for Sportacus to save him, because the crystal beeps and he does exactly that. He drives the skutla over Milford and tells him to tie his fishing rope to the Skutla's wing thingy. And Sportacus turns over the skutla and drops Milford in a pile of snow. He pulls over in the air, puts on his scarf and checks on Milford.

It turns out he didn't know how dangerous frozen lakes were because he didn't see Macaulay Culkin in 'The Good Son'. Sportacus tells him abut the danger of frozen lakes, then goes back to his airship. Milford puts up a sign. Back at the lair is a fourth-wall break, and I hate fourth wall breaks mostly because most kids shows have annoying characters talking to the camera and LazyTown wasn't the type of show for that and it never should've did that, and they didn't! Well, with some promos and LazyTown Extra as an exception. Anyways, Robbie was fourth-wall breaking in the worst way - talking to the camera.

Robbie puts on the costume FINALLY. This disguise time doesn't rhyme unfortunately, it's just weather descriptions 'too rainy, too sunny..' Anyways, when he discovers it works he is extremely happy. It's Stingy's turn to be the Snow Monster, and he says no-one can catch him. Then someone catches him.

Too soon. Sportacus flippity flops into the game to see what they're doing and they explain everything to him. Stephanie asks him what his favourite thing to do as a kid in the snow was, and he says it was building a snowman. They do so while performing 'Snow, Give Me Snow'. Then once they finish he goes back to the airship. Anyways, for some reason Pixel thinks they need some tunes so he goes to get his solar-powered boombox which is stupid because it's SNOWING. Anyways, the kids go in the fort, thus bringing us some funny dialogue. Ziggy says he wishes he could have a fort all year long, Trixie says it'd melt and become water, Ziggy says he'd just make it a water fort and Stingy says it would melt. While they're all having fun, the party diarrhea-er Robbie comes out the shell.

As he falls down climbing over the wall, the kids hear him and wonder what it is. Stephanie goes outside to check what it was and she sees a 'The LazyTown Snow Monster' as she said at the beginning of the episode. Robbie says that was great after Stephanie hides in the igloo. Trixie wants to catch the Snow Monster, but Stingy says they need a bigger net. Then Stephanie decides a way to stop a SNOW monster is by throwing SNOWballs at him. ???? They think it's a good plan but the Snow Monster falls off the chair (I genuinely chuckled) so they can't put it in action.

Meanwhile, Milford is on the field and he sees the igloo and decides to check it out. But the kids have their snowballs in their hands at they aim at the guy who runs the town. It takes them SIX SECONDS to figure out it's not a snow monster.

He tells them that there is nothing to be scared of and they should come out. He tells them if there was a real snow monster there would be footprints. And the footprints he are talking about pop up TWICE. Then Milford has a nice surprise. He just needs to turn around. Which he does. And he screams. And he runs into his house and so do all the kids. Trixie decides to look out the window for the monster, Milford decides to lock the doors and Ziggy decides to run to Milford asking how much candy he has because apparently 'we need supplies until summer'.

Anyways, Stephanie devises a plan (Julianna's acting is AMAZING in this episode.) - Ziggy wears the extremely terrifying white hat & jumps onto Milford's back. Stephanie covers them with a white sheet. This is supposed to apparently scare the Snow Monster away.

Then they go outside, struggling to move. Trixie & Stingy are doubting the plan. And the two falling is the LAST STRAW for Trixie so she decides to go outside. Stingy asks to have her toys if she gets eaten. If I was Steph, I'd smack him. Anyways, when Robbie sees Trixie he starts to hide. When Trixie's close to him, he keeps on moving and falling down so that she can't find him. So if Trixie follows the sound he won't even be there, until Robbie decides to lie down until she comes. When she finds him she isn't so brave anymore.

