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docholligay · 5 years

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Fx’s A Christmas Carol

This review/ramble was sponsored by @amberlilly, and has taken me quite awhile to do. It clocks in at being 6,400 words long, and oh my loving God. If you want to watch the Miniseries itself, you can find it on Hulu! PLEASE TELL ME IF YOU ENJOY

I love A Christmas Carol. This may seem strange to you, given that I am a Jew who pretty virulently hates Christmas, but it isn’t REALLY a Christmas story, it’s a moral fable about selfishness and greed and the inability to appreciate and see the softer and brighter things that bring no profit. It’s a fucking story that every asshole hoarding toilet paper needs to hear right now. It’s a favorite for always, I read it every year, and I have seen many, many versions of it, and I bring you all that “wisdom” in this lengthy review of FX’s effort this past Christmas.

Spoiler alert: I BASICALLY PICK APART THE ENTIRE MINISERIES.

The shortest possible version of this entire loping review: I really quite enjoyed FX’s A Christmas Carol, and that seems to be an unpopular opinion.

In the longer form:

“A gift is just a debt, unwritten but implied”

I have always felt that the finest form of recorded visual media is the miniseries. We, of course, do not call them miniseries any more, but, instead, ‘limited series’ or ‘a special event’ or somet stupid thing like that, for much the same reason I imagine we are now calling a station wagon a ‘full length hatchback’ because people are idiots, and you can’t sell something to someone if they don’t it is novel.

The miniseries allows the story time to breathe, allows for lingering thoughts and ideas in the way a two hour movie does not. And it avoids the worst of the TV show problem, where a show is punished for its own success by being forced to be mined like its fucking coal shale until there is absolutely nothing left, just some ugly polluted ground where a good idea used to be.

And so I was very delighted at the idea of a Christmas Carol miniseries.

Tonally, in broad strokes, it is much darker than the Christmas Carol you’re used to. This is a new Christmas Carol for a new period in time, and it tries to bring a lot of the genuine problems of the Scrooges of our modern day and transport them back to Victorian England. It does not in any way try to shield you from the fact that Scrooge is a man who thinks of nothing but profit, not of any human cost, and it does not rest upon anyone’s previous affections for A Christmas Carol. In fact, it would prefer that you deposit them at the door: This is a moral ghost story, this is not some warm Christmas good time for the family.

And I would prefer it this way! Many of my most hated versions of this story become that way by making too much light of what is meant to be a moral fable. Or centers the story too much around Christmas itself, which it is not meant to REALLY be about. Of course, the very wealthy and those who prefer to be blind to their role in the suffering of others prefer the version of the story where the main problem is “Scrooge doesn’t like Christmas” and so I can see why they would consider this version a negative. I, however, am going to immediately find a copy of this one to keep. This is the way businessmen are. This is the way the very wealthy are.

The “thesis statement” of this show, which sets it apart from many other adaptations, is something Scrooge says early on in the movie, I think it happens within the first ten or fifteen minutes (bolding, obviously, is mine):

“Behold. One day of the year. They all grin and greet each other when every other day they walk by with their faces in their collars.

You know, it makes me very sad to see all the lies that comes as surely as the snow this time of year. How many Merry Christmases are meant, and how many are lies? To pretend on one day of the year that the human beast is not a human beast. That it is possible we can all be transformed.

But if it were so--if it were possible for so many mortals to look at the calendar and transform from wolf to lamb--then why not every day?

Instead of one day good, and the rest bad, why not have everyone grinning at each other all year, and have one day of the year where we are all beasts, and pass each other by? Why not turn it around?”

I mean, I heard this and was like, “Why are you booing him, he’s right,” because he is right. I have often found that one of my frustrations with the ways people engage with a Christmas Carol is they forget the “try to keep it all the year” part of it, and it has nothing to do with fucking trees and parties, it has to do with generosity and kindness.

And this show goes in on that! SO LITTLE of what the show engages with is about Christmas at all, it’s a narrative setup, a collective mythology used to enact a moral tale, and I absolutely love that they actually went on what I feel is the core of A Christmas Carol.

I’ve broken this down in NOT broad strokes but categories, to try and make the most sense of my thoughts on the show and why and how I think they work.

On the subject of the ghosts:

I absolutely love and adore the way they handle the ghost of Christmas Past. I am never sure what I’m getting into when I’m watching a version of this story because the ghosts are handled so many different ways, and I love MANY of them, but it’s one of the most tweaked with ideas in any version. And I see why! There’s so much you can do with them.

Christmas Past they handle by having him change depending on where Scrooge is in his life, and the implication throughout is that he changes into whatever it was that scrooge needed in that time of his life, whatever he was seeking. With Ali Baba, it was escape, with the businessman, it was business, and they did all this with great actual care, up to an including having different actors play the different versions of the ghost of Christmas past. I’ve seen something like this done a few times (and have always been very fond of it) but if I recall correctly this may be the first time I’ve actually seen them go to the length of hiring different actors.

The sheer mockery Christmas Past makes of him is worth the adaptation in and of itself--Christmas Past feels little for him, and I’m brought to mind the scene where his father comes home drunk, and Scrooge begs, in a moment of weakness, oh please not this night, and the Ghost simply says, ‘Why not this night?” I really quite like the less nostalgic tone they took with Christmas Past versus other versions.

Christmas Present I thought was a bit of a letdown at first, just having his dead sister be the ghost, but when I was rewatching it, I realized that I liked it quite a bit more than I had in my first watching. Present is often the “easy” ghost, generally the one that is given the most positive sort of framing, and it’s not that they remove the positive framing here with Lottie, but they do tone it down a bit, and make it quite a bit more somber to be with her because we cannot remove what Scrooge has done to these lives. There is much less of the “cheerful, noble poor” rhetoric so common in the older novels (and at the time far more revolutionary) and far more of the reckoning that Scrooge has caused so much misery, but people have found a way around it, because they understand the value of other human beings.

I particularly love the way she takes what he’s learned from Christmas Past, the way he’s seen how he is constantly aiming to discover what the currency of everything is with his horrid and cruel behavior, what things COST people, and dismantles it, shows him wha t a fucking fool he is, and when he says she’s mocking him, she simply tells him “You mock yourself, putting a value to things that have no price” and for the fiurst time ever, it seems like he’s really getting it.

To those who miss the over-the-top cheer of Christmas Present, I might ask: “Do you miss the fucking THRASHING he gives Scrooge in the novel when it is removed? (as it is often?) Or does that just sort of...fritter away for you?”

Christmas Future is basically often/always the one note ghost for me and that’s to be expected given that the character has no lines and is of an amorphous shape, which writing wise is a genius move because the future itself is amorphous and can always be changed. That is, in fact, one of the lessons of a Christmas Carol, is it never too late. But of course, in media driven by the dialogue, without much chance for internal patter, it can falter a bit, and I think this is about the same here.I have no trouble with how the ghost was done, in any way, but it does not, for example, twist the spirit into something terribly interesting in the way the otherwise forgettable “A Diva's Christmas Carol” does by making it into a “behind the music” episode.

On the subject of Ebenezer Scrooge:

Some people seem to be really rather upset that Ebenezer isn’t played as some bumbling old curmudgeon, but is instead a callously cruel businessman who thinks of nothing but the pursuit of money. One review I read while writing this, looking for things to respond to, described him as an ‘anti-hero’ which made me extremely concerned for the human being writing the review, as I don’t think the show in any way makes Scrooge into any kind of a hero. There are certainly versions that do that by way of making him “the cleverest person in the room” (even my beloved Scrooged is guilty of this, and Mickey’s a Christmas Carol is almost inexcusably so.) but this isn’t what the show is doing here. He is a miserable man, and he delights in making others miserable, he is a man so desperate to prove that every person in this world is as miserable as he is that he orders about the world to make it so.

If you see an anti-hero in him, I am far, far, more concerned about you than I am about anything else.

He is more like actual billionaires than any version I’ve seen. His cost cutting, his destruction. He is perversely cruel and sees human beings as playtoys. He echoes far more than any version I have seen, the true appetites of the rich, and maybe this is why this version shines so much for me, and why so many others dislike it. It cuts to the bone, this Scrooge.

This show goes harder than other versions in many respects, and one of those respects is in Ebenezer’s childhood. His father is cruel in the novella, but really only glancing so, we hear little of his childhood at all, other than his father sent him away, and his sister had to wait for years to ask for him back. We must remember something: Dickens was writing on a tight timeline compared to his other works. I have no idea if he would have expanded on Scrooge’s past himself or not, but I certainly know he did not have the time and space to do so in his normal fashion.

The show does a really interesting thing with Ebenezer, in that it does not allow a monster to grow from nothing. Most monsters do not. This is by no way an excuse--I think the show makes that fairly clear--but it is an explanation. His sister gives him a mouse, a stray mouse, for Christmas, dressed up with a little bell and ribbon from one of her toys, and Ebenezer loves it, and his father, drunk and impoverished, kills it. It’s an intense and horrifying scene, and as with many of the things in this show, in accomplishes this while showing nearly nothing. The entire scene happens in shadow, but you feel the fear of Ebenezer as a child, how it affects him to this day, how he begs for it not to be this night. The show makes even more clear how central this was to his willful callousness, his desire to never be hurt, by explaining that his father did this to “Warn me against unprofitable affections”

I am now, and have always been, a sucker for a bit of writing that can allow for a character to be a monster, and also give a seed to plant that monstrosity, without forgiving them. It can be a delicate thread to weave, even more so with the way that people take characters, that sort of knee-jerk desire for a character to be either monstrous or abused, when, it can be both. Having cruelty enacted upon you does not forgive cruelty to others. I feel like show does a fairly decent job with this, reminding Ebenezer that his hated father affected him far more than the love of his sister, Lottie, or any promise of love in the future. He has shut himself off from love, and while he cannot be blamed for the cruelties of his father or the way he essentially sold him to a pedophile for free schooling, it was Scrooge who decided that all this meant his only way forward was counting. Numbers as wealth as his only true love.

Scrooge even tries to pull a tumblr in this way, looking at the abuse and telling the Ghost, ‘This excuses me” as if he should be let entirely off the hook, AS A GROWN ASS ADULT, for what happened to him as a child. Non non! And the Ghost sides with me in this, telling him, “You only see what was done to you, and not what was done for you” and may I please frame that? I love that they looked at this out in the script and went, “Oh, I’m gonna close that up”

They do this a second time, but not in a tumblr way, more in a reddit way, when Scrooge protests that whatever else he did to Mary Crachit, the money he gave to mary saved Tim’s life, and so, “if you view virtue purely through the consequence of an action rather than the motivation for said action we have just witnessed my former self doing a good thing.” (Me, watching this: I’m Jewish, I don’t do that even slightly.) and as the Ghost of Christmas Past goes to leave, Scrooge asks if he is forgiven, and Christmas Past yells, “It’s not about your forgiveness!” I love that in so many ways, they tie up what a person might argue in Scrooge’s favor, but Scrooge can’t see that forgiveness is nothing and change is everything.

Making Scrooge a venture capitalist was, to me, an absolute banner move. A new villain for a new age. Don’t get me wrong, moneylender is now and always will be a fantastic villain, but venture capitalists have ruined many things you’ve loved TO THIS DAY. They buy troubled businesses, that could be saved, and instead of trying to turn them around, they sell them for parts, get the last scrap of meat off them, and then crush them. I can think of three businesses this has happened to that I know of, off the top of my head, in my lifetime: Toys R Us, Cabelas, and Lucky’s. All could have been saved, some of them (Lucky’s) fairly easily. But that isn’t what people like Scrooge do.

The way they have him taken into the mine, to see what the cost cutting does to people, or the factory, burning and killing so many people, it allows us to really dwell in the HUMAN cost in a way that many versions shy away from outside of the Crachits. I think it’s very easy to go “Cutting costs hurt workers” but we often don’t really dwell in that, especially considering SHIT LIKE THIS IS STILL HAPPENING IN THE WORLD TODAY. Go look up conditions in Bangladeshi factories, how much do we really deserve H&M, you know?

