#my period has started on Christmas eve or day for the last two years. by talos this can't happen again

[alternis]

dude why is it so hard to keep track of when your period will be. even if your cycle is regular!

my brain just goes "wow I feel awful. really overly sensitive. amd hungry" and then two days pass before it sidles back with "hey quick thought maybe you should check the notebook where you keep track of your cycle dates" and then I cross check with my calendar and realise that my period is going to start within the next four days

[ewanmitchellcrumbs]

Lonely This Christmas

Pairing: Billy Washington (Trigger Point) x f!reader Warnings: Dark and obsessive behaviour, stalking, smut, dubious consent. Word count: ~4.5k

Summary: On a rare occasion when her and Billy both find themselves home for Christmas at the same time, they admit they've always fancied each other. However, as things develop between them, she soon realises that for Billy it's something much more sinister than a harmless crush. Based on this request.

Author's note: For my darling @heimtathurs. I don't have a tag list. Please follow @fics-by-ewanmitchellcrumbs and turn on post notifications. Community labels are for cops.

She walks up the pathway to the front door, the combination of the bitter cold and the handles of the plastic carrier bag cutting into her flesh causing her fingers to sting painfully. The cans in the bag clank noisily against each other as she jostles it from one hand to the other, raising her fist to knock at the door. Her breath comes in hot, cloudy puffs as she shifts from foot to foot, relief flooding through her as she sees the silhouette of her best friend, Lana, appear through the glass in the door.

“Let me in then!” She grumbles, pushing past and handing Lana the bag, once the door is open. “It’s bloody freezing out there!”

It’s December 23rd, and time for her and Lana’s annual tradition of Christmas Eve Eve film night - a ritual that they’ve managed to keep alive since they first met in secondary school, though as the years have passed their taste in films has matured and they can now sit and openly drink beer, instead of needing to sneak a bottle of MD 20:20 back and forth between them beneath a duvet, like they did as teenagers.

The location never changes - always at Lana’s parents’ house - even now that she’s moved out, she always comes home for two weeks over the festive period, and like clockwork the two of them sit on the sofa the evening before Christmas Eve and stare at the TV until they can no longer keep their eyes open.

She shrugs off her coat as she moves through the hallway, into the living room, the warmth from the central heating causing her skin to prickle with the pleasant rise in temperature. Rolling her eyes as she spies the DVD case for Die Hard on the coffee table, she sits heavily down on the sofa, kicking her shoes off and tucking her legs beneath her.

“We watched this last year,” she says to Lana, who follows a few paces behind, having deposited the contents of the bag into the fridge in the kitchen, “It’s not even a Christmas film!”

“It’s set at Christmas, so it’s a Christmas film,” Lana shoots back, handing her a can of Stella, before flopping down beside her and cracking open her own. “And Bruce Willis in that vest? I’m gripped.”

She snorts a laugh, opening her own beer and taking a deep sip, enjoying the way the coolness of the bitter liquid fizzes against her tongue.

“How’ve you been anyway? Your mum and dad not in?”

Lana swallows and pokes at the inside of her cheek with her tongue. “Nah, they’re out for the evening, think they could use a break since face-ache moved back in. I’ve only been back here a few days and he’s already doing my head in.”

She feels her cheeks heat up at the mention of Billy. She’d met Lana’s younger brother when he’d started at the same secondary school as them and, although he was a couple of years below them, she’d always thought he was cute. He was tall, if a little on the lanky side, and his floppy blonde hair and big blue eyes instantly attracted her to him. She’d kept the fact that she fancied him to herself though, feeling it was inappropriate to lust after her best mate’s brother, especially a younger brother.

As the years had passed, Billy’s seemingly permanent cheeky smile had faded into a persistent look of misery. He’d done badly at school, left with failing grades and been rejected each time he’d tried to apply to join the army.

Meanwhile, Lana had flourished, leaving school with a handful of As and Bs. She’d enrolled at college, before enlisting in the army and from there her career in the police force had taken off. She’d moved away from home, had a place of her own and had made her parents proud.

Billy, on the other hand, had struggled with chronic unemployment, eventually falling in with an alt right group who had set him up for a potential terrorist attack. He’d barely escaped the explosion on Cranstead Gardens, and had never really pulled himself back together afterwards. His relationship with his long-term girlfriend, Becky, had broken down and he’d moved out of their flat and back in with his parents, where he’d been living for the last six months.

She hasn’t seen Billy since they left school, but Lana tells her all about him whenever they hang out or chat on the phone. She’s always felt strangely protective of him, where Lana and her parents have given Billy a hard time, she has opted for a softer touch, believing he just needs someone to understand him.

“You can’t be so hard on him,” she says, finger pinging against the ringpull of her can absentmindedly, “he’s been through a lot.”

Lana sighs, grabbing the remote from the coffee table. “You don’t know him like I do. He’s not paying any rent, never tidies up, isn’t bothering to look for work. We can’t help him, he won’t let us, doesn’t wanna help himself.”

“Where is he at the moment?”

“Skulking around upstairs,” Lana nods towards the staircase. “First Christmas he’s not spent at Becky’s mum’s in a long time and he’s taking it…well, I couldn’t tell you how he’s taking it, he never leaves his bloody room.”

She nods sadly, letting the topic go as they settle back into the sofa cushions as the opening credits for Die Hard begin to roll.

“I’m empty,” Lana says around twenty minutes into the film, shaking her beer can. “You want another?”

“It’s alright, I’ll go,” she tell hers, taking her empty and heading towards the kitchen, eager for a break from a film she had no interest in watching last year, let alone again this year.

She chucks the cans into the recycling bin, before opening the fridge and retrieving two more. She yelps as she closes the door, startled by Billy standing there.

“Jesus, Billy–”

“Sorry, sorry…” he mumbles apologetically, a tinge of pink dusting itself across his cheek bones, as he averts his gaze. “Wasn’t tryna scare ya, just came down to make a cuppa.”

She exhales through her nose, a smile tugging at her lips. “S’alright. How are you getting on, anyway? It’s been a while.”

“Yeah…” he says uncertainly, filling the kettle from the sink and then flicking it on to boil. “Guessing you heard what happened then?”

She nods, placing the cans on the side and wiping the condensation off of her hands onto her jeans. “Lana told me. I’m so sorry, Billy, I really hope you’re okay.”

He says nothing for a moment, dropping a tea bag into a mug, followed by a generous pour of milk.

Milk first. Ugh.

“It’s been hard, y’know,” he finally says, “tryna find work, but there’s fuck all out there. What are you up to these days? You’re looking well.”

The sudden shift in focus doesn’t go unnoticed by her, he’s clearly not keen to talk about himself, but she can’t help but smile at the small compliment, feeling herself grow bashful.

“Got a job at a marketing agency,” she tells him, “nothing fancy, but it pays the rent.”

She’s actually a high ranking executive, living in one of the area’s most expensive flat blocks and has a tidy sum saved away for a deposit to eventually buy a place of her own. She’s unsure of why she’s downplaying her achievements, perhaps on some level she feels she owes it to Billy to not rub her success in his face when he’s clearly having a rough time of it.

The kettle boils and Billy fills his mug, stirring the tea bag around with a spoon, before squeezing it out with his fingers, making her wince - that has to burn, but if it does it doesn’t appear to bother him. He discards the used bag on the side, before turning to her. She can see what Lana means about him not tidying up now, it would have taken two steps for him to put it in the bin, and he hasn’t bothered. The laziness almost makes her want to laugh.

“So you and Lana doing your film night then?” He asks, noisily slurping his tea, then fixing her with a soft, yet unblinking gaze.

The intensity of his baby blue eyes flusters her, and for a moment she forgets what he’s asked, feeling the same old butterflies from their school days return. She clears her throat, shaking her head as if to rid herself of the feeling.

“Y-yeah…I’m surprised you remember. You were a teenager the last time we did one of those with you here,” she smiles warmly.

He nods, keeping a hand wrapped around his mug, pushing off of the kitchen side towards her and suddenly she’s aware of just how tall he’s grown, her throat running dry as she feels the kitchen counter bite into her back as she presses herself against it.

She deflates slightly, letting go of a breath she wasn’t aware when she’d been holding, a little disappointed when he brushes past her, lingering in the kitchen doorway.

“I remember,” he says, a ghost of the lopsided smirk she loved so much from their school days playing upon his full lips, “remember what a racket you and Lana used to make pretending you weren’t pissed on that nasty blue stuff.”

She grins, her gaze dropping as she fiddles with the cuff of her jumper sleeve, thinking back to all those years ago. “Sorry, Billy,” she finally says, looking up at him, “we’ll keep it down tonight.”

“No worries, I’ll be upstairs,” he tells her. “Enjoy your film.”

“Billy?” She calls softly after him as he moves to go back upstairs.

He turns, looking at her questioningly.

“You’re looking well too, by the way.”

The dusting of pink that had appeared across his cheekbones earlier now returns in earnest and he gives a simple nod before turning and heading up the stairs.

She deposits his now cold, used teabag into the bin, then grabs hers and Lana’s beers from the side and goes back into the living room.

The rest of the evening passes uneventfully, her and Lana finish off Die Hard, then move onto Gremlins.

On the couple of occasions that she goes upstairs to the bathroom she can hear the sound of Billy playing Call of Duty through his closed door. She thinks about knocking to invite him down to join them, but figures if he had wanted to do that he’d have asked in the kitchen, so she leaves it.

They’re halfway through Jingle All the Way when she feels her eyelids start to grow heavy. She leans forward, placing her half drunk can on the coffee table and turns to Lana.

“I’m gonna have to push off home, babe, I can’t keep my eyes open.”

Lana nods, pausing the film and sitting forward with a yawn. “Yeah, should probably get to bed myself. You gonna be alright getting home? Need me to call you a cab?”

“Nah, it’s only down the road, I’ll be fine walking,” she insists as she puts her shoes and coat back on.

“Alright, well, text me when you get home, yeah?” Her friend says, pulling her into a hug.

“Course,” she smiles, hugging her back and heading towards the front door. “Have a great Christmas. See you for New Year’s.”

Lana waves her off and as the front door closes behind her, she’s about to head back down the pathway when the glowing ember of the end of a lit cigarette catches her eye.

She turns to see Billy leaning against the side of the house, smoking a roll up.

“You off?” He asks, exhaling a plume of smoke that’s made larger by the cold that clings to the puff of his breath.

“Yeah. Was good to see you, Billy,” she says, trying to ignore how her pulse races at the way the soft glow of the street lamp illuminates the sharpness of his side profile.