She runs and hides behind a tree. Meanwhile, at Milford's house, Stephanie and Stingy are convinced they're fine. Trixie is still hiding and Ziggy/Milford are still trying to scare away Robbie. Robbie is scared of them. They are scared of Robbie. Pixel has finally got the boombox (weren't you away for like ten minutes? slowpoke) but he doesn't know where they are. So while he is looking around he spots the Snow Monster behind him. Meanwhile, Trixie has literally CLIMBED THE TREE BRANCH and it's about to fall.

Sportacus' crystal beeps, and it's seemed to be taking him the whole episode to get back to the airship. Anyways, he sees Milford and Ziggy and says 'A snow monster scaring the kids away! This is serious.' He flips his way over to Trixie. As he jumps over a wall, he calls for a snowboard and skis over to Trixie, catching her after she falls.

Trixie notices and tells Sportacus the snow monster is getting away, so he decides to throw a snowball at the sign, whacking Milford's gyatt (why did I type this), and he falls over. Sportacus unveils the snow monster. Trixie tells him that's not the snow monster he saw, and then Robbie shows up.

Robbie runs into the frozen lake and falls in. He grabs onto the sign and Sportacus gets the skutla. He attaches the hook to the sign and lifts him up. He drops him right outside Milford's house, where the head of the disguise falls off, and everyone knows it's him. His response? He admits it's cold, and he goes back to the lair. They sing Bing Bang. Back in the lair, Robbie is so cold, he's covering himself with two towels, putting one of those squishy bottles you put warm water on on his head, and his feet in BOILED WATER. He notices there's a fish inside his shirt somehow and takes it out.

7.5/10 - It was better then the last Christmas special and acting was good.

[aresuwiwiwiwiw]

the full greeting, copy it and edit the greeting message and paste it

The wind howled through the snow-covered forest, biting through the layers of gear and clothing as Krueger trudged along. His breath misted in the frigid air, and every crunch of snow underfoot felt like an intrusion into the oppressive silence of the Arctic wilderness. His sniper rifle was slung over his shoulder, and his eyes, shielded by the darkened lenses of his visor, scanned the surroundings with relentless vigilance.

He glanced back at you following him, making sure you’re not freezed yet “still alive? Good job kid.” He says in a low cold tone that carried a bit of mockery to itThe snowstorm was relentless, and visibility was down to a few meters. Krueger grumbled to himself as he adjusted the strap of his rifle, cursing under his breath. "Damn weather's getting shitter… I can barely see my own damn hand in front of my face Stay sharp kid, or we’ll end up as ice cubes." krueger shouts to you

The safe house was a few clicks away, a faint outline barely visible through the storm. Krueger’s thoughts were a mix of irritation and focus. "Move it, lady! We’re not out here for a sightseeing tour. If we don’t get to that safe house soon, we’re going to freeze our asses off. And trust me, frostbite’s not on my list of things to deal with today." krueger says to you, patting your back firmly wanting you to move faster

He pushed through the snow, his heavy boots leaving deep impressions in the snow. The cold was a relentless beast, gnawing at his exposed skin despite the insulated layers of his suit. "Damn, this place feels like a goddamn freezer," he muttered, pulling his scarf tighter around his face. "We better have some damn hot chow and a warm fire waiting for us… And if we don’t, I swear I’m going to start throwing snowballs at whoever’s in charge of this damn mission." krueger says to himself,

As they approached the safe house, Krueger’s mood shifted slightly. The building loomed out of the storm like a beacon of salvation. He led the way to the reinforced door, which he unlocked with practiced ease. The warmth of the interior was almost overwhelming, a welcome contrast to the bitter cold outside. He stepped inside, shaking off the snow from his gear and unfastening his outer layers.