A personal touch I very much loved: Scrooge cares about animals far more than people. I LOVE this is a fucking villainy trait. I think we all know that person! I hate that person! And I adore so much when Scrooge says, down in the mine that is about to kill workers, some of whom are children, that he tried not to think about the ponies, and the Ghost of Christmas Past basically goes: “Are you SHITTING ME? Did you never care about the MEN down here?” while also allowing for the fact that his covering up a cold horse in London is the only reason the ghosts believed there was something good in him at all.

On the Crachits:

Bob:

The first time I watched this, I was like, “Man, do I even like Bob in this?” because he’s so different from the usual portrayal of Bob Crachit as meek and mild. But upon my second watching I realized I was really only reacting to the difference in tone for Bob, and that I very much like that he is a simmering pot of resentment and hatred, serving under a terrible fucking boss who makes money hand over fist while he busts ass with no benefits or help for very little pay. WOW DOESN’T THAT SEEM RELEVANT TO OUR TIMES?

So yes, I very much changed my mind (this is why rewatching things is sometimes helpful for me) on the subject of Bob, and I think in this case he makes such a better standin for the average worker, for the way the system chews us up and spits us out and oh my god I want to give every rich boss I ever had Covid right now.

Mary:

Mary Crachit becomes a main character in this version of the story and I am absolutely taken with it. The way she does whatever it is she has to for her family, the way she is willing to lie and degrade herself in order to do so, up to and including being willing have sex with Scrooge (it does not actually happen, but the scene plays out) in order to save and protect her family, and never tell them where she got the money to save Tim’s life.

She lies to Bob about this! Forever! I struggled with where I wanted to put this because I talk more about it in relation to the storyline and the scene itself below, but I decided just to leave it with Mary herself, and the way that she really does make massive sacrifices in order to protect everyone in her family. She bears the shame and the indignity of what was done to her, what she chose to do to save Tim, without any regard for herself. Mary is the rock of the family so much more than Bob is in this telling.

She’s also inadvertently the one who saves Scrooge, wishing for and calling upon the spirits to show him what a piece of shit he is.

Tim:

Tiny Tim is no less a narrative device here than he is in other versions--that’s simply the function of TIny Tim. He’s the “puppy” of the story and we kill him off in order to tweak heartstrings and encourage changed behavior. They do make his disability more clearly defined in this one, and so things make a little bit more sense than they tend to in the original framing.

I also really quite loved the effect with him breaking through the ice, and how Scrooge has to see it from below, and watch it, and see TIm’s spirit and beg him himself not to die, but to stay with his parents, to no avail, I thought it was a clever take on something we’ve seen done over and over again.

Broader story changes:

The genuine spookiness.

This is not the only version of Christmas Carol I’ve seen that attempts to create a genuine sense of fear and creepiness out of the subject material, and it’s not even the one that I think is the scariest, but I do think it does a really excellent job of reminding you that this is a ghost story. There are good little details here and there, particularly in the lead up to Jacob’s visit, that allow for a genuine sense of fear, or at the very least the understanding of Ebenezer’s fear.

Outside of the doorknob incident, we also have the two coins, the exact same years as the ones Scrooge put over Marley’s eyes, drop down from the fireplace. This not only a good moment of spookiness that is difficult for Scrooge to explain away later, but it also gives us an early introduction to his obsession with numbers.

But my favorite comes after Bob leaves for the day, and on Scrooge’s ledger he sees scrawled, by no one or nothing that he knows, “PREPARE YE,” that would be enough in itself, ut then we have a lovely moment that really encapsulates the capacity for self-delusion. Scrooge looks at the clock, and asks the clock to make it four, because he refuses to leave his office early, but he desperately wants to leave. He changes the watch he carries, and then the world goes into shadow, and all of a sudden the clock chimes four. DId time move? WHo can know, but it unsettles Scrooge enough. It isn’t only creepy, either, but is a moment to show that Scrooge will not bend himself by leaving early, but instead he will remake the world as he sees it. He will change the watch and make it lie, and thus change the world.

The human cost of industry.

One of the greatest things I think this adaptation does, and I’m not going to go too far into here because I go into it all over the place in this look at the series, is taking into account the human cost of industry. I don’t even mean the scenes in the mines, or the scene with the factory on fire, although of course those too. I mean even scenes like where a man has just died, and they are pressing him to sell the factory at half of what it’s worth, only to immediately fire all the workers and sell off the factory for parts not but a day later. To flip it into immediate profit.

And we’re shown that he remembers nothing but the money he made off of all of it--the Ghost of Christmas Past has little effect on him, except as stage setting--and he runs off the numbers, remembering the profit he made of every single year, forgetting the workers, forgetting the people, forgetting what that money COST him, cost everyone.

When we see Scrooge as moneylender in a lot of other adaptations, it’s easy to forget that making a lot of money usually has a lot of human cost. People of good character often say, ‘If I were a billionaire” but if you are a person of good character, you never become a billionaire. What it takes to become a billionaire is the coldness, the selfishness, to not allow your rising tide to lift other boats, but to hoard, and to keep. There are no good billionaires.

Women are given shit to do in this version.

For all I love the original novella, and I do, it is a product of its time, and because it is a product of its time, the women are mostly accessories to the story. Not so with this version, which has really tried to course correct that little problem from the original.

With Lottie, not only to they have her save her brother, but then we have her become the ghost of Christmas Present, which I thik works really well as she seems to be the one person in his life Scrooge actually cared for and valued. He, a man who believed in nothing but money, paid for her funeral, and it’s a bit implied that with her death the last light of humanity went out of him. She saves Scrooge not once, but twice, when her sole job in the novella is essentially to show up at the school.

I talk about Mary Crachit in her own section, so I’m not going to go into it too much here, but this version made her a goddamn main character, and I love it. I think that opens up this story for so many things and ideas that I didn’t even know I wanted but clearly did, all the different expressions of love, some of which are not nice or warm. Mary is a driver of the story far more than Bob is in this version, and I absolutely love it.

The love inherent in sacrifice, and Scrooge’s blindness to it.

One major SWERVE this story takes is with the subject of Mary Crachit. Where, in the novella, she hates Ebenezer because he’s a fucking dick and that’s about the beginning and the end of it, in this miniseries, she hates him because he was so unbelieveably callously cruel. He used her for his own disgusting appetites, he used her to prove that all human decency has a cost.

It, like the mouse scene, is horrifying and uncomfortable, and I am very fond of it. It could have gone full rape no stars, but it doesn’t do that. It has Scrooge humiliate her, make it known that she was ready to do this, have her removed her clothes and stand before him, clutching the stays to herself. He doesn’t have sex with her, doesn’t sexually assualt her, tells her he isn’t even interested in that. Instead he picks apart, moment by moment, that she is a good Christian woman, that she loves her husband, that she considers herself faithful, and she is willing to sell herself for the thirty pounds (That’s around 4,700 USD today). It doesn’t matter that she’s doing it because her son needs immediate medical care, and Scrooge refused her offer of a loan as a “poor investment.” It’s terrifying, it’s humiliating, and it’s sadder yet because people with money are LIKE THIS. I could see this happening now, with little trouble. And the scene makes us sit with that cruelty without making it graphic, and in some ways I think that makes it worse, as it should be.

But, tying this to the scene where Lottie, without his knowledge, comes to get him and threatens to kill the man who is sexually abusing Ebenezer if he so much as tries to come after them, for all he sees, he does not see the love in this act. He does not see what it must have taken Lottie, after their father finally left them, to take up and come to get him, to break him out of that horrible place. He only sees that he was the victim here. In the same way, he cannot see the love inherent in Mary’s act. What it must take for her to lay down every single thing that she believes in, because above all else, she wants to save her son.

Which goes back to what I quoted at the beginning, a line I really loved for the sheer selfish cruelty of it: “ A gift is a debt, unwritten but implied.” So much of Scrooge’s ‘redemption’ in this version comes out his ability to learn that what his father says is in no way true. Lottie gave him the gift of freedom without asking anything of him, ever, so long as he lived, never even told him what she’d done. Mary never looks upon Tim with even the slightest bit of resentment for what she had to do to save his life.

Which sort of leads me to my next bit, which is not so much a different section as a corollary to this one: Destruction as a form of love. I could write a 2,000 word essay on this in and of itself, but this is already more than 5,000 words long, so I am not going to do that.

Leading off from the fact that Mary breaks her marriage vows and her vows to herself in order to save Tim, she also chooses to lie about it for the rest of her given life. She has no idea that a situation is going to come down where she’s going to have to tell Bob, she simply chooses, instead to bear her shame and hurt and terror alone, on some hand I’m sure because she thinks Bob will hate her but also because she knows that it will make Bob feel all the more preyed upon, that nothing in his life can be without the evil touch of Scrooge.

And so, she chooses this tearing, this negative thing, but she chooses it out of love, and much like when we see Lottie “like a highwayman” threaten to kill the man that hurt Scrooge, we learn that not all love is a beautiful and warm thing, and sometimes love is difficult and unlikeable and hard. Sometimes there is love to be had in the things of shadow, as well.

And in the end, when Scrooge destroys the ice sating rink so that Tim can’t fall through, that’s the idea that he can finally encompass this, that his love is total now, and it’s not just “scrooge gave everyone money” but SCROOGE LEARNED TO DESTROY THAT WHICH WAS TERRIBLE.

Which leads me to:

THE ENDING:

Let’s talk about all the things they change in the ending because there are a lot of them and I fully expected to hate that but it was very much that snake comic where it goes “I don’t like that thing”...”Oh no I love it.”

Scrooge’s ‘redemption’ doesn’t come out of him wishing that he wasn’t the one to die, or wish that everyone would not hate him so much and immediately forget him, but out of the ida that it doesn’t matter what happens to him so long as Tim is allowed to live. He finally lets go of that massive selfishness which allowed him to profit so very much, and to give himself over to whatever it is, to be tortured, to not be forgiven.

Because he knows he doesn’t deserve forgiveness, that he does not deserve redemption. He REFUSES redemption, he says he refuses to change because he refuses redemption, he refuses to not allow himself to be punished. “If redemption were to result in some kind of forgiveness than I do not want it” He finally owns his shit, because a large part of the point this miniseries is trying to drive home is that YOU are responsible for YOU, and no amount of excuse can let stand the horrible things we might do, or the things we let pass us by. I’m very into this, in a shock to literally no one.

The sign that he can be saved is that he does not wish to be saved at all.

And he does more, and better, than in the original, he gives Bob 500 pounds, yes, but also encourages him to take the better job he’s been offered, because Scrooge, in a true move of understanding what his greater evil is, is closing the entire company down, He is stopping the machine of destruction entirely instead of giving money to whoever he finds deserving and letting those he does not be chomped up by the machine. It’s a far greater sacrifice, a far more meaningful turnaround, than any version I’ce seen before.

Mary tells him it will not buy forgiveness, and he says, yes, good, I won’t trouble you. I didn’t know how badly I wanted an ending like this until I saw it before me, but it was everything I had ever wanted from this.

And then we, the viewing audience, all get called out at the very end, and it made a chill run down my spine and tears spring to my eyes in a way that really rarely happens to me but happens to me most when I feel “got” for lack of a better term.

Mary is looking out the window, and says “Sprits, Past, Present, and Future. There is still much to do.”

And then she looks directly at us. And the screen goes black. We are left not saying “Oh wow gee willickers, that Scrooge guy sure was nasty BUT” and instead go away with, “How have I been Scrooge in my daily life? How can I change?”and for me it was harrowing in the way I think all viewings and readings of A Christmas Carol should be, that we should always come away with the idea that we could be doing a better job, that some cruel Ebenezer waits inside all of us and we must constantly be working to root him out.

Very minor loves:

The idea that the greatst torture is to be locked in one’s coffin, and never allowed to die, and how one does not really require a hell in itself, as one has been conventiently provided to each man, women and child who requires it. Really clever. What is interesting in that, however, is that the show is somewhat harder on Marley. In the novella, he is driven to help Scrooge by way of their past friendship, by some humanity he’s found in death toward his old friend. In this, it’s essentially only to escape this hell.