“I’ll give you a lift, if you want?” He offers, crushing his cigarette beneath his foot.

“You don’t have to do that, I’m only twenty minutes down the road,” she says, suddenly feeling awkward, putting her hands in her coat pocket.

“And you could be five minutes down the road if I drive,” he retorts with a smirk.

She sighs, her gaze softening. Not having to walk home in the cold would be nice, actually. “Yeah, go on then.”

Billy walks around to the front door, opens it and fishes around on the key hooks until he has the set he needs. They walk down the road until they reach a red VW Polo and he unlocks it.

“New car?” She asks nonchalantly, having expected to see his old silver Vauxhall Cavalier.

“Nah, this is mum’s. Haven’t had a car since…well…y’know.”

Since it blew up. Fuck, how could she be so thoughtless?!

“Oh god, Billy, I’m so sorry, I–”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, opening the driver’s side door. “Do you mind just giving me a minute before you get in?”

She nods, keeping her hands in her pockets, watching as feels all around the car’s interior, checking inside the glove box and under the seats.

Checking for explosives.

He finally settles behind the steering wheel, gripping it tightly, attempting to calm his breaths.

“Honestly, Billy, I don’t mind walking…” she says quietly.

He looks up at her, as though just remembering she’s there. “No…no, it’s fine. I want to do it. It’s good for me, I have to.”

“Can I get in now?” She asks, giving Billy a reassuring smile.

He nods, and she walks around to the passenger’s side, climbing in and buckling her seatbealt.

Billy starts the car and they drive in silence for a few moments before he finally speaks.

“You must think I’m such a loser,” he mutters, fingers flexing against the steering wheel.

She turns slightly in her seat, shocked by what he’s said. “I’ve never thought you were a loser. Please don’t say that.”

“I’ve got no job, no car, I live with my mum and dad, can’t even drive without needing to check I won’t fucking blow up first,” he scoffs, “don’t bullshit me.”

“I’m not!” She protests. “You’ve been through so much, Billy, you need to give yourself a break.”

His lips quirk, he pulls a hand away from the steering wheel to pull at the collar of his t-shirt. “S’not just what happened though, brought it on myself dad says. I’ve always been a loser, ever since school.”

“I never thought you were,” she assures him gently, “I actually really fancied you back then.”

Billy draws in a sudden breath, glancing sideways at her as he pulls up outside of her block of flats.

How does he know where she lives? Lana must have told him.

“And now?” He asks, turning off the engine and twisting in his seat to look at her.

It feels as though all the air has left the car suddenly, as they stare at each other. She isn’t sure what possesses her, perhaps the three cans of lager she’s drunk throughout the evening, but she finds herself leaning over the centre console and pushing her lips against his.

He reciprocates, soft and unsure at first, but quickly gains confidence, his mouth moving against hers with more urgency.

She cups his face, her fingers grazing over the stubble at the corner of his jaw that he always seems to miss when shaving and she smiles into the kiss, enjoying its roughness against her fingertips.

Billy seizes the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth and she moans softly as it slides against her own.

Their pupils are wide with lust, the windows of the car fogged up when they finally part for breath, keeping their foreheads pressed together.

He strokes his large hand over the back of her head, his voice barely above a whisper. “Can I come up?”

She swallows thickly, not wanting to reject him, but knowing it’s not a good idea to rush things. “Not tonight, Billy, I–”

He jerks away, hurt flashing across his features, rubbing his nose on the back of his hand. “Right, yeah, sorry, was stupid to think you’d want that…”

“No, no, it’s not that!” She says, reaching over and taking his hand in hers, running her thumb over his scarred knuckles. “We’ve waited so long for this, I don’t wanna rush it. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want you, okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, his shoulders relaxing as he breathes an audible sigh of relief. “Can I text you then?”

“I’d like that,” she looks at him through hooded eyes, “let me give you my number.”

“I’ve got it, don’t worry.”

Oh. Something else Lana must have given him.

“Alright then. Well, goodnight.”

She leans over and pecks him on the lips, then exits his car.

When she goes to sleep that night it’s with a smile upon her face, knowing that her childhood crush feels the same way that she does. In the back of her mind, she knows that Lana will go mad when she finds out, but that’s a bridge she’ll cross when she gets to it.

She is less than enthused when she awakens the next day realising it’s Christmas Eve and she needs to make her annual visit to her great aunt’s for room temperature sherry, mince pies and questions about why she isn’t married with children yet.

Her face lights up when she sees a text on her phone from an unknown number and realises it’s Billy.

She grins excitedly to herself, calling her great aunt and feigning a migraine, before showering and readying herself for her day with Billy.

True to his word in his text, the buzzer to her flat sounds an hour later and he is at her door a few moments later.

It’s awkward at first, as they both stand there sizing each other up, unsure of what to say or do, until he takes the initiative and steps forward to kiss her.

It all feels so easy and natural, as though it’s something they should always have been doing, and when he takes her hand in his as they walk into town she can’t help the way her heart skips a beat at how perfectly her hand slots into his.

They walk around the Christmas market together, hand in hand, drinking mulled wine. For the first time since they were at school together, she sees Billy laugh, a genuine, happy laugh. He makes jokes, a sparkle returning to his eyes and he looks so relaxed, she is finally able to see his potential again, all that he could be if he wasn’t constantly wallowing in self pity, lurking in Lana’s shadow and taking his parents’ criticisms to heart.

When he walks her home that evening, she doesn’t hesitate to invite him up. Gentle affirmations of “I had a nice time today” rapidly escalate to needy kisses as they tug at each other’s clothes. This is the Billy that she wants, and she sees no point in waiting any longer.

His large hands eagerly grasp at her hips as she pushes him down onto the sofa, straddling his lap.

They are a frenzied clash of lips, teeth and tongue, her hands finding their way into his hair, pulling his head back slightly to mouth at his jaw and neck. He groans at the sensation, hips bucking up to meet hers.

When he slides down his tracksuit bottoms and boxers to free the ample hardness that has been pressing against her thigh for the last five minutes, she lifts herself, meaning to remove her tights. She gasps when his long fingers pluck at the crotch, tearing them open and pushing her knickers to the side.

His digits swipe through the wetness of her folds and she shudders against him. “You on the pill?” He asks gruffly.

She nods in affirmation, a whine escaping her as he replaces his fingers with the head of his cock, slowly pressing into her.

The sounds he makes against her ear as he thrusts up into her are lewd, but with every grunt and breathy moan she clenches around him. This is a purely carnal act of desire, fulfilling years’ worth of pent up animalistic need. There will be plenty of time for gentle lovemaking, but right now she just needs to feel him, and judging by the way slams her down to meet each quick thrust, jaw slack and brow furrowed, she is certain he feels the same way.

The throbbing of him inside of her, as he spills deep within her, drives her over the edge and she peaks with a strangled cry, tightening around him in quick successive pulses.

They remain like that for a long while afterwards, resting against each other on the sofa, in the darkness of her living room.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, you’ve got no idea,” he whispers eventually, once his breathing has returned to normal.

“Me too,” she whispers.

“I wanna stay, but–”

“It’s Christmas Eve, Billy, it’s alright. You should get home before your mum gives you an earful.”

They pull unsteadily apart, adjusting their clothes, and she walks him to the door.

“I’ll text you, yeah?” He says.

“Yeah,” she smiles before kissing him softly, “Merry Christmas, Billy.”

“You an’ all,” he murmurs, pulling her into a tight hug and then walking away.

Christmas Day is uneventful. Presents and a roast at her parents’, followed by an afternoon of board games and films.

She gets a happy Christmas text from Lana, and smiles when she gets one from Billy too - the first he’s ever sent her.

By the time Boxing Day rolls around, she’s already thoroughly fed up with her family and eager to be back in her own space. She grins when her phone buzzes with a message from Billy.

She pulls out her phone, thinking carefully about what to send to her best friend, before typing a message.

She arrives at Billy and Lana’s parents’ house an hour later and is given a warm welcome by everyone. It’s strange not being able to interact properly with Billy, considering how close they’ve become so quickly over the last few days, however, he carries himself with a confidence she’s never seen him have in front of his family before.

He stands a little straighter, actually bothers to make eye contact when he talks to people. It spreads a warmth within her chest to see him no longer looking so downtrodden and defeatist, she can no longer sense the anger that used to simmer just below the surface like she used to be able to.

His eyes find hers whenever no one’s looking and she can’t help the smiles that she directs his way.

The leftovers have been dished up and they’ve been sitting around the TV for an hour when she goes upstairs to use the bathroom.

Noticing Billy’s bedroom door ajar on her way back downstairs, she can’t resist a peek inside. She’d never dared go in when she’d come to see Lana when they were younger. She pushes the door fully open, nose wrinkling at the rumpled bed sheets and assortment of dirty socks and boxers that litter the floor, but smiles as she casts her eye over the Oasis poster on the wall and the acoustic guitar that leans against the chest of drawers.

She twiddles absentmindedly with the PS4 controller, when a box that’s been shoved haphazardly beneath the bed catches her eye. She drags it out, pulling out a scrapbook that sits on the top.

Her heart hammers in her chest, her blood feeling as though it runs ice cold as she flips through it. It’s filled with old school photos of her, plus newer pictures that have clearly been printed off from her social media accounts.

Rummaging further into the box she pulls out items she’d assumed she’d either lost or that Lana had borrowed on the occasions she’d stayed over - there are scrunchies, old lip balms, even a pair of her underwear. Disgust causes bile to rise in her throat, a mixture of fear and disbelief quickly spreads its way through her body.

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” Billy’s voice says quietly from the doorway, causing her to gasp as she looks up in fright. “Doesn’t matter now though, don’t need that shit anymore, not now I’ve got the real thing.”

“Billy,” she pleads, her voice shaking, “what is all this?”

“I’ve always wanted you, never thought you’d feel the same though. She looked like you, y’know,” he tells her, stepping closer and shutting the door behind him.

“Who?” Tendrils of icy fear spread to her belly, every nerve in her body screaming at her to run, yet she stays rooted to her spot on the bed.

“Becky,” he says simply, “she was the spit of you. Only reason I went out with her, to be honest. I was gutted when she ended things, but she doesn’t matter now. Don’t need some cheap knock off, not when I have you.”

“Please, Billy, you’re scaring me,” she whispers, tears pricking her eyes.

“Everything’s gonna be alright. Job hunting, the bomb, none of it matters because I’ve got you.”

“Listen to yourself, this isn’t you,” she pleads, backing up on the bed away from him as he towers over her.