*he looks down at you, then he took a step closer, and pointed his index finger at you as he spoke in a low calm tone over you "Alright, listen up," he said, "We’re here, finally. Get out of those damn wet clothes and get yourself warmed up.” *he pauses, brushing the snow off you, and then patting your head* “u aint dying of hypothermia on my watch” he pauses.. his tone calm, now giving your shoulder a pat We’re taking a breather and regrouping. I don’t want any excuses or slackers. Kid.. we..” he points at himself and you, like he’s speaking to a child “got a job to finish” he pauses , looking you down right in the eyes ”and we’re not letting a blizzard stop us.. right kiddo?” he gives you a reassuring smile, “come on.. go and change..” he says, motioning you with his head to go

Krueger moved to a corner of the safe house, pulling out a thermos and pouring himself a steaming cup of coffee. "Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to enjoy this goddamn coffee before it freezes solid” he says before stretching,

[myriad-ofmuses]

Deficiente. You shoulda just fuckin' left.

Down went another shot of iced amaretto, the singular ice cube clacking against the bottom when the shot was placed back down, shuddering from the somewhat bitter almond tang that came in strong, but the numbing warmth was welcomed.

He sighed when his little one started fussing again, arm pulling her up to cradle against his chest, thankful she'd mostly expended her wailing for the time being, but he was desperate for her to actually sleep.

His sockets ached, he'd been up with her all night while she cried, knowing it was pointless to try to soothe her when it was her fear of the dark that kept her awake, but still trying all the same.

"M'sorry, my little bambina. But we can't go back there.. not tonight."

He wasn't drunk enough not to realize that reasoning with a newborn was a fool's errand, but he'd run out of options hours ago. In truth, there was nothing barring them from what had become routine, other than his own reluctance.

Chances were he wouldn't be there. But fuck.. was he absolutely not prepared to risk it. He couldn't handle another confrontation like that. Especially not with Mia in the mix.

He was still kicking himself for getting her involved. The fucker was never supposed to find out about her.. he'd been managing that for months.. what in the angels had gotten into him?

Why, just why.. had he been worried?

He'd tried to convince himself that it was just fear that Mia had been sensed. But that.. wasn't the whole story, and he couldn't fool even his currently-tipsy ass into believing it.

After everything that coglione had done.. how, even for a milisecond, had he still cared..?

It still rankled. That he'd been such a goddamn fool in believing any of it had been true.

'You really think I ever actually felt anything? I used you. Plain and fuckin' simple. Got a lot of info out of it, even if it absolutely sickens me how far I had to go for it.'

There had been more, so much more. But that memory in particular still haunted him. That he'd put his family at risk for a fabrication, that he'd fallen, hook, line and sinker, for a Suit's fucking bullshit.

And he was supposed to be taking charge of things one day? Pah.. they were better off grooming Luca.

He blinked when he felt a tiny hand bap his cheek, breaking the tear he hadn't even been aware was rolling down his face. His gaze shifted down to hers, her eyes a reflection of her absent parent's, wide and curious, whereas his were equally blazing, and crazed.

He closed his eyes and leaned down to press his head to her much smaller one, careful of pressure due to her fragility.

Regardless of the deceit she had resulted from, the love he harbored for her was unshakable. He would do everything in his power to protect her.. and if that meant shielding her from Juke? He wouldn't hesitate.

His confidence had been shaken, at the reminder that there were still many challenges to overcome.. because of her mixed heritage. That much was true.. but he wasn't about to let himself be fooled into believing her "father" would ever have her best interests at heart.

He already knew that aside from his own family, he was in this alone. He couldn't trust anybody else, and that went triple for Juke.

Even if the way he'd looked at her.. for a moment.. had seemed almost.. tender.

His mouth twisted, curling more into his protective cradle around her, leaned forward from his slump against the wall of his room, the capped amaretto bottle thunking to the floor in his shift.

No.

Quel sogno era morto e sepolto..

Never again, would he gamble with his daughter's safety.

Never again.. would he trust Juke.

..Never.

[bookclub4m]

Episode 186 - Suspense Fiction

This episode we’re discussing the fiction genre of Suspense! We talk about crime, mysteries, horror, and even suspense!

You can download the podcast directly, find it on Libsyn, or get it through Apple Podcasts or your favourite podcast delivery system.