Changing, “If they’re going to die, they’d better do it! And decrease the surplus population” to the very simple “then let them die” is something I didn’t expect to like--on the whole I am rather attached to the original line, but I think with the way they are trying to play Scrooge as more of a straight up villain and make this whole thing less of a ‘charming Christmas tale’ it really works.

I love the bit with Christmas past when they use the zoopraxiscope thing to project the images, and it’s his hat. There’s nothing deep about it, I just really like it as a touch.

People can be irredeemable, in their way: Lottie and Ebenezer’s father doesn’t turn kinder, the way he does in the novella, but just leaves, and so Lottie is free to bring him home. There’s no redemption for him. (I actually think this is really weakly handled in the novella despite my loving it)

I unfortunately have less talent for talking about visual stylings, but one thing I noticed within this movie is that it’s filmed ina lot of blues and greys, underscoring the whole darker tone of the story, and I really appreciated it.

Thank you for this fucking line, I cherished it and it’s place in the story so very fucking much: “Given my time again, I would not reduce the expenditure on timber. *long pause* Given the time again, I would not be myself.” It’s hard to get across in writing, when one is not turning their hand to it literarily, but it’s really this beautiful admission of guilt without being entirely some sobbing ridiculousness.

HIS THING WITH HORSES GETS EXPLAINED BY THE NARRATIVE THANK YOU OH MY GOD. I was so sure this was just going to be a sidenote thing but they remembered to follow up and I was very proud in that moment.

“Everything in life is a lesson if you care to learn” which I should have tattooed on my body as it is my exact framework of thought.

The observation of the Crachits and just that, “no matter what, nothing sinks them” was just something I enjoyed. (and am stealing)

I fucking loled when Ebenezer is excitedly gesturing to the Crachits after his new life, and looks at Martha and goes “whoever you are”

What I could have done without:

There are always MINOR nitpicks with any version, but one thing I’ll say that I considered rather major, and did not care for in the slightest, was all the dick-fucking around in the spirit realm with Marley. We could have buttoned that up right quick, and we didn’t, and there’s a huge gap in my notes where I’m just like, “Ah okay! I guess….we’re still here?” I think some of the ideas were sound but the execution was poor.

Sometimes I felt like the writing beat me over the head with the morality of what was going on but then I read reviews of it and was like, “Ah okay, I suppose these people are why that exists” so while for me I would like a bit more subtlety I suppose I understand why sometimes there cannot be.

IN CONCLUSION, AFTER MORE THAN 6,000 WORDS: I really quite liked this version of A Christmas Carol. It’s not a children’s version by any stretch of the imagination, but I don’t think a Christmas Carol is meant to be. I definitely will be coming back to this one, which makes it only one of a handful. It was a good recommendation for me, when I wasn’t sure I was going to watch it in the first place--there are so many versions of CC that I am still trying to get through--and I found that I really enjoyed it.

The focus on the morality of the situation and making great pains to decouple it from the holiday itself made this a much-needed refresher of the story for me that keeps more to what I think the original was GOING for (Source: literally all of Dickens’ writing on poverty) than the way it’s been twisted by our Capitalist Christmas Culture. I loved that the women were given more to do and an equal hand in the story, and there were a number of really lovely lines that will stick with me.

#Doc watches TV #doc watches things

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katybaby00 · 4 years

Text

Life as I knew it

Pairings: Young!Dean x reader (underage), Dean x reader (tiny) age gap, season 3 Dean.

Warnings: NSFW, (MoC), tiny bit of angst of you squint, definite slow burn, slight dub-con, smut, that’s it. 18+ there is the sex!

Authors note: alright! So before you read you must know that this is my first story I’m ever posting. So yes this is an original piece! I’ve wrote before when I was like 13-14 but that’s just... scary to think about. So!! My inbox and page are always open for your requests and criticism as well. Also everything in italics are flash backs! Enjoy my loves!

Word count: 5,176

(GIF is not mine)

You knew it was wrong. You knew that working woth the Winchester’s was a bad idea.

Your father, Clint, was a wonderful man. Sweet, kind, honest, and trustworthy. He had grown up with John Winchester. They were inseparable, "attached at the hip" as my mother, Grace, used to say. My mother and I had always stayed home when my father went on "business trips". That's how I had grown up with Dean, him being only 5 years older than me. My mother and I were always over at John and Mary's home. My mom and Mary became close friends. Mary and her would talk about where my dad was when John was busy with us kids, not wanting him to know of his "job". Dean and I became very close very fast. Him and those damn green eyes. I developed a very large crush on the boy at a very young age. I guess it just never went away. John had no clue about the hunting life until the night Mary died. He started hunting and dragging his boys along with him.

Naturally Sam and Dean spent a lot of time around my family. It was mainly the boys and my mother and I, because John would almost always convince my father to go with him. When I turned 11, my father died. He was in a car accident involving a drunk driver. We always thought he would go out hunting. My mother died at the hands of a demon when I was 15. I have been on my own ever since.

~Present~

Another town. Another demon. Another case. Time just seemed to blur by. Drinking, fucking, and hunting. Rinse and repeat. Nothing special. Being 25 now, I knew I wasn't going to settle down and have the "apple pie life".

Quietly my phone started buzzing on the bathroom counter, Bobby Singer, "What the hell could he want at this hour?" I thought out loud. "Hey Bobby, how have you been?" I said while spitting my toothpaste into the sink. "Hey Y/N, I was wondering if you have heard from Sam or Dean?" "No Bobby, Dean is an ass who left me on my porch crying, and Sam is too tall for his own good, so it's been a couple years since I have seen or heard of them. Why?" Bobby sighs on the other end, "I was afraid of that, they got into some trouble down in Mississippi, haven't returned my million phone calls. Was wondering if maybe you could pop on down and check on them?" I could hear the silent pleading in his tone. I know this is going to be a bad idea. "Yeah, I guess i can. Anything for you Bobby. I'll call if things get too out of control." He laughs happily, "Okay Y/N, thank you, I owe you one." "Damn right you do Singer. Now, what town?" "They are in Ocean Springs, at the Siegel Select Gautier motel, right off Route 90. That's the last I heard. Room 19. Let me know what you find." You write down the address on an old piece of paper from the motel. "Thanks Bobby."

As you head out on your quest to save these fucking Winchesters, you turn up the radio and blast some boy band that's got you hooked. Your phone starts buzzing in your pocket. Dean Winchester... "Son of a bitch!" Picking up the phone you put it to your ear, "Y/N, I need your help, it's Sam." You scoff into the phone, "I swear to god Dean! You always think you need me to help clean up your mess! Ever since we were fucking kids! But since it's Sam... I guess I have no choice. Right?" Dean is hesitant at first and then he finally breathes, "Y/N, I'm sorry for all of the things that have happened in the past. I'm not the same person I was back then and I am so fucking sorry for everything," He takes a deep breathe, "please help me?" Taking a deep breathe, you sigh, "Dean I'm on my way now. Bobby called me and said you probably would need my help. So I packed my shit and I'm on my way. Don't get mushy and shit about it." Dean chuckles into the speaker. "Okay. You know I don't do that chick-flick bullshit. I'll see you when you get here. Bye Y/N." You pause, "Bye dean," He hung up the phone, "I love you...".

Pulling into the motel in this shit-hole town, you see the Impala in all her glory parked in front of room 19. Parking right next to the beautiful car. Getting out of your shit-box truck Bobby had given you for your 16th birthday. You patted the top of baby, "Hey sweetheart. You look good." You said as you walked past the car.

Tomorrow is your 18th birthday. Ever since your family died and you were left alone you never really celebrated. That was until this year. You were sitting on the front porch listening to the summer breeze wrestle the trees when you heard the sound of a familiar engine rolling up your driveway. As usual, Dean was behind the wheel and Sam in the front seat. They looked older. Dean looked very… mature. Sam is still the tall and goofy giant he has always been. I have missed them. Mainly Dean.

Stepping out of the car Dean grabs you in a big hug lifting you off the ground. You breathe him in and your stomach clenches. Whiskey, gunpowder, and leather. “I missed you D.” He chuckled deeply and you felt the rumble in your chest, “I missed you too sweetheart.” The nickname makes your cheeks heat up. He put you down and Sam wrapped you in a hug and you both said you missed each other. “What are you guys doing here?” Following them to the trunk. “We wouldn’t miss your 18th birthday for the world Y/N, and besides, you’ve always made the best pie.” That made Sam let out a chuckle. “You guys really didn’t have to come, it wouldn’t be the first birthday I've spent alone.” Trailing off you started walking to the house. Sam stops in front of you, “Y/N, we know how hard it is spending birthdays, christmases, and thanksgivings alone. This is a big birthday for you and we wanted you to have a good one. So that's why we are here.” He looks at you sincerely. Dean comes up next to you, and puts his hands on your shoulders, slightly rubbing, and it sends shivers down your spine. “Thanks guys. I appreciate it.” Smiling genuinely.

Once inside and the boys being settled into their spare rooms. You grab your mother's old cook book and get to work on one of the boys favorite to have when they used to come over. Sam comes to stand in the doorway leaning against the frame, “Hey, you need some help?” You turn around and look at him, “As long as you don’t get in my way Winchester, you can chop some tomatoes.” “Sounds like a plan boss.” He says while he shoots you a wink. Sam has never made you uncomfortable. Being almost the same age you guys had always been best friends. That is one thing that has never changed, and hopefully never will.

Finishing up dinner you call for Dean to come eat but he doesn’t respond. That’s odd, you thought. “I’m going to get Dean, I’ll be right back.” Walking up the stairs you go past your room and then Sam’s. As you get to Dean’s door and are about to knock you hear grunting on the other side. Taking a few steps back and then putting your ear to the door you hear Dean breathing heavily. Grunts and moans coming from his mouth. “Oh… fuck… Y/N.” You take a couple steps back from the door. Never in a million years would you think that Dean fucking Winchester would be interested in you. Knowing EXACTLY what he is doing in there. You knock. “Shit, h-hold on. One second.” “Hey D, dinner is ready.” Dean slaps his hand on his thigh, probably hoping you didn’t hear what he had just been doing. “Yeah, okay, I’ll be down in just a second.”

Sitting at the dinner table you try not to stare a hole through Dean. wondering that maybe you probably just imagined the whole thing. ‘Damn you are really going to have to get a hold of this crush Y/N’ which you thought you had said in your head but apparently the whole table had heard. “What was that Y/N?” You’re in shock. You don’t know what to say, “O-oh n-nothing, just thinking.” Sam leans over and puts his hand on yours. “Whatever it is, you can tell us, we are practically your big brothers.” He said with a chuckle. Well damn Sam way to punch me in the gut like that. Dean sits at the end of the table nursing his beer. “Do you guys want dessert? I made pie.” Dean immediately perks up. “Hell yeah we want pie. Are you kidding?” Getting up to grab the pie off the counter, you can feel someone staring holes into the back of your head. ‘I wonder who that could be‘. Turning around you catch Dean's eyes staring right at your ass. “You know what. You boys enjoy your pie. I’m going to go shower and get in bed. It's been a long day.” You gave Sam a goodnight kiss on the forehead and patted Dean's shoulder.

After showering and putting on some cozy pajamas you walk back to your room and find that your bed is not so empty. “Dean?” He jumps when he hears you. “What are you doing… in my bed?” He stares at you and walks towards you. He wraps you into a big hug and kisses the top of your head. “I just wanted to be the first one to tell you Happy Birthday.” Looking over at the clock on your nightstand you realize it’s 12:02, “Oh D, thank you.” “You should get some sleep sweetheart. You’ve got a big day tomorrow. Goodnight Y/N.” You squeeze him back. “Goodnight D.”