“You’ve seen how much better I am with you, you can’t take that away. I need you. And I make you feel good too. Look, you just need a reminder.”

He looms over her on the mattress, his hand darting between her legs and she whimpers.

“Billy, no, please…”

She wants to scream, to cry out and make him stop, but the thought of attracting the attention of Lana and her parents and them coming up here and seeing all of this is more than she can stand. So she lays there, lets Billy slide his hand up her skirt and into her underwear, hating the way her body responds to his trust.

“See?” He murmurs again the shell of her ear. “Only I can make you feel like this. Everything is gonna go my way now that you’re mine, you’ll see.”

Her vision goes watery, a combination of tears and building pleasure causing the poster on the opposite wall to blur.

She tenses as his fingers work her quickly towards her climax and she screws her eyes shut, shuddering with a quiet whine as she falls apart.

“There you go,” he coos gently, “I’ve got you now, and I’m never letting you go.”

The way he says it sends a shiver down her spine. Billy is a man with nothing to lose. He means it. He’ll never let her go.

[be-my-ally]

Snowballs and Kisses

Hello darlings!! Merry Christmas! I hope everyone celebrating has a wonderful day, and everyone for whom it is a usual monday has a better than usual start to the week!! 

I have been MIA the last few weeks on here, but never fear I have been busy behind the scenes and hopefully more things and fics will be finished very soon!! I cannot wait for my little new year break, and *finally* catching up on all the stuff I've missed!! In the meantime as a ittle teeny tiny Christmas gift please enjoy this timeskip for my Splashing Around ‘verse to Christmas Eve 1960 and my shameless OC self insert of what I’d like to gift Elvis. 

a/n not totally accurate weather references: it didn’t actually snow in memphis in the latter half of 1959 but, this is fanfiction after all and it *was* very cold november 18th 1959. (I also cut a whole 4k of angst that will come out at some point as a separate chapter, Anita getting a poodle, and the colonel dressed as santa because honestly i just wanted to write and read fluff, but here's a warning that there may end up being more festive fics posted…a little late). 

warnings: 18+, smut lite; gentle fingering and references to cumming in pants. UNEDITED

Graceland - December 1960 

The excitement of having Elvis back at home for the festive season was only slightly tempered by the knowledge that it was his first Christmas at home without his mother. He’d not really tried to celebrate properly in Germany; sure they’d done the best they could, and he raved about the gift of a fully dressed tree for weeks,  but it hadn’t been the same as it would have been at home. 

This year though, Elvis seemed determined to restore the festive spirit. Perhaps even further than just restoration - an attempt to make it as bright and jolly as possible in response to both his mother’s passing, and missing the last two. He’d bragged to anyone who would listen about how excited he was to give out presents, his plans for even more lights than ever before; signs and lawn decorations.

While Louise was excited, it had left her in an almost constant state of anxiety, Christmas wasn’t just about the gift-giving… but it was a large enough part of it that it’s where her mind immediately went. From the moment he suggested they hang at Graceland that first year, from the first time they’d all pored over the letter to Frances, and his promises to “have a ball next Christmas”, giggling and whispering about what fun they were going to have the following year. From all of those times Louise had been preoccupied with what to get him and whether her secret plan was good enough for Elvis of all people. 

That first year he had reiterated to them all and was absolutely adamant no-one needed to gift him anything and wouldn’t hear of anything being sent over to him. But his frequent calls and mentions of the upcoming holiday belied his actual feelings and besides, Louise wanted him to feel special. Wanted him to know they’d been thinking of him as much as he must have missed being home. It wasn’t until the 27th of November and the slightest of snowfalls had occurred, tiny little snowflakes, delicately falling down when the temperature had dropped just enough for the rain to crystallise when a flash of inspiration hit her. She couldn’t send it, so instead she’d waited patiently, adding to her bundle throughout the months. Now that it was almost time to give it though she was second-guessing that two year decision. Was it too juvenile? It’s just so tricky to buy for the man who literally has anything he could ever wish for. As the festive period hurtles on she resigns herself to having to hunt for a back-up gift���maybe a nice sweater. Maybe that will do.  Or maybe it’s best to have options. 

Elvis’ melancholia about the holiday doesn’t seem to stretch into Christmas Eve, and he encourages them with all the enthusiasm he’s ever had. The party starts from mid-afternoon and stretches long into the evening and night with all the makings of an excellent time from the music to the food until eventually they all find themselves around the extravagant tree to exchange presents. It’s a little chaotic, so many people about and frequently someone’s having to dive from room to room to fetch people or hidden gifts. Louise finds it almost dizzying when she finally manages to take a seat on the long sofa, catching her breath from being sent to find someone. She was already finding herself struggling to think whenever she glanced over at Elvis - he looked outrageously good in a white shirt, black trousers - well, he looked outrageously good all the time at the moment - but there was something about the feeling in the air of the day that made it all the harder to act natural around him. Elvis had been quiet for a moment, but now he was sat on his armchair across the room, looking for all the world like a king on a throne ready to bestow his generosity on the peasants. Except, that’s not the feeling in the room at all; it’s jolly and wonderful, picture perfect - all of them slightly tipsy on champagne and vodka cocktails and finding the evening all the more entertaining for it. He announces he wants to give the presents that he’s bought everyone before he opens his own, and Louise dips her eyes when he hands her a little bow-tied box. No-one else’s comes with a ribbon and she strokes it, feeling a glow emanating from her stomach and chest as she imagines his nimble fingers tying it on, totally ignoring the fact that she knows someone else probably wrapped it for him. Still, she tugs it off to hide from the others - not wanting to be teased about how such a little gesture has made her blush so strongly - and tucks it into her palm, fully intending on slipping it into her shoe or around her wrist in a moment, knowing she’ll keep it forever - wear it in her hair like a declaration.

When she looks back up everyone has a similar box and she opens it quickly in case they’re all the same - she doesn’t want to ruin her surprise. There, nestled in a little velvet box is a ring, a huge, gaudy red stone in the centre, almost too big for her finger.  Louise is transfixed, staring at it, barely a thought in her head as she tries to wrap her head around the way it sparkles in the light. Despite the size of the gem, the band was more than a little small when she tries to slip it on, and she quietly puts it back into the box, not wanting to draw attention to her apparently larger than expected fingers. She glances around, suddenly coming out of her shocked obliviousness. Her face falling when she realises that everyone around her is unboxing similarly precious jewellery. She’s resigning herself to having to sneak it off to get it resized and hating herself a little for it, wondering if there are exercises she could do or maybe a special diet to shrink her fingers to size, when she suddenly realises all the other girls are turning each-other around, kissing Elvis on the cheek in thanks, or asking him to clasp their new necklaces. Louise looks back down at her box and the others. What does a ring mean? It’s been gifted with such casualness that it can’t possibly mean anything can it? When she looks back up Elvis is staring right at her, and she makes eye contact with him - her wide eyes meeting his laughing ones. He winks, and turns back to Red. She tries her best to distract herself from it, ooh and aahing over everyone else’s and keeping quiet about the little box clutched tight in her hand. 

Half hour later Elvis is admiring his own little haul, when he catches her eye again, 

“You forget about me Lou?” Louise cringes at being called out so publicly, 

“Of course not!” She looks around the room, at the large group gathered there, “No, uh, why don’t you, well I’ve gotten you something else….It’s a sweater. It’s not great really, but I… your real gift I’ve made you, but,” She swallows building her courage, unsure why she’s so nervous suddenly when she’d been so excited for so long; the whole idea just seemed juvenile and silly now. “… you’ve gotta follow me for it.” He stares into her eyes for a second, before nodding and standing up, gesturing at her as if to say ‘lead the way’. 

He grins at the boys when they walk out, making a salacious movement as if to suggest her gift may not be all too family-friendly to accompanying guffaws of laughter. She ignores it, even as her tummy churns; should she be offering that? Is that what he wants these days?

“Don’t laugh.” She asks nervously as they walk into the little pantry. Elvis looks bemused to find himself there, leaning against the wall of the tiny space 

“I won’t” Louise nods, shutting the door, only to hear Elvis giggle, “You tryin’ to get me alone, doll?” 

“You said you wouldn’t laugh!”

“One hell of a christmas present! to be locked in a cupboard with a pretty little gal.” 

She rolls her eyes, wiggling past him to get to the freezer, 

“Close your eyes.” He obediently does so, and she reaches into an old box of ice-cream to pull out a Tupperware, “Hold your hands out.” And she puts it in his cupped fingers, “Ok…open.” He blinks down at the Tupperware.

“Um. Well, thanks, I’m uh, sure this will be useful.” Louise rolls her eyes, impatiently tugging off the lid herself, “Oh.” Elvis goes silent, staring at the three perfect, teeny snowballs balanced in the tub. Each resting upon a little piece of paper with Louise’s very best cursive handwriting spelling out the date; December 12th 1958, 18th November 1959, and 20th December 1960.  

The silence stretches as Elvis stares at the box, and Louise starts to ramble nervously,  “I was starting to panic this year, but at least I’d thought to pick some up back in January — it snowed so heavy on the 5th.  I think it was, or maybe the 15th? I’ll have to check my diary… so I mean it isn’t entirely accurate that it’s all from the 20th - but I mean, I had to have something and well I know how much you loved it when, when your mother… and I wanted you to know I’ve been thinkin’ of you non-stop while you were away. So, here, the first snow from the garden from every year you missed.” Elvis is still staring at the box, one finger poking each little round ball. 

“This really snow from two years ago?” 

“Uh-huh… I mean I don’t know what you’re gonna do with it now, but it really is… been in that box in the freezer this whole time…I hid it from everyone. Every time someone said they wanted some ice cream I panicked.”  

“Lou.” 

“‘M sorry this is really stupid, god - what are you gonna do with some snowballs, I should’ve gone in with the other girls, got you something really good… I just - well, I thought you’d like it and I know you misse-”

“Baby, I don’t, I don’t know what to say. I… I didn’t think anyone would think of me like this, like mama did, ever again. I - well, thank you, Lou darling, this is, well, its the best damn gift I’ve ever gotten.” He grabs her arm, tugging her to him - pressing a hard kiss to her forehead, the force of it surprising her.  “I’m gonna show everyone - c’mon - quick before they melt.” He runs out of the kitchen, leaving Louise to follow meekly behind. 

He shows them off like he’s a new father, proudly holding them up in the box, delicately picking one of them up and sighing at it, holding it up at the light for everyone to marvel at. It’s a little ridiculous in some ways - everyone in the room had been gifted something hugely lavish, and yet the thing  everyone was talking and gossiping at was a snowball. 