In this episode

Anna Ferri | Meghan Whyte | Matthew Murray | Jam Edwards

Things We Read (or tried to…)

Ascension by Nicholas Binge

The Best American Mystery and Suspense 2023 edited by Lisa Unger and Steph Cha

Malice by Keigo Higashino

Dead Woman Walking by Sharon J. Bolton

Alice in Borderland by Haro Aso (Wikipedia)

Night Fever by Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips

Reckless by Ed Brubaker and Sean Phillips

A Solitude of Wolverines by Alice Henderson

Read But Not Mentioned

Find Me by Anne Fraser

Ghost Eaters by Clay McLeod Chapman

The Midnight Line: Jack Reacher #22 by Lee Child

The Phantom Scientist by Robin Cousin, translated by Edward Gauvin

Wyrd, vol. 1 by Curt Pires and Antonio Fuso

Colorless, vol 1 by Kent

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir

Kiss the Girls and Make Them Cry by Mary Higgins Clark

Other Media We Mentioned

Scalped by Jason Aaron, R.M. Guera, and others 

Case Histories by Kate Atkinson

At the Mountains of Madness by H. P. Lovecraft (Wikipedia)

Welcome to the Goddamn Ice Cube by Blair Braverman

Small Game by Blair Braverman

Links, Articles, and Things

Hark! Podcast

Category:Fiction about death games (Wikipedia)

What Matthew described as “escape room fiction”

Final girl (Wikipedia)

20 Suspense Novels by BIPOC Authors

Every month Book Club for Masochists: A Readers’ Advisory Podcasts chooses a genre at random and we read and discuss books from that genre. We also put together book lists for each episode/genre that feature works by BIPOC (Black, Indigenous, & People of Colour) authors. All of the lists can be found here.

The Decagon House Murders by Yukito Ayatsuji

Dirty Laundry by Disha Bose

A Person of Interest by Susan Choi

When No One is Watching by Alyssa Cole

Sleeping with Strangers by Eric Jerome Dickey

The Between by Tananarive Due

Shutter by Ramona Emerson

The Other Black Girl by Zakiya Dalila Harris

We Lie Here by Rachel Howzell Hall

The Mantis by Kotaro Isaka

My Sweet Girl by Amanda Jayatissa

The Leftover Woman by Jean Kwok

Are You Sara? by S.C. Lalli

Cherish Farrah by Bethany C. Morrow

The Man in My Basement by Walter Mosley

Ride or Die by Gail-Agnes Musikavanhu

Fish Swimming in Dappled Sunlight by Riku Onda, translated by Alison Watts

Sinister Graves by Marcie R. Rendon

There Should Have Been Eight by Nalini Singh

In the Dark We Forget by Sandra S.G. Wong

Give us feedback!

Fill out the form to ask for a recommendation or suggest a genre or title for us to read!

Check out our Tumblr, follow us on Instagram, join our Facebook Group, or send us an email!

Join us again on Tuesday, December 19th it’s time for our Favourite Reads of 2023!

Then on Tuesday, January 2nd it’s time for trains, planes, and automobiles (and bicycles) as we discuss non-fiction books about Transit and Transportation!

[chestnut-blight-hater]

I just finished reading welcome to the goddamn ice cube by Blair Braverman, and it's a fantastic book. This is absolutely not a book review, I am not impartial enough to be like hmm this sentence structure... no I really just connect to it! I have to say I relate to her- 18 and I also for some reason made the choice to move several thousand miles away for college. She was from suburban California and still felt like there was something out there for here, in Alaska in northern Norway. There is a trusting of the self to be able to handle hard things. She found meaning and community in it. There is a perseverance and a dedication to adventure that I love and want to cultivate. I have wanted to work in the outdoor industry for a long time but only have worked on organic farms as like a farmhand and tomato harvester- not exactly riveting stuff.

Full disclosure. I hate the fact I moved so far away from home and really consider coming home. I did not move far away to study mushing or dog sledding, I just went to study like biology but in a different hemisphere than my friends and family. She didn't party that much in college- didn't even drink. and neither do i. different reasons, but a comparison nonetheless.