You awoke the next morning to the smell of fresh coffee, bacon, eggs, toast, and pancakes. Wondering who was cooking that amazing food in your kitchen. Turning into the kitchen your eyes go wide at the freshly squeezed orange juice, fresh cut strawberries, pineapple, kiwi, and cantaloupe. Taking a strawberry off the table you take a bite and look at everything else. “Oh! Good morning Y/N, how did you sleep?” Sam came into the kitchen wearing his grey sleep pants and a white cotton shirt. “Happy birthday Y/N. I see Dean has out done himself this morning.” “Yeah, you’re definitely not wrong. Speaking of Dean. Where is he?” Just as you said that he comes into the kitchen in plaid pajama pants, black T-shirt, and a kiss the cook apron. “Good morning sleepy heads!” He bellowed in excitement. “D, did you do all of this by yourself?” He grabs you in a side hug and squeezes a little. “I sure did. It’s your 18th birthday. You deserve nothing but the best sweetheart. Now sit and eat. We've got plans today.” You sit in your usual spot, grabbing eggs, bacon, and pancakes topped with strawberries. You dug in and caught Dean stealing quick little glances at you while you shovel your face full of the delicious food. Sam is looking between the two of you, almost knowingly. “So guys, what’s the plan for today? I need to know so I can either wear shorts or a dress.” Dean chokes a little on his eggs and washes it down with a gulp of coffee. “Sorry about that,” He chuckles, “we have decided that you’re going to go hunting with us. Simple salt and burn. For your birthday.” Tears welled into your eyes. You sniffed because you always thought your father would have taken you. But now you’re sitting here with the Winchester’s, they tell you that you’re going hunting for your birthday. Your mind was trying to wrap around it. “I would love that so much!” You jumped up wrapping your arms around Dean’s neck and he pulled you into his lap. Making your cheeks heat up. You kissed his cheek and walked over to Sam wrapping your arms around him too. “Well come on guys let’s go!” “Woah, hold on there Y/N. we have to get all of our bags and things packed. I need to make sure baby is in tip top shape before we just hop on the road. So Sam is taking you into town to get you some boots and some pants and other things that you might need.” You chuckle and walk to the hallway closet, open the door, and flip on the light, “Dean, trust me. I am more than prepared for this occasion.” He walks up to the closet that is covered with warding symbols and sigils of all kinds. Guns, knives, lore books, and holy water line the shelves neatly. Your dad’s journal at the very top. “You did all this yourself?” You nod. “Well I’m impressed. Right Sammy?” Sam clears his throat and walks over to the closet where you and Dean are standing. “This is most definitely impressive.”

Walking up to room 19 you sigh before you knock knowing who is on the other side. Knock. Knock. The door swings open before you have time to even get a word out, you are wrapped in a rib crushing hug. “Oh my god! Dean. let me go. I can’t,” gasping for air he loosened his grip. “Breathe. I missed you too.” Saying those words felt like a kick to the chest. You knew he didn’t feel the same way you always have. Maybe when you were younger. But definitely not now. “Alright. Let’s get down to business so I can get out of here.” setting your bag down on one of the dusty motel beds. Dean frowns. Not knowing what to think. “Why do you say that? Haven’t missed me?” You chuckle turning to look at him, “Dean. You can’t be serious? It’s been 7 years, you have obviously already forgotten. So I won’t bring it up again. We can talk about it when you remember how you left.”

He just stares at you. He walks over to the fridge, grabs a beer and tosses you one too. “Alright,” he began, “Sam fell into hell, h-” You choke on your beer and spit it onto the floor. Interrupting him. “He WHAT?!”, Dean fucking Winchester. You better be pulling my fucking leg because if you aren’t I swear to god I will shoot you.” Dean stares at you with wide eyes. Thinking of his response carefully. You can practically see the gears turning in his head. “He fell into hell. More like Adam dragged him down with him. He slipped and now he’s down there. I have been up day and night thinking of what I can do to try and save him. He told me to go and have a normal life, go find Lisa and Ben. But, I can’t give up on my baby brother like that. He didn’t give up on me when I was in hell.” You walk over to him. “Don’t you think you should at least try to have a normal life? For Sam?” He looks at you, tears in his eyes. You’ve never seen this man cry. “I want him back. I don’t want to just give up like that.” “Dean if he told you he wanted you to try and have that life. Then I think you should at least give it the old college try. Go find Lisa and Ben.” He stands, turns to you and pulls you into another hug. “I don’t want Lisa or Ben, I want you.”

When you arrived in some small town in Texas you stepped out to stretch your legs. “You guys hungry? We could get pizza?” Your mouth starts salivating at the thought of a greasy piece of pizza. “That sounds really good.” “You guys can get a pizza, but make sure you grab me a salad too.” Sam says. You laugh at the green giant. Following Sam and Dean into the motel room you see that there are only 2 queen beds. “Rock, paper, scissors for who gets the beds. Whoever loses takes the floor.” Dean looks at Sam with question all in his eyes, “How about the losers have to share a bed?” Sam deadpans. You roll your eyes and stick your hands up, ready to win. In the end Sam won and you and Dean ended up sleeping together.

Later that night while you were about to hop in bed you see Dean put a pillow next to him in the middle of the bed. “Wow Dean. I don’t have cooties you jerk.” “Oh, no, sorry. It’ll just be… safer this way.” You’re definitely confused but you just shrug and climb into the scratchy sheets. Back pressed against the pillow and you can hear Deans breathing start to even out. You slowly sit up to see that he’s asleep and you let the silent tear roll down your cheek.

In the morning you stir awake but only to find that Dean had thrown the pillow to the floor and is down cuddling you. You can feel the slow rise and fall of his chest and his breath fan across your neck leaving goosebumps in its wake. You try to move. To untangle yourself from his hold. To no avail of course, everytime you would try and get away he would just pull you closer. Not realizing until he pressed his hips to your ass. He was hard as a rock. You let a slight whine fall from your lips which must have woke him up because as soon as it happened his whole body went stiff pushing away from you. “Y/n, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You jerk away from his grasp. “Thanks for making me feel better Dean!” Slamming the bathroom door you sit down and cry into your hands. ‘How could he not see it. How could he just push me away. I’m 18. I’m not a child anymore. I haven’t been since my parents died.’ You get up off of the floor and open the bathroom door to see Sam gone, and Dean sitting on the edge of the bed, hands in his hair. “I’m going to take a shower, or do I need your permission since you think I’m still a child.” You say as you walk over to your bag on your side of the bed. “Y/n, I never said I thought you were a child. I’m sorry about cuddling you this morning. But I can’t do that to you. You just turned 18 yesterday. I would be taking advantage of you.” “Wow Dean. You know you would think that all the experience you have with women you would know when one was interested in you. I know that I just turned 18 Dean. But guess what? I don’t care if you’re older than me. You could be 10 years older than me and I wouldn’t care. But seeing you literally push me away this morning gives me my answer.” Grabbing your clothes out of your bag you walk into the bathroom slamming the door before Dean could say another word. When you come out dressed and ready to go Sam is back and greets you before walking into the bathroom. “I’m going to grab coffee. Need anything?” Dean just shakes his head. You scoff and walk out.

While in the car with the boys you in the backseat Sam and Dean are discussing the plan for tonight. ‘Simple salt and burn Y/n. Simple salt and burn.’ Trying not to psych yourself out. ‘Everything is going to be fine. It’s all going to be okay. Easy peasy…’ “Y/n,” Sam starts. “I know the first hunt can be a little scary but trust me if you’re anything like your dad you will be just fine.” Giving Sam a genuine smile you look in the rearview mirror to see Dean staring at you. “I’m really glad you guys decided to take me hunting for my birthday. I know how hard the decision must have been.” “Why do you say that?” Well, maybe because Dean thinks I’m still a child and the only reason I felt anything for him is because I have always been alone, you thought to yourself. “Because you both,” adding emphasis on the word both just for Dean, “see me as a little sister, and you would hate for something to happen to me just as bad as I would hate for something to happen to you.” Sam gives you a side smile and Dean just lowers his head and sighs.

It was simple enough. You did just fine. Even Dean was surprised that you handled it so well. You did great research and handled your own. Dean climbs into the driver seat and Sam slides into the passenger side. “Alright Y/n, congrats on your first kill. Now how about some juicy burgers and a beer to celebrate?” Sam looks back at me and smiles. “I’m totally in! Can we try that bar I saw on the way into town?” “Of course we can, birthday girl.” “Dean, my birthday was yesterday.” You deadpanned. Making Sam raise an eyebrow. “Everything, okay with you guys?” “Fine.” You both say. “Hey D? I still have one more thing I would like to do for my birthday.” “Oh yeah, and what’s that?”

“Y/n, you can not drive my baby this fast you’re going to wreck! Do you even have your license?” You laugh speeding along down some backroad Dean had pulled off on so you could drive. “Of course I do D.” You lied. “Okay. That's enough. Pull over so I can drive. You’re done driving for the rest of your life.” Pulling over you jump out of the driver seat and give Dean a giant hug. “Thank you so much. I have always wanted to drive your car. Since I was little.” “You’re welcome sweetheart.” That damn name. Sam gave you a hug too, He whispers in your ear. “You know you’re lucky right? Dean doesn’t even let me drive his car. Unless absolutely necessary.” That makes your body heat up, you had no idea that even Sam hardly ever got to drive Dean's car. Later the next day you had finally made it home collapsing on the couch and breathing in the scent of your home. “Are you guys going to stay another night or head back out?” Dean is standing in the doorway talking to Sam. As you turn the corner you see them standing there. A hurt look on Sam’s face. “Bye Y/n. I’m really glad that I got to see you and spend time with you on your birthday. I’ll see you around.” You gave Sam a goodbye hug and turned to Dean. “I’m really glad that you guys came and spent time with me. It really means a lot. I know that you have to go and save more lives. So i will see you and Sam around sometime.” Turning to go back into your house Dean grabs you by your upper arm and spins you right into a bruising kiss. His mouth melts against your own. It ends too soon. “Y/n, I love you. But I can’t drag you into this life.” He turns and walks down the steps, down the sidewalk and into the impala. “Dean wait! Please wait! You can’t leave like that!” You fall onto the ground and watch through blurry eyes the impalas taillights fade out of your view.

“Dean. I thought that you didn’t want me? You said you loved me but I thought you meant as a sister. I thought that’s why you told me you didn’t want to drag me into this life. Was because I was like a little sister. Not that you actually loved me.” Dean took a deep breath and grabbed you tighter. “Y/n I love you so much. I always have. That’s what I was going to tell you that night I was waiting for you on your bed. But I thought you didn’t feel the same way I did so I pushed you away. Please don’t hate me for waiting this long to tell you. I was just scared that you would reject me. I-I’m so-.” You crashed your lips to his and pulled his face closer to yours. “Dean Winchester. I have loved you since I was 13. Don’t you ever push me away again.” “I promise Y/n I won’t. Never again. I love you so much. I want to have the apple pie life with you. I don’t want anyone else but you.” “Okay D.”

The kiss continued to deepen as he made his way down to your neck and then your collarbone. He ripped his leather jacket off and then yours. Hands reaching the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head. Only breaking the kiss for a few seconds before fisting your hands in his hair and bringing him closer if that was even possible. He broke the kiss and took his shirt off and your hands clung to his biceps and shoulders and chest trying to get a feel of his god like form. He grabs the back of your neck and pulls you apart. “Y/n please tell me that you want this and it’s not just me. I want you and I want all of you.” Breathing heavily you grab at the back of his neck and pull his face close enough to feel the heat from his body, “Dean Winchester, if you don’t fuck me like you mean it I’m going to shoot you in the leg.” At that, Dean kisses you and you jump up to wrap your legs around his waist. He grabs at your ass and thighs desperate for any type of friction. His cock is pressed right up against your clit causing just enough friction to make you whine. He grunts in response and tosses you onto the bed and climbs over you. “God Y/n you’re so damn beautiful. Can’t wait to taste you.” You sigh in response and he goes to work. Tugging your shorts and panties down your legs in one swift motion. He climbs up your body and unclasps your bra, tossing it to the floor. Fully naked and exposed underneath him. He groans and runs his hand down your body. From your lips, to your neck, down to your nipples, to your stomach, and finally down to your aching pussy. “God you’re so wet. This all for me?” “God, yes Dean please. I need you.” “Already begging sweetheart? I thought you were stronger than that.” He sinks two thick fingers into you and you clench. He starts slowly thrusting and curling his fingers right into your sweet spot, kissing down your neck and along your collarbone. “Dean.. I.. ah!” You came clenching around his thick fingers. “Fuck Y/n. I need to be inside of you.” He lines up with your entrance and inch by glorious inch he sinks into you. Stretching deliciously along your folds. Bottoming our he lets out a low groan and falls to his elbows next to your head. He’s deeper than you thought possible. “Fuck baby. You feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock, so tight.” “Dean. Please move!” He slowly drags out of you almost all the way before he snaps his hips forward and and scream leaves your lips. He sets a bruising pace. Your pussy clenching tight around him. You can feel your stomach heat up and the coil tightening. Threatening to snap any minute. He’s so fucking deep. His breathes are coming out ragged and sharp. “Y/n I don’t know how long I can last with you squeezing me like that.” He groans out. Know one has ever been able to fuck you like this. Your orgasm hits you like a cement truck you clench around him, white spots flooding your vision. Not soon after his hips falter and he’s cumming deep inside you. His moans in your ear are the hottest thing you’ve ever heard. He rolls off of you and pulls you into his side and falls asleep.