Hours later the party finally winds down enough that Louise realises she’s one of the last few stragglers of a night so late it’s turned into Christmas morning. How she’d ended up in this position she’ll never know, and she questions it herself as she stands quietly in the doorway, watching Elvis fumble on the piano. Just his fiddling is beautiful, little snippets of remembered carols, before he hammers onto the keys, singing along to Santa Claus is Back in Town. Louise can’t help the breathy gasp that escapes her and he looks up at her, smiling almost teasingly, perfect glint in his eye as he pauses for a second to run a hand through his hair before he continues for another verse and a half. He stops almost abruptly, standing up to stretch before turning to her. She’s trying to find the words to explain how beautiful it was, how perfect he sounds - how she can feel it throughout her whole being, but before she can express those sentiments he’s in front of her and grasping her hand. 

“C’mon,” He tugs her over to the armchair he’d been sat in earlier in the evening, “Over here hon, that’s it - you’re the last.” Elvis throws himself onto the chair, holding onto her, pulling her stumbling body against his. “You’re the last of my girls left…” He sighs melodramatically and Louise giggles uncontrollably back at him. She’d had an illicit two glasses and a half of champagne earlier in the evening; Elvis had playfully wagged his finger at her as she’d accepted it from Red although she’d seen him have more than a few drinks himself. She can feel the bubbles still settling into her tummy and head, fuzzing her thoughts a little and making her giggly and affectionate. Still, she wasn’t so tipsy she couldn’t call out his overdramatic behaviour. 

“They’ve just gone home for the night. They’ll be back tomorrow I’m sure.”  She shakes her head. He ignores her, crying out, 

“I’m all alone!” He tugs her by her elbow, catching her as she stumbles into his lap, pulling her onto him, flattening her wide skirt. It wasn’t really the fashion anymore but while she’d been momentarily hesitant about her holiday dress she wasn’t self-conscious, and she liked how it made her shape look. Some might suggest the bow and petticoats were juvenile, but it made her feel more adult than the tighter styles that were starting to become popular with her peers, more herself than playing dress-up. 

She snuggles under his arm, head pillowed on his chest, cheeks pressed against the little buttons of his shirt. He pretends to choke at her hair brushing his nose, using his free hand to flatten it under his chin and she grins, shivering against him as his breath tickles her skin. They stay cuddled for a few moments, sinking into the kind of happy exhaustion that seems to only occur on holidays. It feels different than before, although Elvis is more similarly carefree than she’d seen him in a long time. He’d grown up a lot over the years she hadn’t seen him, or so it felt, and his adultness didn’t match the image of him playing and fooling around that she had in her head. It’s an awful feeling, she thinks, that even with him right there, surrounding her, she still longs for a little more of the playfulness of the past.

Suddenly though Elvis shifts, interrupting her thoughts and murmuring against the top of her head, 

“Y’hear that?” Louise stops breathing, and all she can hear is the solid thump-thump of his heart against her ear, he waits a second but she can’t work out what he’s referring to and doesn’t respond, he gasps “There it is again! Do you hear it?” 

Louise shakes her head against him, frowning a little, “No?” She tries really hard to listen out, but other than the faintest hint of the music from the boys in the other room she can’t hear a thing. “The music?”  

“No! No, listen.” He puts his finger to his lips, shushing her,

“I really don’t hear anything Elvis.” He wraps his arm around her waist a little tighter, tugging her up so she was sat more upright on his knee, her face close to his. He whispers into her ear, 

“I think I hear hooves…” Louise frowns, 

“Hooves!?” God, it would be just her luck that he’d gone and bought her a horse or something, and she’d have to act grateful even though she was terrified of them.  

“Mmhmm, that’s right.” His hand rises up to brush across her back gently, fingertips dancing around her side, “Hooves. Hooves and bells.” He pauses for dramatic effect, jabbing his finger into her side in a tickling poke. His voice dips lower, as his arm squeezes around her, “Someone must have been a good girl this year.” 

Louise grins when she realises what he’s implying and couldn’t bring herself not to play along. 

“…You think it’s Santa Claus?!” 

“Hmm, definitely…who else would it be, on the roof with hooves and bells on Christmas eve?” She giggles, both in response to his kind-natured teasing and his fingers poking her side with an exaggerated motion.

“Oh, I wonder what he’ll leave in my stocking…” Elvis hums against her hair, 

“Mmm. Coal.” 

“Nooo!” She giggles back to him, “You just said I’ve been a good girl!”

“You’ve been a very good little girl.” His voice has hit that low pitch that immediately sends a jolt down her spine, right into the pit of her stomach and she swallows, trying to keep up with the joke. 

“Well, I’m, uh, I’m sure I’ll like whatever it is.” 

“Mmhmm….” His hand brushes up her leg, “Bet ya I’ll like what’s in your stockings more…” 

“Elvis!” She shrieks, playfully batting his hand away, he pulls it off of her, smoothing down her skirt, and resting it onto her lap for a moment. Louise feels her breath catching as he presses a kiss to the side of her head, brushing her hair out of the way and shifting her on his thigh so that she’s facing him. It’s almost a struggle for her to meet his eyes, she felt so desperate for his attention - but there was nowhere else to look that made her feel any less heated. His hair, god even his eyebrows were Elvis-enough to make her squirm. It’s only a second of him kissing her jaw, before she’s gasping for him, and before she knows what she’s doing she’s grabbing his hand and shoving it back on her thigh. 

She’d kept herself for him, even as it felt that she’d been playing before, doing it for someone who would never notice or care - ostensibly in general, but really if she was truthful - for him. She’d touched herself, hadn’t been able to resist the temptation, especially after his deep voice came through the phone - but the other boys, the boys in school, the ones with blue collar jobs and careers, had all lost their appeal whenever she imagined kissing them, and her imagination interposed the image and feeling of him, his slippery body in the pool, the feel of him in front of her on the bike. He was thinner now, even still, than he was before, puppy fat replaced with lean muscles. His face shape changed just the tiniest bit, perhaps unnoticeable to some, but so very obvious to her, cheekbones and chin more angular than before. But his lips feel the same as they did before he left, and since his return home - she’d expected they’d have lost their eager nature, but still she can feel the hint of desperation as he presses them against her jaw.

She gasps, rocking against him as he roves down her neck - a place no one else has ever touched, tiny points of pressure feeling like a heat was expanding across her neck and chest, matching the clench of her thighs. His hand gently strokes up her stockings before he hitches her up, capturing his mouth with hers and shoving her underlayers up to her waist in the abrupt movement. Louise moves with him, desperate to stay in contact with his lips and she moans in upset when he starts to pull away. 

“C’mon baby,” He whispers, “C’mon, Lou-Lou let me - let me say thank you,” He’s barely audible as he speaks against her lips between pressing bruising kisses onto them, “I just - wanna, wanna make you feel good, Lou doll.” She gasps out her agreement, eyes falling closed and her head falling into his shoulder as his fingers find their way to rub against the silk of her underwear. He shifts her again, balancing her so she can rock against his thigh and his hand, whilst also rubbing her leg against his covered crotch. Louise is almost surprised at the heat of him against her thigh, but her curiosity has no chance to be satisfied when he hooks a finger under the leg band of her panties, totally distracting her from anything but the feel of him under her and attempting to stay somewhat upright. His finger feels softer than she’d imagined, and yet, in comparison to her own the pads feel foreign, rougher and surer than hers ever were sliding into the wetness they find there.

“God, you’re so soft baby, so fucking soft in here, perfect for me, you been waiting on me, honey?” 

“Uh-huh, waited, waited so long for you Elvis - didn’t, I didn’t want anyone but you.” He groans in response, his fingers moving faster. Until he’s forced to stop, tangled in the fabric and he growls in frustration. Louise feels it go straight down her body, and her thighs clench, trapping his hand even more. He pauses for barely a second to manhandle her up, just enough to roughly tug her panties down enough that it’s now entirely her bare skin rubbing against his hand and clothed thigh, the fibres of his trousers almost giving her a friction burn with her rapid movements. He continues as he was a second earlier, but now with far easier access he’s able to swipe his fingers across her clit, taking her to the edge almost immediately. She has no idea if this was something he’s always done well, or if this is a trick he’d picked up while he was away, but whatever the reason she was grateful. She doesn’t even consider how they were still, essentially, in public, too distracted by his slender fingers to be concerned about her now partial nudity. The only noise to break up their combined breathy moans is the layers of of taffeta rustling between them, as she continues to rock against his thigh, but this all changes when he delves his thumb into her wetness, bringing it back up to stroke circles on her clit, gently but repeatedly running it over her. 

“Oh, Elvis?” She cries out,  

“What baby? You’re so - I can feel you’re close,” His own breathing is getting heavier, and he holds her steady with his other hand grasping her thigh while his thumb continues to stroke her, 

“I don’t - I don’t…” She doesn’t even know what she’s trying to say, and before she manages to turn it into a complete sentence she’s shaking on him as she rides out her orgasm. He sees her through it, continuing to stroke her with the same pressure before rapidly shoving his hand down his own pants, roughly rubbing himself off to quick completion. She watches him closely, unable to do anything but stare as his own eyes slide closed, head falling back against the couch and mouth opening as he gasps out a high-pitched moan. It was about enough to make her shudder again against his thigh, the look on his face, his mussed hair, open collar and the noises of sheer pleasure. Louise finds herself bouncing on his chest as he breathes rapidly from the effort, and he holds her tight for a few moments while they both regain use of their limbs. Louise feels almost a little shell-shocked and she only really comes to her senses when Elvis shifts, wiping his hand on his trousers with a grimace and patting her thigh, 

“Gosh that was, I, um, thank you El,” He grins at her, clearly pleased with his success, and he pats her leg again, 

“Thank you, honey, for just about the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me earlier baby, it was just - I’m gonna treasure them snowballs forever, you’ll see.” She grins back at him before an unstoppable yawn takes over her face, “C’mon lil girl, time for bed.” She gulps, thinking about all the people on the house - worrying what will happen next, 

“D’you…where am I gonna sleep?” Elvis frowns, little furrowed line marring his previously relaxed face, 

“With me?” 

“Oh,” Louise swallows, “Um, I think my parents will be expecting me - you know, Christmas morning’s all about -“ 

“Don’t worry honey, I’ll drop you home at the crack of dawn,” He winks, “-gotta make sure the house is all in order in any case anyway.” Elvis pauses, “Or, or you could invite your mama and pops over. They’d be more than welcome…nothing my mama liked more than a full house - especially at Christmas.” He’s looking at her with that earnest little boy expression again and it takes everything in her not to just suggest she should stay forever, it was so absurd that he’d want her to stay, instead of the other way around. 