The story of arild and the village is a great way to say to herself - this isn't over until I say it's over.

After reading the book, of course I went onto her twitter to check what else was going on. She completed the Iditarod! fantasiticI love the life she has created for herself, despite the fact that she really hated a considerable amount of the experiences she had in the north, just bc of the specific situations and abusive people and not the dogs.

It makes me think a lot more about what's possible and the absurd amounts of ways you can actually go about living your life. California to Alaska and back again- study environmental law and then become a writer. at 18 I often feel like I am brutally fucking up- in my fear and apprehension. I feel like if I don't get the best summer internship I might as well drop out of college This is a story of a person who is interested in living the way she wants to. I believe nature and fate favors bravery.

[bigcats-birds-and-books]

well, well, well, if it isn't darkness depression-binge-read-a-book-in-a-day, my old friend,

[freshlybrewedbookreviews]

Welcome to the Goddamn Ice Cube: Chasing Fear and Finding Home in the Great White North by Blair Braverman

Blair Braverman is a skilled writer. She weaves past and present stories together in a way that builds toward a mutual purpose. I don't know much about dog sledding or the colder places on Earth in general, so I found the natural elements of Braverman's story particularly captivating. Her experience as a woman in these male-dominated spaces was also fascinating, and, in some cases, relatable.

After reading this memoir, I sought out more writing from Braverman, and now have read a good number of her articles for Outside Magazine and her social media feed. I hope she writes another book: it's not every day I read memoirs that I know will stick with me for a long time to come.

[eurekavalley]

“December came, and with it the last sunset of the year—the Time of Darkness, when the sun did not cross the horizon for fifty-seven days. The outside world was lit only by campfires, headlamps, and the pulsing, snaking aurora, which at its brightest lit the mountains a marbled green. Time passed without measure, an endless dusk punctuated by sleep, so that even I forgot what we were waiting for.

“It seems almost too obvious to emphasize how much I was scared. In the morning, during the day, at night. I was often acutely frightened—of a sharp turn in the trail, of a tricky river crossing, during storms—and I lived, too, with a deeper fear: that the winter was only starting, that I had so many minutes and hours and days of cold and risk and potential injury. But it was refreshing to be afraid of something concrete. I was no longer scared of some unknown force, of confusion; no, I was afraid of hypothermia. I was afraid of being stranded in the wilderness. I was afraid of crashing the sled. I was as afraid as I’d ever been, maybe more, but suddenly that fear didn’t make me crazy: It made me brave.”

-Blair Braverman, Welcome to the Goddamn Ice Cube

[sergeifyodorov]

where would YOU put an expansion team. also, whats the progress on that book you were going to try to get at the library?

Second Toronto Team Be Upon Ye

notes

called the whiskeyjacks after the bird (other common names for the bird: canada jay, gray jay, and... camp robber?). the bird name whiskeyjack is an anglicization of the algonquian name wisakedjak who is a fairly important figure in algonquin/cree mythology. which i think is cool

get it, gray jay... blue jays... toronto siblings... anyway.

blue and white. toronto team thing. i guess

no i don't know why the raptors are like that

the pegulas would veto this team existing in real life but i hate the pegulas for what they did to jeichel so im putting a team here. it's not like mlse cares. if anything they'd like it

also on the book front i found the first book, small game, finished it, pretty good, and today i got the email from the central branch saying the other book, welcome to the goddamn ice cube, is also free! so we are vibing

[girlwithlandscape]

If you look at traditional stories of wilderness and survival — which is of course an adjacent genre to nature writing — we usually see men responding by taming the wild, making it civil, and women responding by going feral. After all, wild femininity is dangerous — that’s where witches come from, right?

A topic near and dear to my heart.

[askinfiniteofficial]

infinite i need help finishing this important comic can you tell me what happens next?

the fabric of reality would unravel if i told you what happened next. human eyes were never supposed to uncover this story. im so sorry. it will remain a mystery forever