The next morning you wake up blushing from the events that had occurred the night before. Turning over trying not to wake Dean. You roll out of bed and take a shower. The hot water runs over your aching muscles from last night's previous activities. You take a deep breath. ‘What if he doesn’t feel the same?’

Coming out of the bathroom the steam follows and you see the groggy man in your bed stirring. “Good morning D. Did I wake you up?” “No sweetheart, I just got up. What time is it?” He rolls over and checks his burner phone and groans. “It’s only 9:30. Man I was hoping it was later.” You smile and climb into the bed and snuggle up next to him. “D?” “Yeah Y/n?” “What are we going to do about Sam?” “He told me he’s always wanted me to have a normal life. So I think that I should do just that… with you. Because, you see, baby, I love you I have since we were kids. I thought that since I was older and you were a little younger than me that you would have a thing for Sammy. But you didn’t. It was me all along and I didn’t realize that until your 18th birthday. I’m sorry Y/n. I’ll never leave you again. I promise.” You cuddle up closer to him and pull him tight. “I love you too Dean. Always have. Always will. No matter what, and if a normal like is what you want then a normal life is what you’ll get. I promise.” Dean rolls over and kisses your cheek and scoots closer to you. Grabbing your hip and pulling you closer to him. “I know I’m not one for the mushy moments right?” You sigh and nuzzle into his chest. “Yes Dean. I do. I haven’t been since my parents. I never thought I would love anything ever again. Not until you came along. You waltz in on my 18th birthday and suddenly all of those winks, nicknames, and lingering looks made sense.” Dean just pulls you closer. “Of course they made sense Y/n. I never thought it would work until you practically slapped me with your words. But it worked, and I ain’t ever letting you go.”

Tags::

#dean x reader #supernatural #deanwinchester #spnsmut #supernaturalsmut #smut #dean smut #young dean winchester #spn season 3 #smutty

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elareine · 5 years

Text

Far away (JayTim)

The first thing Jason asked when the console in front of Tim finally managed to connect them via video-link was: “Everything alright?”

Tim knew the question wasn’t nearly as casual as it sounded and replied in kind: “Yeah. Everyone is alive if bruised. There were explosions, you’d have liked it. You?”

“Fewer explosions than I’d have preferred, but also fewer bruises than I expected, so it’s all good.” Relaxing, Jason leaned back into his chair.

Tim blinked as he took in Jason’s appearance. He was honest-to-god wearing an ugly Christmas sweater depicting little bats. “I see you’re getting into the Christmas spirit at last.”

“Hmm, kind of. How long until you get back?”

“There’s one more stop, but we’ll stay in communication range. ETA on Earth is twenty-two hours right now, subject to change. You know, aliens, pirates, alien pirates, the usual.”

Weirdly, Jason looked amused more than anything else. “You’ll make it for New Year’s Eve, then?”

“Yeah, of course.” Tim suddenly had a horrible thought. “Wait, what day is it on Earth?”

Judging by Jason’s grin, that was the right question to ask. “December 25th.” He made a show of glancing at his clock. “Barely. It’s 11:49 p.m.”

Ah, the joys of space travel. Tim sighed. “It’s been five days here.” Leave it to him. Only Tim would manage to be in a relationship for two weeks and then accidentally fuck off for three more.

“I figured. So. Merry Christmas, babe. I’ll leave your present for when you’re back if you don’t mind. Kinda hard to unpack from space.” Jason winked.

Tim thought he could just feel his heart swell with love for this ridiculous human being. “Yeah. Same, though I left mine in Gotham. Obviously.”

“What, I’m not getting the space equivalent of a gas station teddy bear?” Jason laughed. “I’m honored.”

“Well…. I might have picked something up when we occasioned to stop at Alpha Gamma 34…”

Jason actually looked genuinely excited at the prospect. Tim couldn’t wait to show him the linguistics guide the seller had assured him would be easily understandable for anyone with a passable grasp of Tamaranian, which he knew Jason to be fluent him. His boyfriend would love it.

For now, though, he settled back into his chair. “How was your day?”

“I’ve mostly been cooking, honestly. Made a nice big meal for Kori, Artemis, Biz and me. There are always people dropping by, you know.” Those who didn’t celebrate or didn’t have someone to celebrate with, Tim guessed. “Roy and Lian stopped by, too, once he’d had enough of his family. Dick, too.”

“You didn’t go to the manor?”

“It’s still pretty uncomfortable,” Jason shrugged. “And since you’re away, I didn’t think it would be worth it. Honestly, I celebrated more Christmases alone than I ever did at the manor, so.”

Most Christmases in his own life had been spent alone or feeling like he was, Tim thought. That applied to both of them, though, and didn’t need saying.

“Next year, okay? We’ll be that couple that goes to every single celebration together. Drop by Kon, Bart, and Cassie; eat Alfred’s food and then go spend the actual day with your team.”

To his surprise, Jason blushed.

He tried to hide it, of course, turning his head to the side and chuckling, mumbling something like, “Sure, let’s do that,” but Tim saw everything.

“Jason?” he asked as gently as he could. “Why is that embarrassing? Too fast?” Tim had been told before that his all-or-nothing approach could come on too strong. Jason didn’t seem to have minded so far, but maybe this was a step too far.

“No, just.” Jason actually hid his face in his hands. “I wasn’t aware you’re thinking that long-term with me.”

Tim mentally aww-ed at the sight of his big buff boyfriend hiding his blushing face. His fingers twitched with the need to cover those hands with his own, pull them away so he could kiss that hot cheek and whisper what he was about to say next right into Jason’s ear.

(There was also a voice in the back of his head that was more determined than ever to find out about Jason’s previous dating experiences, because who thinks saying the phrase ‘next year we’ll…’ is long-term? Tim was going to do some first-class research/stalking, and then he might have to hurt some people.)

“Of course. That’s what I mean when I say ‘I love you.’”

Jason looked like he had stopped breathing.

“I love you, Jason,” he repeated. “Neither of us is great at this, honestly, but when this is over, I want to come home to you, and have you do the same the next time you leave. I have no illusions about either of us; I want the sleepless nights and injuries and arguments and blood and nightmares. I want you to cook, and I’ll do the dishes. I want to fall asleep next to you every night, eventually. And yeah, I want to spend one of the few holidays that hold meaning to both of us with you. Is that really so surprising?”

Jason’s hands had fallen down as Tim spoke, and the look on his face… he looked completely open, vulnerable and disbelieving and joyful at the same time.

It was heady, honestly, that someone would want to hear this from him, want to be reassured that Tim would stay, would love them. That someone would want Tim.

“I know telling you I’ll be gone for a week at most and then missing Christmas isn’t helpful in me showing you that I’m in this for the long run. I’ll do better, I promise. But believe me—“

“That’s just our life,” Jason interrupted him, his voice barely loud enough to be picked up over the mic, but sure. “All I had to do was check with the Bat about your destination and do the math myself. Don’t worry about it, okay?” He paused. “Unless it happens again. Then I’ll kick your ass.”

Oh, Jason. Always trying to lighten his mood.

“I love you,” Tim said, determined. He hadn’t realized that Jason needed to hear it, but now that he did, he was determined to say it again and again.

Already he knew that he would say these words a thousand times more. He couldn’t wait.

“I love you, too. And I like the thought of coming home to each other.” Jason’s smile was soft like a secret.

Tim nodded. “I’ll see you soon.”

In a fit of whimsy, he stretched out his hand to touch the screen, right next to the camera. Jason, the sap, reached right back.

“Yeah. Soon.”

#jaytim #elareine writes #advent calendar 2019 #to be continued on new year's eve

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remedialpotions · 6 years

Text

Over Biscuits

Happy birthday to one of my very favorite people, the amazing @aloemilk ! I feel so lucky to count you as a friend ❤️ I hope you enjoy this fluffy little fic!

Word Count: 2,075

Rating: K+

This can also be found on FFN (author: bowtruckles) and AO3 (author: remedialpotions)

***

Pausing in the doorway, Ron furrowed his brows at the scene developing before him. Hermione stood at the stove, her bushy hair just barely contained in a thick knot at the back of her head, gaze fixed intently on a saucepan. Not unsurprisingly - she was skilled at a great many things, but this really wasn’t one of them - her face betrayed more stupefaction than she’d ever displayed in Potions class. Given that this was his wheelhouse, he knew he should help her, but when she started nibbling on her lip, a flush rising in her cheeks from the heat emanating off the range, he thought there also wasn’t much harm in allowing himself to watch her.

Just for a minute, anyway. He didn’t see as much of her lately as he would have preferred, and it gave him a small glow of warmth, deep in the pit of his stomach, to see her standing in the kitchen of the Burrow, scowling at a recipe. Too many times over the past four months, he had thought the Christmas hols might never actually be upon them and that he would spend the whole of his life missing her, but she was home. For two glorious weeks, he had her all to himself, and he wasn’t going to let any of it slip away.

He always loved watching her when she didn’t know he was looking. Hermione was rarely vulnerable, but when it was just the two of them together, or he caught her in a moment when she thought she was alone, all of her pretenses fell away. She stopped being Hermione Granger, Head Girl and war hero and ‘brightest witch of her age’, and simply became the woman that he loved - the one standing in his parents’ kitchen with streaks of cinnamon across her cheeks.

“After melting butter on low heat,” Hermione was muttering to herself, eyes fixed on the stained and crumpled parchment before her, “stir in brown sugar, molasses, salt, and spices.”

She tugged a sack of brown sugar toward her, picked up a measuring cup, and dutifully dug it in.

“There are spells for that, y’know,” said Ron, opting to make his presence known and striding across the faded tile floor toward her. He plunked a tub of molasses down on the work surface and grinned at her.

“Yes, well.” Hermione used the back of her wrist to push a rogue lock of hair out of her eyes. “It never hurts to do things the Muggle way, does it?”

“No, s’pose not.” Stepping behind her, Ron set his hands on her hips, his chin coming to rest on the fuzzy wool covering her shoulder. As she leaned back against him, one of her hands falling onto his, he peered into the saucepan. “Er - I should probably tell you-“

She craned her neck to meet his eyes. “Oh no, what?”

“The butter,” said Ron, wincing. “It’s a bit - er -overmelted.”

With a sorrowful glance down at the oily, golden-brown liquid in the pan, Hermione let out a sigh of resignation.

“You can just say that I burned it, Ron.”

Suppressing a laugh, he pressed a firm kiss to her temple and tightened his arms around her waist. So many times over the past four months he had wanted to hold her, just to feel the warmth of her in his arms, and he wasn’t about to take it for granted now. He only had a second to relish it, however, before she wriggled out of his embrace to retrieve her wand from the kitchen table. In the next instant, the burned butter had vanished from the pan, replaced by a fresh new block from the cooling cupboard. Instantly it began to sizzle and hiss against the scorching cast iron.