“Well…maybe I could stay. And, well, I mean, I could come over in the evening? If you swear you’ll make sure I get home in time -“ He’s quick to interject, 

“Cross my heart darling,” She hums at him, and he motions the crossing of his heart across his chest, solemnly holding eye contact, “I swear.”

“Ok then, I’d love to stay.” 

Somehow, and (despite his promises) to Louise’s surprise, she’s dutifully shaken awake and dropped off home, albeit not by Elvis himself, only a few very short hours later. Coming up the driveway of her childhood home it feels almost inconceivable that she should have spent the day and night how she has, and she wonders for a brief moment if she hadn’t knocked her head or something and just hallucinated the whole affair. She’s so in her thoughts that she doesn’t yet notice, as she traipses past the lounge and kitchen where she can hear her mother singing to quickly change, a new set of boxes under the Christmas tree. Elvis’ script on the gift tags declaring “To Louise, a very good girl, from Santa.” 

taglist: (it's been so long that I've lost the list for this verse - lmk if you want to be added, or taken off!)

@lialocklear @ellie-24 @vintageshanny @thatbanditquee @lookingforrainbows @whositmcwhatsit @from-memphis-with-love @missmaywemeetagain @peskybedtime @powerofelvis @dkayfixates @shakerattlescroll

[respectthepetty]

I need to stress something somewhere. And I know you will be able to help or even help be observe but, I have a haunting feeling that in the clips we have of Mork reading to Day, is in the future and….Mork isn’t actually there anymore . … many reasons with the scenes set up but the main things for me is the fish. There is only one in the rank now in that scene. And the book marks in the book. 1 fish bookmark, the other an avocado? And their legs are covered with a blanket. So no 2 slippers of fish is shown……am I creating narrative things that are not there or seeing things wrong? it just feels almost a melancholy scene set up in front of the tank…… and I’m scared!!

What are your thoughts pretty please?!

Anon, I'm choosing violence first, then I'll be kind.

On Spanish TikTok, or as I like to call it Tea Talk, someone stated they saw the book's ending, and it ended with Mork dying and donating his eyes to Day.

The people of Tea Talk ripped that video to shreds. The comments section was not pleased with the mentiras (lies), and Indonesian TikTok even showed up in the fray with the actual book to prove the original poster was "Livin' La Vida Loca."

I don't know how this cookie will crumble, but let me remind you of two things:

#1 - This is GMMTV.

It gave us The Shipper in 2020 at the height of the pandemic, and I think it has been correcting that wrong since.

And it gave us Only Friends in 2023.

I wanted murder and mayhem. Instead it gave everyone happy endings except the slut because apparently he had too many "happy endings" and *morality* or some bullshit.

If you are watching Playboyy, it's what Only Friends could have been if Disney BL hadn't produced it.

I might sound salty (because I am), but I'm really just trying to emphasize that GMMTV wouldn't. Period. Full stop. GMMTV wouldn't give us a sad ending to a branded pair. It will kill a mom quick, but sad times for a branded pair? ¡Nunca! For example, how did we all know Palm x Nueng were gonna be safe and sound in Never Let Me Go? Our Skyy 2. Can't have Our Skyy 3 if it kills a ship now can it?

#2 - This is Aof

The director, producer, and screenwriter extraordinaire shot Pat (Ohm) on Christmas Eve.

He killed Papang!

Hell, he killed Singto before the series even started!

Mork (NOT GAWIN, NO!) got beat up and was hospitalized!

And yet, we got a happy ending each time.

The man wants to make use cry, but he has never ended with queer trauma to do so.

Which is why there are still two fish in that tank.

And I think the avocado is a shout out to Jimmy's love of them (because who doesn't love avocados, am I right?).

So as much as I do not think the reading scenes we keep getting are set in the present,

I don't think they are setting us up for a sad future, especially because Korea already did this trick.

If you watched To My Star 2: Our Untold Stories last year, you know that shit hurt, every, single, episode,

and because it hurt, we were too blinded by the pain to notice the happiness sprinkled throughout.

The happiness we were seeing wasn't flashbacks of their past relationship or even snippets of their current one.

THEY WERE GLIMPSES OF THEIR HAPPY FUTURE!

Korea gave us The Eighth Sense and Strongberry's Choco Milk Shake, both which had the perfect premises to fuck us over, and yet my only complaint was NO POLY!

If Korea can delivery happy endings, Disney BL can too (but not the kind it punished Boston for. Never those kind). It isn't Taiwan, and it certainly isn't Japan who is ALWAYS itching to give maximum pain. This is "soft power" Thailand, GMMTV, Aof, and a branded pair. If GMMTV brought out Gawin to get Krist and Joss back to kiss a homie, I greatly doubt it would tank the JimmySea ship for a sad ending (did you get the pun?). If there is one thing I can count on GMMTV for, it's to secure the bag. Sell merch. Sell novels. Sell a special box edition of the series. Sell the ship. That won't happen if this is sad.

Also, color-coded boys in love get happy endings.

It's science.

[isfjmel-phleg]

Comics are not meant to have a consistent internal timeline. They take place whenever they need to, which is usually whatever the present day is, even if that amount of time hasn't gone by within the story. That's just how it works. Trying to create a consistent timeline for a comic is pointless to attempt.

So I went through Impulse taking notes on whatever each issue reveals of when it's set. I didn't try to reconcile anything--that's impossible--but I wanted to see if there was at least a vague notion of the passage of time. Here are some observations about what I found.

The year is always whatever the current year is. The earliest issues are set in 1995 and the last one in 2002, even though it hasn't been seven years for the characters. (Although there's an issue late in the series in which Bart talks about his eagerness for high school and how he feels like he's been in middle school for years.)

Bart and Max seem to arrive in Manchester in May, although Bart’s schoolgoing doesn’t seem to match that—he’s not on summer break shortly after.

The first six issues cover maybe less than a couple of weeks. By #9, Bart is said to have been with Max for at least two months.

In #24, Bart tells his mother that he’s been in the twentieth century for a couple years, but this seems like too long a time period for what we’ve seen of his adventures. It’s probable that it only has felt like two years to him. In #25, Bart is said to have been with Max for “months and months.” In #32, set maybe a few weeks after Bart’s return from his attempt to move back to the thirtieth century, it’s said to have been nearly six months since #6, which takes place over a week into Bart’s time in Manchester. So my best guess is that Bart’s time with Max before Meloni comes to get him (#1-24) is about four or five months.

Bart’s first Halloween is in #44, while he and Max are living with Helen. There are two separate Christmases shown in surprisingly close proximity in #45 and #57, as well as the story “No, Bart, There Is No Santa Claus” in DC Universe Holiday Bash #3, which was released at the same time as #44 and might be the same Christmas as in #45. Bart’s first April Fool’s Day is seen in #50 and is set during his living at Helen’s house and after his joining Young Justice; since it’s a sequence that Thad is watching, it’s possible that it takes place earlier chronologically than where it’s placed.

Inertia makes himself known to Bart on the day of a Fourth of July fair in #52 (yet Bart recently got a report card). But by #54, it’s already September and just before the start of school. Where did the rest of the summer go? #57 is Christmas Eve and #59 is Valentine’s Day. #63 shows a June date on a test but by #67, weeks later, it’s around Halloween. There’s no way to make sense of this.

The Mercury Falling arc lasts several weeks. Over a week later, Bart starts to realize he’s romantically interested in Carol, only to lose her to distant time traveling during the Dark Tomorrow arc, which takes place over about a day. Within the next few weeks, he joins Young Justice in doing their part in a war, goes to Apokolips, experiences his own death vicariously, goes into a coma for several days, and returns to school the following week. Around this time, he decides to give up being Impulse and his membership in Young Justice. He resumes the Impulse identity about two weeks later. As little as less than a week later, Max disappears into the speed force. About a week after, Bart moves to Denver to live with the Garricks. 

Therefore, Bart goes through a series of traumas and dramatic life changes within the space of three to four months. His losing Carol and his not-quite-death and coma take place over about a month, and it’s no wonder that he has a depressive episode in #78. Not even he can be that resilient for that long.

In #71, the narration states that Max has been Bart’s mentor “for the past year or so.” In #75, Carol claims that she and Bart have known each other “a couple of years,” although she has known him for as long as he’s been with Max—is she rounding up? In #79, it’s said that it’s been “a little over a year” since Bart and Max moved in with Helen, which would suggest that they’ve lived in Manchester a year and a half at most. The final issue, #89, which takes place not very long after that, states that it’s been “a few short years” since Bart became Impulse, which would include the unspecified amount of time he spent living with Wally and Iris after arriving in the twentieth century, before he and Max moved to Manchester.

Given this information, the timeline that makes the most sense to me is for Bart to have spent a few months at most with Wally and Iris in Keystone City, then four or five months with just Max in Manchester, then about a year and a half with Max and Helen, and then less than a month with the Garricks in Denver by the end of the series—a bit over two years. If time were passing normally, by the end of the series, Bart should be about sixteen (or four, chronologically) and in eleventh grade.

[gascon-en-exil]

It's curious that I'm fielding these random anons about No Nut November all of a sudden, but between them and the surge in Marah Carey on social media today I've come to the wry observation that American culture has effectively turned its December holiday season into an imitation of New Orleans Carnival. The push to extend the holidays up to the day after Halloween has been growing throughout my lifetime, but it now seems to be so complete that no one questions it anymore.

Both seasons begin on a Catholic feast day: the Feast of All Saints (1 November) or Epiphany (6 January).

Both last for approximately two months, long enough to incorporate other holidays into them. For Carnival this is the Feast of the Presentation (2 February) and usually the Feast of St. Valentine as well; for the American holidays this is the American Thanksgiving, Hanukkah and sometimes Kwanzaa (although those more often seem to be half-hearted, slightly mocking inclusions), and the New Year.

Both are related to traditional inversion festivals - holidays that invert the normal social order through public carousing, masquerades, etc. Carnival itself is an inversion festival, while the holiday season now immediately follows Halloween which is probably the closest equivalent for Anglo-Americans.

Each is followed by a lull, coming-down period, although this part is not universally adhered to. After Mardi Gras comes Lent, in which Catholics fast and abstain from vices for six weeks, while for the American holidays the equivalent seems to be the days between Christmas and New Year's Eve, and/or most if not all of January.

Despite the above, each is also followed by another, smaller wave of indulgence. New Year's occupies this role for the American holidays, whereas in New Orleans at least the feasts of St. Patrick and St. Joseph in mid-March follow Carnival with another round of parades (this time hurling cabbages) and public altars piled sumptuously with food for the less fortunate.