“Oh, that’s too hot, see?” Ron reached around Hermione’s hip to dial down the flame. “It isn’t supposed to bubble like that.”

With her lips pursed tightly together, she glared at the butter as though it had committed a personal slight against her. She never did cope well with being less than the best at anything, even something as trivial as baking gingerbread biscuits.

“Just pretend that it’s Potions class,” he told her, wrapping one arm around her shoulders and using his free hand to gently stir the butter with a wooden spoon. “You’re brilliant in Potions.”

“But you hate Potions - and yet you like doing this-“

“Yeah, well, this is better, it results in food,” he grinned. “And anyway, Potions was different, there’s no way to like a class when you've got either Snape breathing down my neck, or Slughorn, who poisoned me and still couldn’t remember my name-“

“Technically it was Malfoy who poisoned you, not Slughorn-“

“Still,” argued Ron, that little spark inside of him igniting like it always did when they bickered back and forth, “you’d think if someone nearly drops dead in your office, you’d-“

“Oh, stop,” Hermione whined. The genuine anguish on her face was like a blade through his chest. “Let’s not talk about that anymore.”

“Sorry.” He dropped a chaste kiss on her lips by way of apology. “Look, it’s really not a big deal,” he continued, deciding to pick up where she left off with the brown sugar. “We’re only responsible for the entire pudding portion of Christmas Eve dinner, so no pressure - oi!”

For she had pinched him on the arm.

“That isn’t funny,” she moaned. Eyes closed, she leaned her cheek against his shoulder. “What if I end up ruining it-“

“You won’t.”

“But-“

“You won’t,” he repeated gently. “We - we’ve had some pretty shit Christmases in our day, my family, but none of them have been completely ruined.” He quickly shoved away the thought that, in his eighteen years of life, no Christmas on record had ever followed events like that of the spring, and instead offered Hermione a smile. “It’d take a lot more than some botched gingerbread biscuits, I promise.”

She gave an relenting nod. “Fine.”

Her fingers brushed his as she took the wooden spoon from him, stirring as he poured the brown sugar into the melting butter. There was still a streak of cinnamon across her cheekbone, and he wiped it softly away with the pad of his thumb.

Unbeknownst to Hermione, Ron had actually offered, in conversation with his father one Sunday evening, to make all of the Christmas puddings. It was the one part of the meal he felt he could successfully prepare, and while he wasn’t naive enough to think that it would relieve the weight that had permanently settled onto his mum’s shoulders since the second of May, he felt it was the least he could do. He wasn’t naive, but he also wasn’t blind. He saw the weariness in her every time he and Harry visited for Sunday dinner, and as the pang of guilt shot through him, he would always promise himself he would do more, be there more. The only problem was that the Ministry of Magic seemed to think he had no life outside their intensive Auror Training program - and then George had asked him for help getting the shop back in order, and he couldn’t say no to that - and he’d also been Apparating to Hogsmeade every chance he got-

Anyway, baking a few batches of biscuits and a treacle tart felt like the very least he could do.

A companionable silence fell between them as they continued to prepare the dough, punctuated only by the occasional shared kiss or murmured request for an ingredient. And Ron let himself pretend, just for a second, that perhaps this wasn’t his parents’ kitchen, but their own, and maybe they weren’t baking for his family, but for their own children - and it was madness to think about, at eighteen, things like marriage and babies, but he couldn’t stop himself. He looked at Hermione, and he saw the whole world before him.

“So now,” he said, giving the sticky dough one last stir, his biceps sore from the effort, “this has to cool for about an hour, then we bake it.”

“So how do we spend our free hour?” asked Hermione, a sort of mischievous twinkle in her eye that made Ron deeply remorseful that his parents were in the next room. Kissing was one thing, but he definitely couldn’t sneak her up to his room undetected.

“I - well - as great an idea as that is, I - I got you something,” he confessed.

He had never seen her look so indignant. “You - but we promised-“

“I know, but it really isn’t a gift - just stay here for a second, yeah?”

Before she could respond, he kissed her hastily on the forehead and darted out of the kitchen.

It had been a strategic move to stow this little token of affection in his former bedroom at the Burrow, knowing that he and Hermione would be spending a good portion of her Christmas hols there. And while he understood why they had agreed not to exchange gifts, given that neither of them had any income to speak of, he couldn’t resist wanting to show her what she meant to him. He hoped this little item, silly and useless as it might have been, would maybe at least come close to doing that.

Her eyes were still shooting daggers at him when he returned to the kitchen.

“If it helps, you don’t have to think of it as a Christmas gift,” he said as he pressed the box into her hands. “It’s really just because I love you, anyway.”

At his words, her expression softened, and she leaned back against the work surface as she prised open the box; Ron’s stomach shook with nerves.

Gingerly, as though scared to harm it, Hermione pulled the little gold key from its bed of cotton with two fingers and looked expectantly up at Ron.

“It’s to Grimmauld Place,” he explained, though this did nothing to assuage the polite bewilderment on her face. “And I know what you’re thinking, that you don’t need a key to get into Grimmauld Place, but it’s - y’know, so that you know that it’s as much yours as it is mine or Harry’s.”

Her lips were on his before he could keep talking. Though he had more to say, he couldn’t help leaning into it, forgetting everything but her and the taste of sugar on her lips.

“But also,” he said around one last kiss, “it’s really mostly symbolic so it could also be for - for anywhere, really, that you and I might live together. Y’know, in the future.”

As Ron watched, a series of emotions crossed over her face in rapid succession as she pieced his words together: confusion, surprise, happiness.

“So you want to live together,” she stated as a smile split her face.

“I definitely don’t want to live apart,” he assured her. “Not any longer than we have to, anyway. This is for later, by the way,” he felt compelled to clarify. “For once you’re done at Hogwarts and you’ve set the record for most NEWTs achieved by a single student or something-“

“Stop-“

“I just mean,” he said, sobering a bit, “that it’s there for you whenever you’re ready - if that’s what you want-“

“Of course it’s what I want-“

“I’ve completely bungled this up, haven’t I?” said Ron, now a bit sheepish. “It was supposed to be romantic-“

“And it was - oh, come here-“

And she grasped him by the ears and kissed him soundly on the lips. When she pulled back, her fingers remained plunged in his hair.

“You still don’t really get it, do you?” Her nails tickled down the nape of his neck. “I love you-“

“I know you do-“

“And I want all the same things that you want.”

He knew that. Of course he knew that. Two people couldn’t share all that they had over the years without knowing, but she had never stated it quite so plainly before. It was something quite different to hear it aloud, to see their future etched more clearly before him.

“All right,” he said, reaching up to take her wrists in his hands. “All right, you decide, then. Wherever you want to live, whenever you want to live there - you just tell me and I’ll be there.”

“Sounds perfect.”

“And in the meantime,” Ron said, giving her forearms a tender squeeze, “we’ve got a treacle tart to make.”

#romione #romione fanfiction #ron weasley #hermione granger #romione fanfic #my writing #happy birthday! 🥳#also I hope you know which part is inspired by a certain gif of harry and meghan #that may or may not have been my starting point #anyway LOVE YOU!#also lol at not being able to link anymore #I like my workaround

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milesawaylove-blog1 · 6 years

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When those we love, have to go

Firstly, I just want to say this is a post I have been very nervous about. It’s been written for months but I've been very apprehensive to share it. It’s is very personal to me, but I also thought why would anyone want to bother reading it. But after much consideration I realised that this subject is one all too many of us are familiar with. Loss. Those who know me well know that I could talk for England, but I really struggle to be honest with myself about things I NEED to talk about. Hence why this piece became reality. And by sharing my own experience it may help someone else to feel less alone with the pain that so many of us share. Writing for me is therapy, it allows me to channel my thoughts positively- and lift weight from me mentally.

Like most little girls my Dad was my best friend. I always wanted to be around him. I was so fortunate to grow up with parents who I am wonderfully close to, and each relationship was so different and special in its own way. My Dad was my superhero. He made me feel safe and like we could do anything if we put our minds to it. Scary things were less scary when he was around. I was the more adventurous one out of my sister and I- so it was always me and Dad trying the new theme park rides, together. And we were the strongest team. We are so similar in many ways too, I definitely got my opinionated nature from him. He was never afraid to say what he thought- sometimes this was for good but it could also land him in hot water occasionally! But he also didn't care what other people thought- something I admired so much. He didn't care about making himself look silly, and always stood up for what was right, and for those who couldn't always do it for themselves.

I was only 12 years old when we received the news. Cancer. The word that every family dreads to hear. Before we knew Dad went for initial testing for the pains in his lower back that were stopping him from walking properly and I remember thinking how scared I was that it would be cancer. And when we found out I was so upset as I thought it was my fault for thinking it. As you can imagine, the next year was hell for my family. Endless chemo treatments, hospital visits, tears, cuddles and being the most scared I've ever been.

But my Dad was so strong. He took it all in his stride. He hardly ever complained and I only ever saw him cry once. Even though he was so ill, he always remained so positive and was always thinking of others, because thats just who he was. And he was incredible.

The 21st of January 2011 was the day my life changed forever. The day that all our lives changed. Suddenly he was gone. My happy, outrageous, fun, caring wonderful Daddy was gone. Half of me was gone and I was never getting him back. I couldn't believe it and I didn't want to believe it. I asked the nurse to double check, and bless her she did, probably to give me peace of mind. Everyone reacts differently to death, and I was numb- I didn’t cry. I couldn't. That has always played on my mind- how can something so devastating happen but your body doesn't flinch, no tears? No acceptance and shock, I guess that’s why. My last ever memory of my Dad, is when I gave him a final kiss goodbye. He didn't look like himself anymore and he was so cold. That is something that will stay with me forever.

The next few weeks, months and years were weird, we tried to go on with normal life but in reality we couldn't. Our foundation had been taken away. We crumbled, and it was going to take an incredibly long time for us to even think about beginning to rebuild.

My mum and sisters grieving process began straight away and I felt like mine never truly began. Seeing them both cry meant I couldn't cry. I had to be strong for them, just like Dad would have been. It definitely made me grow up so quickly. But this wasn't healthy for me, as I ended up bottling my feelings for months on end, that then resulted in colossal breakdowns that would last for hours on end, and when I was all tired from crying, it would begin again. The bottling. The un-acceptance. The feeling of it just not being real. I would definitely say for the first year I didn't even process it. We were so used to being without him when he was in hospital, there was always the childish hope that he would just come back or that it had all been a horrendous nightmare. But sadly, this nightmare was a reality. Every time I thought about it, I thought “why him, why did this happen to us?” I was really angry and constantly felt how unfair life is. I thought there are some people in the world that deserve this WAY more than him, he was a good person so couldn't it just have taken a bad person instead? Yes that’s bad, but it’s honest. I genuinely thought that most days. It was just horrible that one of the two people that brought me into this world, and who I loved the most was ripped away from me & I still feel like that now.

Today I am 21 years old. I have been without my Dad for 8 years. I lost him at such a young age, I feel as if I have been cheated of the life that I should have had with him. The last 2/3 years have been particularly hard for me. If I'm honest, probably the hardest yet. As an adult I have realised the consequences of living a life with one parent missing. And he has missed so much. My GCSE’s, my singing, my first ever show and all the ones to follow, getting into University, getting jobs. It truly breaks my heart that my Dad never got to meet Charlie. The person that loves his nutty little girl for everything that she is both good and bad, and has provided nothing but love and support over the last three and a half years. I always found it weird and creepy when people say you end up with people like your parents, (sociologist/media students you know what I mean lol) in some ways this could not be further than the truth but in others it is. I’ve been lucky enough to find someone as kind, funny and warm-hearted as my Dad. I just know if they had ever met my Dad would have given him hell for the first few weeks, but they would have got on so well- and I know this because my whole family agrees.

There will be so many more things that I wish he could be here for, and that I would give anything for his guidance on. He won’t see my graduate in a few months time, or get my first proper job and help me move to London. He’ll miss out on my wedding and my children will never know their Grandad- I know all of that is so far away but you just can't help but think about it. Even though he may not physically be here, I truly believe he has been watching over me and guiding me through the past 8 years- because as Winnie the Pooh says (one of my faves growing up) “If there ever comes a day when we can’t be together, keep me in your heart. I’ll stay there forever.”

People always say it gets better in time, but for me this is bullshit. The longer I go without him the harder it gets. Generally, I think I’ve done pretty bloody well. I know I should give myself credit but it is so hard to. I’ve been through a lot and I’m still going through it. It’s so much harder for me as my family are at different stages now but I still feel stuck, longing and not wanting to move on. I don’t think I ever want to move on completely, and thats okay. It still hurts and it hurts so bad. Those who are lucky enough to have not experienced anything like this don't always get it, and that can be frustrating, but I have to remember what ever I feel is normal and okay, and I should never feel bad about feeling upset wether it has been 8 years, 18 years or 80 years.

However, through all the hurt, and sadness, what I am left with is beautiful. Family, friends, and loved ones, but most importantly memories. The brilliant family holidays to Devon, Christmases, Birthdays, Weddings, game nights, golf lessons & nights in. I was lucky enough to spend 12 years with my Dad which is more than some. I will cherish those years, but my god I wish every day that they weren't cut short. I miss you constantly Papa Bear. I hope you are proud of me. I love you forever.

Your Emsie xxx

P.s- To those of you I cherish the most- both family and friends, you know who you are. Thank you for being there for me and keeping my head up when I feel down. Forever grateful for you all. BIG LOVE xxxx

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harryimaginedstories · 7 years

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Snowflake

This short little blogmas-story is inspired by the song “Snowflake” by Sia. Honestly I spent today baking and playing Sia’s Christmas album and I would recommend everybody to do the same.

Plot: H needs his lover to understand that their love won’t melt like snowflakes do. Warnings: It’s a bit angsty but romantic as well.

The picture isn’t mine but ho ho ho hocares?

It was almost as if my body was frozen in place, as I sat rigid and still on the comfortable armchair facing the big window in Harry’s home. He had a great house, one that gave him a grand view over some of one of London’s calmer streets as well as parts of Regent’s park. It was silly, but I connected many many memories of our relationship to this piece of glass and the view it let me see. The first time I let him take me to his home, I’d been so caught up and impressed by the mere size of the window, that we ended up sitting down on the hardwood floor right in front of it where we spent all night talking about everything we didn’t know about each other yet. Both of us had originally expected to be doing something more physically engaging throughout the night, but getting to know him on a deeper level was just as nice and meaningful. The memory still made me smile and feel a sense of warmth I found difficult to describe. Harry made me feel like I mattered to him, he made me feel that way even before we were close with each other. I’d taught him how to make mulled wine once, later that same year, right after the first snowflakes fell from the sky and we’d enjoyed our cups while watching how the world outside got painted white. In the upcoming years there’d been many Christmases in London, where we waited in vain for the snow to come, but when I thought about spending the festive season with Harry, I remembered that first evening spent admiring the classical white Christmas in a home that made me feel warm and happy without even being mine. Today hadn’t been too nice. The only time I felt a small smile pull at my lips, was when I watched Harry, clumsy as well as very stubborn Harry, try to tie a string of Christmas lights to one of the trees outside his home. He’d been determined to reach the very top of the tree and it was funny to watch him stumble with his too big feet, but of course I’d also rushed to the door and kissed the scratch he’d earned when falling to the ground harshly. Afterwards I went to sit back down and look outside. Harry joined me for a bit, then he went about his work and spent a good two hours watching TV. I wasn’t upset, but quiet and stuck in my mind, a state Harry knew well and he was aware that it was best for him to give me a bit of space. He wasn’t too concerned and respected what I needed, though after not having heard more than a handful of sentences all day, he decided to try and make conversation with me.

“Y/N?”

I turned to look at him. Harry stood few feet away from me, a shy smile on his soft lips that grew once I sent him a small wave. “Would you like me to order something from that Italian place you like?”

“Is it time for dinner already?” I wondered, faint surprise in my voice.

Harry nodded. He was dressed comfy, a pair of light blue socks covered his feet, black jogging trousers his legs and a fluffy green jumper held his upper body warm. My heart squeezed at the image and my arms itched to wrap him into an embrace. My need to hold him and I feel that everything would be okay.

“Funny how messy my sense of time gets when the sun sets so early in the day,” I sighed.

He chuckled softly. “Mine does, too.”

Slowly he stepped closer until he reached where my chair was. The flash of relief crossing his face didn’t go unnoticed when I held out my hand for him to take and I gave him the warmest and most genuine smile I could master when he crouched down before my knees.

“What’s going on in that head of yours, dearest?”

His green eyes held warmth and peered up at me with timid interest, as he was careful not to push me too much.

“Don’t say that,” I breathed, “’Dearest’ makes it sound like we’re old.”

It was remarkable really, how easily Harry managed to make my mood a better one and how he could warm my insides only by looking at me. He was just... magical. I couldn’t be thankful enough to have him by my side. Harry raised the hand of mine he was holding and pressed a loving kiss to the back of it.

“But you are my dearest person,” he insisted, warm breath fanning over my skin, “It’s you I love the most.”

The speed of my heart increased and his eyes fell shut once my own fingers found the locks crowning his head.

“You can call me that in a few years then,” I offered and Harry nodded eagerly before commenting that sometimes his forehead looked so wrinkly he might as well be an old man already.

We stayed silent for a moment. Then Harry sighed and leaned his head into my touch. “Want to tell me how I can make you feel better, love?”

I watched his eyes follow my movements as I sat up straighter and a tiny giggle fell from my mouth when he let himself fall back so he could sit on the floor. We were going to have this conversation then, I thought, and when my worried expression met his loving one, I was reassured that he wouldn’t judge me for my thoughts.

“I’m just,” I began, eyes drifting from his face and back to the London right outside his home, “wondering, you know?”

Harry began to play with my fingers softly, squeezing and massaging their tips, silently encouraging me to voice my thoughts and I suppressed a smile, when he made it even clearer that we wouldn’t move until I’d spilled what was on my mind.

I sighed. “I don’t want to upset you, Harry. Because I love you as much as you do me.”

He frown briefly marked his pretty face. “Don’t worry about that.” A small kiss to my palm followed and my stomach fluttered at how incredibly warm and soft his lips felt against my heated skin.

I could spend forever kissing him. In fact, we’d shared our very first kiss on an evening similar to this one, though we’d spend most of it dancing where now was my chair and our conversations hadn’t been as heavy with worry as it was now. But the place was the same, another lovely memory. Behind Harry the window’s glass was gently touched by thousands of little snowflakes. I found myself wishing they’d freeze and decorate the window forever, but instead they melted and left nothing but dots of water behind. This let me find my words. “I sometimes think of you and me... like we’re two snowflakes. Or our relationship is one, I’m not sure. Together we drift through our lives and when we’re together it seems as if we do better. You keep me sane, Harry. Can’t thank you enough, my love, you make me so happy. And I just... find myself wondering how much longer I have to enjoy winter with you, you know? I ask myself when the first rays of sun that are too hot will come and I’m scared to find out how we’ll be. If we’ll be at all or if our relationship will just melt and end in a puddle of water.”

The longer I spoke and the more words he let fall from my lips, the softer his expression got. Harry’s kind eyes focused on my face and whenever I hesitated or quieted down, the smile he gave me encouraged me to voice more of what was going on in my head.

“I love you so much,” I promised, nothing but adoration in my tone and Harry nodded shortly.

Harry kissed my wrist. “I know you do, Y/N. Don’t worry.”

“And I don’t doubt us.”

I wished I sounded stronger and guilt flooded through me. I didn’t want to make him feel as crappy as I had all day, because truly it wasn’t that I doubted Harry and my relationship. I couldn’t understand what had made my mood sink as low as it had. A deep breath left his mouth and when he moved to sit up I felt like a cold bucket of water had been dropped over my head. I expected him to run out on me or at least yell for how little my faith in him I held, but just when I was about to apologize, Harry leaned forward and pressed both hands to my ribs. He tried not to tickle me but chuckled when I shrieked, before he gently pulled me from my seat and made me stand in front of him. He smiled softly. Without hesitation Harry raised both of my arms and I happily complied and wrapped them around his shoulders and as always I found more comfort in his embrace as I could’ve anywhere else. My face found its familiar place in the warm space between his shoulder and neck and Harry, too, pressed is head against my collarbones with a sigh. I felt him kiss my skin softly.

“You’re the prettiest snowflake. Quite warm for one, too.”

The darkness outside grew and the living room was illuminated only by the soft lights coming in through the glass. Harry’s back was coloured golden. It suited him, I found.

“And I’m keeping you right here.”

“Harry,” I whimpered and he shushed me.

“M’not finished. I don’t think you and I would melt, baby, even if the sun got stronger. I think what we have is strong enough to withstand any kind of heat. You,” Harry took a deep breath and wrapped both arms around my waist tightly, “You mean the most to me, Y/N. You’re my lover and I am yours. It’ll be winter as long as we make it so.”

My head rolled back and my eyes fell shut. His words wrapped themselves around my heart and filled it with immense strength. I pressed a kiss to his cheek noisily.

“We spend so much time laughing together,” Harry murmured, “I think you’re the first person who ever made my tummy hurt because I was laughing for so long.”

“I love you so much,” I breathed into his ear and slung my arms around his neck with a stronger hold, “And m’keeping you, too.”

He chuckled softly.

“It’s not the time yet,” Harry purred into my neck, “But I know that I will keep you and one day I’ll ask you to let me show the world that you are the only person I want forever. You have to trust that we will spend so many more winters looking out this big window, Y/N. Sun won’t intervene, I promise you.”

I was sobbing before either of us knew it. The tears spilled onto my cheeks and there was no stopping them, not even when Harry sealed his promise by pressing a kiss to my mouth.

Harry gasped softly. “You’re shaking. Oh, love! Oh, sweet Y/N, no. Don’t. No tears, baby, don’t do that to me.”

“I love you so much,” I repeated, a heavy sob followed my words and Harry reached up to scratch the back of my head, “I do. I truly, really do.”

“Love you as well,” he whispered and when his lips pressed to mine I leaned forward to deepen the kiss.

It was as if my heart could burst with hope and love and... certainty. I had the man of my dreams in my arms, right there for me to hold and kiss. Harry was my best friend, my lover and a piece of my own heart. And it was true what he’d said, though we kept each other warm, as long as I had his devotion and he had mine, for us there would always be winter.

Personally, I love it! Let me know what you thought!

Masterlist

Christmas Harry

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patsywalkera · 7 years

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trishica fic recs

a crash course in my bookmarks for all things jessica jones and trish walker? i guess? i also guess that my format’s gonna be: necessary notes > shining star fic rec > cut for other fic recs. these have been my necessary notes! i’m gonna shut up!

Proxemics by teyla

Proxemics: the study of personal space. In which the aftermath of Kilgrave’s death prompts Trish and Jess to redefine some boundaries.

this is! the best fic! in the world! there are kittens! there are LESBIANS EVERYWHERE! and all the while, it’s about RECOVERING FROM TRAUMA! and it’s genuinely just very pleasant while (obviously) dealing-- respectfully!-- with unpleasant stuff. i have tried to force literally everyone who speaks to me on a regular basis to read this fic.

the rest of these are in no order other than the order in which they show up in my bookmarks, fyi... but they’re good

and as I recall you used to be mine by likebrightness

Trish comes home from rehab and tells Jess she loves her. Jess, as Trish expected, kind of panics. Her fingers twitch and she glances around like she’s looking for an exit.

Look for the exitwound by tamaraface

Trish doesn’t say that now, doesn’t say anything. She keeps her head on Jess’s shoulder, her eyes open just enough to catch the rise and fall of Jess’s chest as she breathes. Trish slows her own breathing to match, finds Jess’s hand with her own in the tiny space between them and tangles their fingers.

or, Trish and Jessica and getting by.