Truly, for as reviled as New Orleans can be in some US circles, they still want to be us so very much. This city itself passes through both seasons back-to-back which can be quite exhausting if one tries to celebrate every holiday from...whenever Halloween starts nowadays up through Mardi Gras. Fortunately I've never had that problem, as I've never celebrated Halloween nor the American Thanksgiving, and the Noël that I'm accustomed to is vastly different from the strangely nonspecific Christmas that US Protestants can be so protective of.

[thebuckblogimo]

Five miscellaneous things I couldn't recall during the holidays--things that I just used to know.

January 4, 2024

I've been writing these essays for about a dozen years. A recurring theme has been my concern about memory loss. When my Dad was in his late 70's to mid 80s, I observed how his dementia evolved into Alzheimer's. And I watched my mother's cognition decline to the point that she began accusing my sister, her primary care giver, of stealing her possessions.

Consequently, one of my biggest fears is that I'll develop a similar condition and turn into someone other than who I was.

Lately it seems that I've been having unusual trouble pulling things up from the database of my mind--things that I thought I had absolutely, positively internalized along the way. Here are five examples from the recent holiday period:

What's the password? For about a year I've had the same one for unlocking my laptop. However, after not using it for a couple weeks, I couldn't come up with the password while staying at my sister's home during Christmas time. I knew that it included a couple of my favorite numbers, but couldn't identify the symbols associated with it until returning home and consulting my password book.

A nephew's doppleganger. When I walked into my sister's home for our annual family Christmas party, the first person I spotted was my nephew Jake, sporting a new mustache and "fade" haircut. He looked like the spitting image of uh, uh.... I couldn't come up with the name of a Minnesota Golden Gohpers great who went on to star in the NBA, a player I followed when he played in the Big Ten and later with the Detroit Pistons. I couln't make the call at the party without doing some sleuthing on my phone: Kris Humphries.

Mr. Las Vegas. We were watching television at my sister's home on Christmas night when we saw a commercial promoting the highest grossing entertainer in Las Vegas history, the guy who has had about 18 face lifts and sang "Danke Schoen" back in 1963. I've known him forever. Saw him on all the television variety shows at the peak of his career. And yet, it took an hour for my sister and I to recall the name of Wayne Newton.

Who was that guy? My brother and I talk about the highs and lows of Spartan sports all the time. As we were going over the football team's probable starting lineup for next fall, neither one of us could name the returning, first-string running back. Knowing stuff like that used to be second nature for me. Finally, after an hour of self-flagellation, I recalled that the running back in question was a transfer from Connecticut: Nathan Carter.

Full disclosure. It was a few days ago that I decided to write about fading memory. I made a mental note at the time of the five things I failed to recall over the holidays. As fate would have it, I have forgotten the fifth and final one I had intended to write about.

During the run-up to the holidays, my mother-in-law (whose memory loss is accelerating), was staying with us in Grand Haven when we received a phone call that one of our sons was on the way to ER at Beaumont Hospital in Royal Oak. Debbie dropped what she was doing (wrapping gifts, baking Christmas cookies) and drove across the state to be with him. Meanwhile, I attended to my mother-in-law and started packing things we'd be taking with us in a couple days on the drive to Detroit.

Ultimately, during the first few days of the holiday break, we all stayed at the home of my daughter in Dearborn. On the first night there I discovered that I had forgotten to pack my mother-in-law's porta-potty. Two days later I discovered that I had also forgotten to pack the Polish "oplatki" (Christmas wafers) that our extended family traditionally shares at the table prior to Christmas Eve dinner.

Also, on the morning of Christmas Eve, I did some shopping for last minute items that were needed for the dinner. My daughter asked me to pick up a couple of tubes of Pillsbury Grands (flaky bisquits), a product that I was unaware of. At the store I plucked packages from the cooler, placed them on a shelf, and took a picture to send to my daughter for corroboration that I had indeed landed on the correct product.

It wasn't long before I got a thumbs up from her and proceeded to the checkout counter with my grocery cart. However, when it was time to prepare the biscuits, it was discovered that I must have left the tubes on the shelf at the store where I had set them up for the photo.

Now, it must be said that I am a day-dreamer. And people who know me well understand that "focus" is not one of my greatest strengths. Moreover, people say that a certain amount of memory loss is normal for those with advancing age (I'll be 77 next month). Perhaps one or all of those were reasons I forgot a few facts during Christmas time and left some things behind at home, as well as the grocery store.

Or maybe it was something else.

[theretirementstory]

New Years Eve has arrived, it’s normally a time for looking back over the year and remembering the high points and not so high points. I think I will give this a miss this year, I don’t want to remember being taken to hospital in an ambulance, the three small glasses of water I was allowed in a 24 hour period, or eating only natural yoghurt and puréed fruit for breakfast,lunch and dinner for 12 days 😳. So let’s just have a round up of the last week.

Christmas Day, I must have been good as I had a lot of presents and my stocking had been filled. I got two French short story books, lots of chocolates, jams, teas a calendar and money. I had already bought myself the ruby pendant I had seen in town. I prepared my lunch which took over three hours to eat but it was worth taking my time as I ate rather a lot but never felt too full. The doctor had said I could have a drink so I had a small glass of champagne.

I had Christmas messages from Indonesia, America, Pauline in Lille and Jony in Paris as well as a number from friends and family in the UK. it was a wonderful day and I thoroughly enjoyed myself.

My grandchildren had their Christmas Day with Daddy and Grandad on Boxing Day. My granddaughter received an iPad and she was happy to phone me from it. My grandson received a wooden workbench so he can start creating things (we all have to start sometime 😂).

“The Photographer” received money and later in the week he bought himself additional items for his camera. Then can you believe his car started to play up and yesterday on his way home from work he had to stop the car immediately and ring the RAC! I think it’s called “Sod’s law”! These things are sent to try us and that’s exactly what they do.

“The Trainee Solicitor” also had a trying time. He and “The Ex-Graduate” had been to her parents for Xmas lunch. As they were leaving at night, he forgot there was a small step down, he missed it and went over on his ankle. He hurt it quite a bit and it was swollen and extremely bruised. Just as well he didn’t have to go to work!

Unfortunately “The Ex-Graduate” was back at work on Wednesday and has been there everyday since. Hopefully, not for much longer will she have a job where she has to stand around for hours.

The cleaner came on Thursday and brought me a gift of chocolates and bonbons. Then my neighbours came in with a big box of chocolates for me and a handwritten card wishing me all the best for 2024.

I had a walk around the garden, checking out anything that is starting to grow. I found new growth on the hellebores, the snowdrops starting to peek through and also tulips coming through in the front garden. I checked the planter I had put together in 2022 and saw that the tête à tête are starting to grow. I pulled the tubs with the cyclamen in out from under the laurel bush to give them some more daylight. One looks as if it may not recover but the other didn’t look too bad. However, we are due some heavy rain so they may need to be protected from that.

I am thrilled as my hair is growing back pretty quickly. I didn’t lose all of the hair on my eyebrows but I have lost my eyelashes. I am still wearing my hat but that is because I don’t want my head getting too cold.

On Thursday Pauline messaged to say she had had an interview for an internship in Spain. It is with a Real Estate Agency and she had to do a video for either selling or letting a property. She sent me the videos (taken in her Grandma’s house) and then I corrected a couple of things in English, center for centre, moldings for mouldings. She sent it off and a short time later she got an email to say the job was hers. She starts on the 8 January. Now she is looking for accommodation. Pauline is coming to see me this morning so I will be brought up to date.

Music has always been a big part of my life, it can bring memories flooding back and I often can’t sing along as I am choked with tears at lots of the memories. I have said previously it’s not just the lyrics it’s the music too which has the effect on me. So first today is a song from 1991, it’s The Farm and “All Together Now”. The second song is also from 1991, it is “Unfinished Sympathy” by Massive Attack.

The village down the road has a competition each year for the best dressed tree. The trees are put outside your home and there are three prizes. I loved this “Tour de France” inspired tree. It must have been difficult to judge as three trees were joint first.

At this point I would like to wish you all a happy and healthy 2024. Keep safe until we catch up again.

[atlanticcanada]

'This is still evolving': Health experts urge caution as illnesses continue into 2023

Monday afternoon, Nova Scotia’s top doctor dropped into a mobile vaccination clinic at the Sackville Public Library to get his COVID-19 bivalent booster dose.

“I'm at the end of my 168 days after having COVID infection in late July,” said Dr. Robert Strang. “Now I’m eligible. I can get my booster dose.”

His message in the post-holiday season -- update your immunizations.

“Flu season is starting to be on decline, fortunately, but we still have COVID around and we're seeing some signs of an increase in COVID,” he added. “Which is not unexpected after all the socialization around the holidays, etcetera.”

“The new variants, even the so-called ‘Kraken,’ it is an Omicron strain,” he said. “All the evidence would say there is still good protection against severe disease.”

That message – one Nova Scotians at the clinic take seriously.

Daniel Momberquette stopped by to see if there were long lines at the clinic. Discovering little to no wait, he chose to get his COVID-19 booster and his flu shot.

“I’d rather err on the side of caution,” he said. “I think people have fallen into a false sense of security about the numbers. Unfortunately, they don’t publicize the numbers as much as they used to and I wish they would.”

“I started hearing about more people getting infections, so I decided to get it,” says Leigh Martell. “I want to be safe and I don’t want to get too sick. I have two little kids at home that I need to take care of.”

Strang says flu season is waning but COVID-19 cases are on the uptick.

Nova scotia's latest respiratory report recorded 140 new cases of Influenza A, 165 of respiratory syncytial virus (RSV), and three flu deaths between Christmas Day and New Year’s Eve.

The province’s latest COVID-19 numbers show 73 people were admitted to hospital because of the virus over the two-week period ending Jan. 3, and it added 19 more deaths to Nova Scotia’s total of 694 lives lost since the beginning of the pandemic.

The Department of Health and Wellness has also confirmed that two cases of the new Omicron sub-variant -- known as “Kraken” -- were also detected late last month.

“I think it's fair to say that this is a more infectious variant that we've seen so far,” says infectious disease expert Dr. Matthew Oughton. “But that’s just about transmissibility,” he says.

“It doesn’t speak to the severity of the cases … and very clearly after the months and months of primary doses, of boosters, as well as to a certain extent, natural infection, we have a population that is more immune now than it’s ever been.”

“That’s not to say that this will cause zero disease, but I think it’s safe to say that the current boosters available to us will still continue to be effective,” Oughton adds.

Epidemiologist Susanne Gulliver remains concerned.

“When you infect more people, there's more infections, [that] means there's a greater chance of death and Long COVID,” she says.

The St. John’s based researcher at NewLab Clinical Research would like to see more data on COVID-19 made available to the public more often.

“It would be nice if the provincial governments gave out numbers on a more frequent basis,” she says. “People aren’t masking, and unfortunately, they need to be told to mask,” she says.

“This new variant, it’s the same ‘song and dance’ as we had with Omicron,” Gulliver adds.

Before the holiday season, several Nova Scotia emergency departments (ED) were dealing with record numbers of visits and struggling to keep up.

According to the province’s online reporting, average overall visits have decreased, but many emergency departments remain at or above 100 per cent acute care capacity.

In November, the head of the IWK Children’s Hospital said Nova Scotia was seeing extremely high numbers of children sick amid a "perfect storm" of respiratory illnesses.

Monday, the interim head of the IWK ED said there has been a slight reprieve.

“Overall, our volume has definitely gone down on a day-to-day basis,” says Dr. Emma Burns.

But she says the hospital is still seeing children sick with COVID-19 and RSV.

“We’re still seeing a fair amount of acuity,” she says. “We have a winter uptick every season … the difference this year was that the peaks coincided … they came earlier than expected, and they were larger than expected.”

“Just before Christmas, things felt really dire,” she says. “I’m glad to say we’re now in more what we would expect to see at this time of year.”

When asked what the post-holiday outlook might be, Burns says it’s difficult to predict, and that means precautions remain important.

“If you're sick, and you can, please stay home. If you're sick and you can't stay home please wear a mask, wash your hands, get any vaccines that are available to you,” she says.

Back at the vaccination clinic, Strang said it’s all part of dealing with the current reality.

“This is still evolving,” he said, “still lots that we need to learn.”

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/JspgKuY

[mortuaest]

Ive been suffering and I dont want to be alive on new years eve, and if I dont stay too long at a friends house, my plan of possibly overdosing on a shit ton of pills will happen.

I lost a friend at the start of 2022.  I was never informed until I found out through FB then I was never informed of their funeral. I lost the job I had after 10 and a half years because Supervision and management. I got a new job, and within a week of that I had someone who was 87 years old blast through the red light they had while I was turning left.  Because of that Im now having more serious health issues.  Period for five and a half months.  My first severe concussion.  Staples in my head, broken bone. 

I lost my Emotional support animal.  Ive had him since he was five weeks old.  I was fifteen and a half.  He got me through so much abuse because of my egg donor not wanting an autistic child and an autistic adult as a child, and someone who’s Queer (I’m non-binary and asexual) and his cancer in his cheek got worse, fast.  He helped me through the medical rape I went through at 19 years old and he’s the reason why I lived for so long and stopped trying to take my life for so long. 

I expected to be dead by 14 years old.

Not even three weeks after loosing the light of my own life, I lost another friend.  His father didn’t really tell us the cause of death but it was an accident, and it wasn’t by his own hand which we’re happy that it wasn’t.  

Then I lost the last bit of family I thought I had on Christmas because of the fact that my father cannot accept the fact that I’m not his daughter, Im his offspring, and I havent been his daughter since around 2016 and havent used my Deadname unless its for legal reasons, since I dont have the time or money to legally change it since October 2018.  And my sister thinks that just respecting my pronouns and new name is all I need, and that whatever issues with my father I have with his severe transphobia is between him and I and not her issue, with her knowing full well Im dealing with so fucking much.

Friends JUST finally started giving a shit, not even a week ago.  A ton of them know and knew about my plans of suicide once my ESA passed, I cant last without him.  People know that he’s gone.  Im someone who has two sexual assaults, twenty plus years of physical, mental and emotional abuse, PTSD from that, PTSD from working during COVID-19 being immune comprimised and therapists not taking me seriously because I only have medicaid and I’m autistic and part of the LGBTA.

Im so, so tired.  I dont know if Ill be surviving this year and if I do its going to get even worse mentally and emotionally for me.  I don’t have a support system or anything that I know I need to survive and keep going and live.  I cant keep going.   Im so broken I don’t deserve to be fixed, and Im having my probably 30th or more mental breakdown because Im just so fucking tired of this year.

So if I disappear, and if I do survive this year, I’m sorry if I take a two week hiatus or something.  I don’t have replies barely ever to do anyway, so I doubt people will miss me.  Ill let people know.  I just, need to get this off my chest and I know my friends are tired of me ranting and bitching on FB.  They probably think Im over reacting on everything that happened.

I have a queue lined up to post memes once a day and I feel Ill be adding more as a just in case I do last past today.  

Im sorry if Ive disappointed anyone as a roleplay partner, Im sorry Im a shitty person.  Im sorry Im weak.

[f1-baby1999]

Happy Monday December 12th, we’re halfway to Christmas Eve!! 🎄❤️

People say “Life is what happens when you least expect it.” And I always brushed that off, because while there may be moments of unexpected happenings, life goes on right? Well last week I was proven differently, as I unexpectedly got a call if I wanted to go and temporarily work at the publishing house. That wasn’t on my bingo card and it drained me. Not the work, but the fact that I had to shift my entire clock to getting up earlier and not having the amount of free time I had. I know ‘boo-hoo’ hahaha. But there is a point to this…

I’ve been filling my calendar with a bunch of social activities for the past few months. A shit ton a concerts (2023 literally almost has at least one every month), seeing movies with friends, having dinners, not sitting still. And I’ve been doing that to combat my seasonal depression. The ending of winter and winter itself are far too cold to go and be outside all the time, which means I’m prone to locking myself away and coming out of social hibernation once the sun starts shining (and funny enough the F1 season begins). And now with the disappearance of some of my free time, that prevention of seasonal depression felt under pressure.

There was a point.. and I haven’t made it yet. Gosh, don’t you ever get tired from my motivational Mondays? I mean I would get it! RIGHT THE POINT! The point I wanted to make was that I highly recommend for you to try and do social things as these days grow darker and colder. Go see a movie, go take a walk, go have dinner, do something to combat the cold feeling creeping into your soul. And most importantly do it with someone you love and want to keep in your life. Someone who warms your heart, because I promise it will make the end of the year just a tad bit more manageable.

Happy Monday the 12th!! 🎄

I completely get what you mean when it comes to not having free time thanks to work. I work night shifts and they just absolutely drain me, even on my days off I'm asleep most of the day thanks to work.

I would never get tired of your motivational Monday asks, I absolutely love getting them and look forward to them every week 😊

I'll try and be more sociable over this winter period. Well I will be this week as I have two Christmas parties and my sister's 21st so they are gonna be fun.

[baiwu-jinji]

Hi. I have reading tgcf posts and really love them. I am quite new to chinese books, and have enjoyed mxtxs work quite a lot. Chinese culture and history has been pretty unknown to me up to this point, but I have been researching and finding out more about it, mainly the history, and the mythology but also the culture, both historical and current modern. Its just so unique and...different and distinctive. Hence why reading your posts have so fun for me: translations can only deliver the text to a certain extent, but its a different experience to get the little bits and pieces that get lost in the process, especially from a person who gets them and history and the context behind them. I had a question: I am currently interested in the chinese festival and celebrations. They are a lot of them and I have read on how they were historically celebrated, but I was wondering how are they currently celebrated in modern Chinese families. Which ones are the main ones? Are there parades and festivities for each or most of them more family affairs? Do you decorates your houses for them (ex. Like christmas decor) and make special foods? Do you feel like those celebrations have decreased and become more sedate over the year? If yes, why do you so? I would honestly appreciate it sooo much. Thank you 😊

Hi! Thank you for sharing your thoughts! And I’m always happy to see people becoming more interested in Chinese culture through reading mxtx or other danmei novels. Let’s start with the Chinese New Year, or the Spring Festival, because it’s the most important one and also my fav.

Chinese New Year is all about family reunions. The celebrations last around seven days and you get together with your extended family and close friends during this time. Being surrounded by family is always important for Chinese people but especially important during Chinese New Year, hence the phenomenon in China called 春运 (the Spring Festival travel rush). Millions of people would travel across the country from the cities where they work to their hometown in the countryside to see their family, and trains would be absolutely packed during this period.

The most important night over the whole period of celebration is New Year’s Eve (大年三十) where you have the most important meal (年夜饭) with your extended family. It’s usually a pretty fun and very loud occasion because the entire extended family would be present, and the only thing not so fun is that as kids, my cousins and I would be asked to stand up in front of the whole table and give a toast to our grandparents and aunts and uncles. It’s a gesture of respect to the elders and it can be quite stressful because they’d expect you to say something nice and clever, and it made me feel like a circus monkey. And if we’re eating at a restaurant, a major entertainment would be watching my parents fighting with my cousin’s parents and my other cousin’s parents to pay for the meal. It usually begins like this: “let us pay” “don’t be silly, we’ll pay” “come on stop it, we’ll pay this time” “this place is close to our house so let us pay”…and it goes on and on and gets increasingly more dramatic.

I don’t remember there being any special dishes for the Chinese New Year (it might differ from region to region), but there’d usually be a lot of meat dishes. As for decorations, people would usually put up 春联 at the entrance to their home, 春联 is two strips of red paper with a couplet written on them that’s usually some sort of blessing or good wish for the new year. The decorations for the Chinese New Year are usually bright red because it’s an auspicious colour full of hope and vitality. I remember my family hanging big Chinese knots at home during the new year. Chinese knots would look like this:

The Lantern festival follows right on the heels of the Chinese New Year and it’s more of an occasion to go out and watch the lantern shows, also people always eat tangyuan on this day.

Another important festival is the Qingming festival, or the Tomb Sweeping Day, which is a day to visit the ancestral graves and honour the dead. It’s also a popular day to have a spring trip to the countryside because it’s the time of year when the weather’s getting sunny and warm. During Qingming Festival, in the neighborhoods where I grew up, I’d see people drawing white circles along the roads with chalk and burning joss papers in those circles (people who read MDZS would know about this). I think the white circle is to keep other wandering ghosts out so they won’t snatch away the offerings you made to your ancestors, but there should be an opening in the circle to let the ghosts of your ancestors in (I’m no expert on this at all so my explanations might be inaccurate). There’s an origin story of Qingming festival that’s very interesting but also tragic, you can read it here (I remember telling the story to @lucysarah-c and she said that the emperor in the story is the first yandere XD)

The Dragon Boat Festival and the Mid-Autumn Festival are also both very important ancient festivals with a lot of cultural significance, but for me they’re just like…days where I can eat certain kinds of food. At the Dragon Boat Festival we eat zongzi, which is a steamed rice dish wrapped in bamboo leaves. The rice cooked in this way would have the taste of the fresh fragrance of bamboo leaves so it’s very nice :3

At Mid-Autumn Festival it’s customary to watch the full moon on that day and eat mooncakes. In the Chinese language, roundness and fullness (of the moon) = completeness = the entire family being together, so it’s also a day of family reunion (I hope this explanation makes sense).