Doing Fine by willowbilly

the summary of this one is an excerpt that involves weight talk so i’m just gonna give you the tags (for what it’s worth here, i’m a lesbian with ptsd and ednos)

Piece By Piece by CantStopImagining

"Trish had feared that Jessica would fold back in on herself, disappear on a gust of wind and be gone for another six months, maybe longer. Maybe she’d never see her again at all. That was how it had panned out last time, and it had broken her heart. But Jessica hadn't disappeared. For now, anyway."

the weight of living by poseidon

“Oh, by the way, when you get hurt I get hurt too, just so you know, anyway doesn’t this beer taste awful?” (#soulbond)

all the things i never told you by rumpledlinen

“Something I never say,” Jessica says, “like ‘I love you’?” and Trish smiles.

She lets her get out of the car and watches her walk away, and if she were a different sort of person, if Jessica were a different sort of person, she’d tell her to be careful.

I love you, she thinks instead, because she’s never been afraid to say it; not with Jake, back when they were fifteen and fumbling with hands under each other’s shirts while they were meant to be in class, not with Emma, twenty-one and on top of the fucking world.

Not with Jessica, the one (two, three, four) times she’d found herself in her bed over the years. Each memory has stuck itself to the inside of her mind, wallpapered over as people come and go. Underneath the surface, though, she’s there, always there, waiting for her.

I love you, she thinks with each pulse of her heart, a reminder of the message that she’s waiting for as well as a helpless romantic plea.

as old as your omens (anonymous)

Where are you, Jessica?

but you seem okay with being strong by theseerasures

My best friend is serenely confident a little bit of this and a little bit of that.

Five times Jess and Trish share a bed.

you’re out on the bottomless sea by steepair

All Jessica wanted was some pizza rolls, but first she had to peel a drug-addled teen idol off the floor.

(or: everything good Trish ever learned, she learned from Jessica.)

by any other name by thecatonlyknows

Jessica escapes Kilgrave. It doesn't get any easier after that.

[an abandoned one-shot but it’s good!]

I do the protecting by Rysler [M]

Spoilers for The Defenders and Jessica Jones S1. The night after.

trisha walker’s christmas special by peradi

The tale of Jessica Jones and Trish Walker, told in five Christmases.

rumour has it by thecrackshiplollipop [M]

Jessica accompanies Trish to one of her many glamorous functions. But then Trish is cornered and Jessica acts sort of rashly and. Well. By the next morning, the whole world assumes Trish Walker is a lesbian. Way to go, Jones.

In our darkest hour, I'll find a way to be without you by FloralBucky

Matt Murdock may be gone, but those he left behind must keep living.

A story following Trish Walker in the months after Matt's "death" as she gets to know the families of the rest of the Defenders and tries to help them (and herself) heal.

my heart breaks bottles by likebrightness

The first time Trish and Jess drunkenly kiss, there’s a roomful of other people, mostly boys, cheering them on.

#trishicaedit #jessicajonesedit #jess x trish #fic recs #kt.txt #if i'm gonna have a fic recs tag APPARENTLY i might as well get some content in it

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superfamigos · 8 years

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los juegos de 2016 de oli

My inaugural post on el Super Famigos punto com! Cool beans! :D

So here's my 2016 games list. These are the games I liked most in 2016. In lieu of ranking, I'll list them in alphabetical order. I'll also add some honorable mentions, since I did enjoy them and don't want them to be left out. ;)

The List

Breath of Fire III

(heartthrob credit: BoF wikia)

Fitting that the first on my list would be a SuperFamigos classic!

I picked up Bofee ("Breath of Fire III" -> "BoF III" -> "BoF3" -> "Bofee") after some prodding from my friend Chris. I’ve wanted it for a while, and even played it once, but… I don't have as much patience for JRPGs as I used to, even ones as good as Bofee or Chrono Cross. This time, though, ♪ I had a little help from my friends ♫.

Since SuperFamigos was just starting up, I downloaded OBS and gave streaming Bofee a whirl. And sure enough, broadcasting and interacting with friends via chat is way better than grinding alone. Chris shared all his expert secrets, and I flew through the slogs that stopped me before. And we spawned a whole slew of inside jokes too (oh man Teepo's flowing locks *o*). I haven't played/streamed much recently, due to a combination of old hardware and busy schedules, but with luck I can fire it back up in 2017.

As for the game itself: it's great! Top notch pixel art, animations, and music. Story's a bit slow, though Chris assures me it gets better. Definitely more fun with friends. ...smells burnt

rating: "9/molotov"

Chrono Cross

(stunning opassa credit: Chrono wikia)

Frickin' Chrono Cross! What a sweet game. Beautiful scenery, amazing music, and a genuinely enthralling and mysterious story. I'm still not fully sure what's going on! The battle system can be intense too: trying to fend off the Fire Dragon with only two Revives? Are you kidding me??

I must confess, I got Chrono Cross three Christmases ago. The game has a couple of the same JRPG issues that Bofee has. So my tactic is to whittle away at it, every once in a while. And it's a bit like turning down the lights and sitting back and listening to Kind of Blue on vinyl; you come away feeling well fed.

So why is Chrono Cross on my games of 2016 list? Partly because the OSSC got me hyped to play it on my new HDTV (it was disgusting before) (and it handles the 240p <-> 480i switch quite well), partly because Chris again got me through some tough parts (he’s a boss, seriously), and partly because it's an awesome game and it won't come off my "games of <year>" list until it's beaten. So there.

rating: "poshul4mayor"

Downwell

I finally beat Downwell (normal mode) and unlocked all the palettes in 2016. Even then, I haven't stopped playing.

Downwell is the one mobile game I actually enjoy. For all the critically acclaimed mobile games I own, none have kept my attention like console and handheld games do. Except Downwell.

The mobile qualifier is important. Often I was chilling in a café, or waiting in line for a sandwich, or unable to sleep on a redeye flight, or trapped on a god-forsaken Snowpiercer Amtrak to Portland that was 6 hours behind schedule because snow somehow broke the signals and freight trains rule the rails and "we can't tell you if it'll be 30 minutes or 3 hours"

…Anyway. Downwell kept me sane in 2016. I don't even mind the touch controls.*

By the way, here's my fav strat: Floaty. Attract gems + popping gems + gem recharge. Laser if possible, or machine gun / burst / puncher. Combo as much as possible, but only to 25 each.

rating: "10/10/10"

Open Source Scan Converter

(razor sharp credit: Rex Warden)

I know, I know, it's not a game. But it counts as one, because it gave my PS1 a new lease on life.

And what a lease it is! I kid you not, I had serious goosebumps whenever I first fired up wipE'out" XL with this puppy. It was ｂｅａｕｔｉｆｕｌ. I noticed background textures I had never noticed before. Colors popped, not bled. I could read the menu text in wip3out! And no noticeable lag! Game after game, I was amazed at the difference. A major reason these old PS1 games are on my list is the OSSC.

Granted, YMMV; the results aren't nearly as drastic on other TVs I tried. But on mine… There's no going back.

rating: "I could cut my veggies with that PS logo"

Pokémon Sun

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (I really like this game.) AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (A lot.) AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (There's too much to say.) AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA (Do yourself a favor and give Pokémon Sun/Moon a try.) AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

rating: "AAAAAAAAAA/AAAAAAAAAA"

Pokkén Tournament

(sassy credit: chipsprites)

Taking a step back for a sec.

Moving to Seattle was hard. It’s still hard. I live by myself, it's my first time working out of college, and sometimes even cooking food is a chore. My life has certainly gotten better now, but those first few months were…hard.

Pokkén was what I played when I wasn't at work. It's a great game, with bumpin' music and satisfying mechanics that I could really get into. But more than that, it was a game that helped me get through a rough time. For that reason alone, I would definitely recommend.

rating: "Weavile's playmate? HECK YES"

Splatoon

(manual or automatic credit: Syfy Games)

"But Oli, Splatoon came out in—"

Whoa there. Listen up. If you haven't already guessed, this is MY list o' 2016. It doesn't matter when such-and-such game came out. If I played it in 2016, it counts.

…but you do have a point. I didn't get Splatoon until Christmas 2015, which led to me missing a good amount of the summer unveils and hype and such. And online games stress me out, so I had the most fun when I stuck to my niche: off in the corner with my paintbrush, flinging paint errywhere, firin' off torpedoes to the other side, occasionally ninja-ing peeps.

In any case, still played it enough and had fun enough to include it! Very refreshing to see some color and friendly competition in a shooter. Good music and 1P campaign too. I even picked up my first pair of Vans Slip-ons because of this game. Fashion help 10/10.

Splatoon is also one of the Famigos' go-to online games! Several times we'd host a private match and not even battle, but just hang out on the stage, swim around, go explore, etc. Kinda like what we do in real life…except as squid kids.

rating: "18/12 overture"

wip3out

(let’s be friends credit: infoxicated via wipeoutzone)

Until I got the OSSC, this game was literally unplayable on my new HDTV.

Okay, not literally. Seriously though, wip3out** has some of the most succulent graphic design in the industry, and that stinkin' yellow composite cable rendes it muddy, meh, and unreadable. Yuck. wip3out was the second game I tested with the OSSC, and it's easily the best demonstration of the power of upscaling.

But enough about that. wipE'out" (the series) is the beez kneez. What's not to like? Cream-of-the-crop electronic soundtrack, mouthwatering tDR design, spicy-smooth tracks, and rich chocolatey weaponry. That feeling when you tear down the track, barely grazing the wall as you unleash a Quake Disruptor…

wip3out makes my list this year, not just because of the OSSC, not just because it's a filet mignon of a game, but because I freakin' beat Venom Tournament mode for the first time. Even with unfair AI in Sampa Run! ( *｀∇ ´ ) And I plan to keep playing for a long time.

Interestingly, although XL/2097 and 3 have very different physics and handling, I can maneuver them both just fine…as long as I don't play them both in the same night. I get so used to one game, that I can't immediately swap discs and play the other without crashing into everything.

rating: "Excuse me, I think I need to return this steak, it's too delicious"

Honorable Mentions

Digimon World 3 I inherited this from a neighbor. Popped it in to admire the pixel art with the OSSC. The battle system is confusing, the FMVs are loltastic, but it has some surprisingly good music.

Hyper Light Drifter I really want to like this game more.

I love the music. And the art and atmosphere seriously gave me chills. Absolutely beautiful. But I just couldn't get into the combat: too visceral. I felt...almost dirty playing it. I understand that's kind of the point, but…

Maybe with time I'll get into it.

Lovers in a Dangerous Spacetime Had a ball playing this at a work game night. Don't have many others to play with though.

Nuclear Throne Lol both Sam and I got the Humble Indie Bundle this year, so we both played lots of Nuclear Throne. Fun (3D glasses Eyes is my man), but a bit too stressful/addictive for me. Had to stop playing for my health.

Pokémon Black 2 I grabbed Black 2 as a birthday gift for myself (I did the same for White in 2015), and to tide me over until Pokémon Sun. To try and mix it up this time around, I played with only three Pokémon for the entirety of my run: an Ice Punch Weavile (bred in White), a Dewott, and a Growlithe. I only caught maybe another five. In the end, though, I didn't level enough and I ground to a halt at the seventh gym.

I think one of the many, many reasons I loved Pokémon Sun was that I dived in headfirst, catching Pokémon, playing minigames, getting invested. Guess I didn't do that as much with Black 2. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

That being said, Black 2 definitely has its moments. There's schweet music, and I still, still prefer the animated sprites to 3D models. (Some of the new Pokémon's models are great, but some are horrible.) Super satisfying to wreck newbs with a Ice Punch to the face. Just sadly overshadowed by Sun.***

Pokémon Emerald Lots of Pokémon on this list, huh? ;)

Got this along with a Game Boy Micro from my friend Cole. Similar with Black 2, I only used a party of four. Again, the music is top notch, and some great battle animations. Unfortunately petered out at Ever Grande City when I stopped taking the bus to/from work (my main time to play).

River City Ransom Lolololololol

Seriously, so silly and fun. Didn't play it much though (maybe an hour when Sam was in town).

* That much. ** Yes, I'm going to do this for the whole article. I don't care. tDR 4 LYFE *** See what I did there?!? ;)

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