To answer your final question, no I don’t think those celebrations have decreased or become more sedated. Traditions are very important for Chinese people; we’re a people that like to look on the past and historically tend to assume that the past is always better than the present. Granted that the trend during the 20th century was to condemn and overthrow the ancient traditions because 20th century China was impoverished and war-torn and left far behind by the Western nations, and the old, stale, and outdated traditions were heavily blamed for impeding China’s progress. If you read the prominent 20th century Chinese authors, a lot of their works would have some variation of the message that “the past must die so China can be reborn.” It’s a message I was very familiar with growing up, and I was always aware of this strand of hostility and wariness towards traditional values in contemporary Chinese thought. But I feel like in recent years, increasingly people are looking at old traditions in more appreciative ways and getting rid of the critical attitude towards traditions prevalent in the previous century. So I don’t see the importance of those traditional festivals decreasing.

[leiakenobi]

One line dialogue prompts! 11 physical with Michael Perry pls

11. “I don’t think I have ever felt safer than in your arms.”

I wrote this imagining it taking place in the same 'verse as "the only bee in your bonnet," a few years down the line, but you can def read this out of context.

It clocks in at about 1k, gender neutral (and pretty heavily implied autistic) reader. No warnings except for hurt/comfort and pretty extensive discussion of Christmas traditions (Michael’s, not the reader’s).

——

Michael always makes it home for Christmas.

You remember well the way that it overwhelmed you, the first time you experienced the festivities. His extended family coming together for a spectacular celebration, centered – of course – around Christmas Eve. Michael guided you through it easily, comfortably, until being a part of the Perry family felt natural for you. You’ve spent a handful of Christmases with them now, but that first one still lingers as your favorite. As one of your favorite Christmases, period.

You’re thinking about it a lot this year as a late start to Michael’s winter break coincides with a severe snowstorm, ensuring that you have not made it back to Texas by the morning of Christmas Eve. Ensuring that you would not be able to make it down there, for at least a day or two.

And Michael’s tried. He’s tried hard.

When you wake up, you’re unsurprised to find him already alert, gazing up at the ceiling with a sad expression on his face. It takes him several moments to register that you’ve stirred, and even then, it’s only because you reach out and trace your fingers along his jaw.

“What are you thinking about?” you murmur.

Michael sighs, addressing his answer to the ceiling. “I should be showing off those new records I got for Will. It’s probably silly, but getting up early with him and listening to music before breakfast is one of my favorite parts of the trip.”

“That’s not silly,” you tell him. “Especially not this year.”

He’d been so thrilled, when he’d asked his sister – not for the first time – whether his nephew was yet old enough for his own record player and she had reluctantly said yes. And he’d pored over albums for hours before settling on a few with which to start the boy’s collection.

“At least I shipped the player straight there,” Michael muses. “Better than nothing.”

You smooth your fingers gently through his hair as you agree, “It is.”

But he’s not really thinking about the record player, and you know it. So, trying to gently coax him out of his thoughts, you kiss his shoulder and say, “Let’s go make some coffee.”

Michael quirks his eyebrow and turns his head to look at you at last. “Hoping that coffee will fix my woes?”

“No, I just like you more when you smell like coffee.”

Your answer makes him laugh, soft but earnest as he joins you in rolling out of bed and trudging toward the kitchen.

Normally, Michael is the one who starts a new pot in the morning, but you bump him away with your hip when he tries to reach for the beans. “Sit. I got this.”

Michael has never been very good at just sitting, and this is no exception. He busies himself with collecting some bread and slotting it into the toaster while you grind the beans, and when he’s done that, he joins you where you’re leaning against the counter and settles his head on your shoulder.

“I’ve never missed it before,” he tells you softly. “Not once.”

You don’t say I know, although you do know, because it’s been something of a point of pride for him as the only sibling that hasn’t missed a single Christmas home. Instead, you clear your throat. “Have I ever told you about my favorite memory with your family?”

He stands up a bit straighter to look at you, which is good, because you need to get the grounds into the coffee maker. “I’m not sure, have you?”

“I don’t think so. It’s a bit of a weird one.”

The maker all taken care of, you direct your focus toward Michael, momentarily savoring his wide eyes as he blinks at you. Waiting for this revelation. “Do you remember the first time I went, when everyone was playing music and singing together?”

Recognition lights up Michael’s features at once, though it’s quickly replaced by skepticism. “Yeah, I remember, because you were miserable ten minutes in. You didn’t get enough alone time that day because you were trying too hard to get to know everyone.”

Alright. He’s not wrong—you might have overexerted yourself on that first trip more than a little. But that doesn’t make what you’re about to tell him next any less true. “That’s not the part I’m thinking of.”

“Oh?” Michael crosses his arms, waiting expectantly. “What are you thinking of, then?”

“I’m thinking,” you begin carefully, “of the moment about five minutes after I started feeling like shit, when you realized I wasn’t having a good time and handed your ukulele off to your cousin so you could just hold me.”

His mouth drops open in surprise—whatever Michael thought you were going to say, it wasn’t that. It takes a few moments for him to get any words out, and when he manages, it’s to ask, “Why is that your favorite?”

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt safer than in your arms. But right then, you held me and I felt like I was part of the family. And that was even better,” you say. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, but you’re not done. “I’m not saying this year is the same. It can’t be. But we’ll make a nice time together, yeah?”

There’s still a hint of sadness in his eyes as he smiles, but you don’t begrudge him for that. Like you said, you feel like his family is your family—you’re missing them right now, too. “Yeah.”

You smile affectionately. “Now be a good boy and sit down while I take care of your coffee and toast.”

He nods, and you think he actually is about to obey before he pauses. “D’you wanna listen to one of the records I bought? I think you might like it too.”

It’s not the same. It can’t be. But you nod and you mean it as you tell him, “That sounds perfect.”

[lindsayrises]

Hey.  It’s been a while.  If we were having a conversation, I’d tell you...

The first picture isn’t new.  It’s from Christmas, 2015.  It’s one of my favorite pictures I’ve ever taken.  I’ve been thinking a lot about New York lately.  I’m 99% sure I’m not going there in March - for different reasons.

The second picture is my desk space in my basement.  I have started and deleted several posts that included this picture.  It feels like I’m sharing a private part of my life (home?).  The rest of my basement might be a total disaster, but this spot?  It’s become really special to me.

Christmas Day marked the 20th anniversary of my mom’s death.  This is the first time I haven’t acknowledged her death anniversary on social media.

Christmas was good.  We celebrate on Christmas Eve.  We always do chili and chicken noodle soup (my mom’s recipes).  This was a tradition even before she died.

The end of the quarter was...not great.  In the last two weeks before break (we went up until Wed, Dec 22), I was back to working long days during the work week and then a few hours on Saturdays and Sundays.  The amount of testing we do IN FIRST GRADE makes my blood boil.  

On the first day of break, I woke up at a normal-ish time (maybe 6:00 or 6:30?).  On the second and third days of break?  I slept in until 10:00 a.m.  I rarely sleep in.  I guess I needed the rest.

There are lots of work things I want to have in place when we go back on Wed, Jan 5.  I went in for a few hours on Monday.  My dad was here and he helped.  My therapist’s idea was to go in those last two days of break (next Mon & Tues).  At first I was like, “Um, no, I don’t want to work right before going back.  I’d rather work, then have break.”  But she pointed out (and I 100% agree) that going in a few days this week would lead to me continuing to go in to get more done.  So, I’ll go Monday and Tuesday.  I’ll prioritize what absolutely has to get done, get as much done as I can, and call it good.

I’ve been having lots of hyperfocusing periods lately.  It drives me crazy.  I never (ok, hardly ever) hyperfocus on IMPORTANT shit.  I feel embarrassed by how much time I’ve spent (wasted?) on unimportant things in the last month.  I think that’s one reason why I procrastinate.  I HATE the hyperfocus thing.  Even when it’s on something important/worthwhile, I hate the feeling of not being able to stop until I do/fix just “one more thing.”  When I procrastinate, I’m forced to do the most important things and just get it/them done.

My new washing machine was delivered mid-December.  It’s SOOOOO nice to be able to do laundry without having to be downstairs to (literally) sit on the machine when it get’s too loud.

My hands are soooo dry.  Last year was the first time they ever got really bad.  This year is just as bad (if not worse).  I THOUGHT I had found a great lotion.  It’s called Gloves in a Bottle.  It costs more than I’d usually spend on lotion.  I noticed a significant improvement after using it just once.  Since then, I’ve been unimpressed.

I think my neighbors (that I share a driveway with) are moving.  I’m not sad about that.  

Ramsey’s doing good.  I nearly returned him to the cat shelter in the first weeks and months after getting him.  I’m so glad I kept him...even though he can be a little shit.

I don’t really have any New Year’s resolutions this year.  In the past few years I’ve picked a word of the year.  I’m not sure if I’ll even do that this year.

tick,tick...Boom!/Lin-Manuel Miranda/Andrew Garfield...LOVE LOVE LOVE!

How are YOU?  What’s new with YOU?

[theotherhufflepuff]

Driving Home For Christmas (pt 1)

Carry On Countdown day 21 - Holiday

~5.5K

All my stories for this year's Countdown take place in the same universe/timeline. You can find my other fics under the tag Casey writes.

Now, I'll be honest with you; I started this one well in advance but the Christmas period is always quite difficult for me and things have gotten on top of me a bit so I haven't been able to write as much as I'd have liked. This is also why I've had to abandon a couple of the prompts I had ideas for - but I might come back to them later!

As it is this is getting way too long anyway, so I'm going to post it in two parts (part 2 as soon as I can manage it!)

This takes place immediately after my day 6 (reunion/reconnect) fic, 'Til I Belong To You. You don't need to have read that one for this to make sense, but it does spoil the entire plot of the previous one so it's probably best to read them in order!

Title is the Chris Rea song.

I don't think this one needs any content warnings.

Enjoy!

Baz

I can hear Simon in the shower. It’s Christmas Eve and he has to work a half day. My office is closed and I took yesterday off because I only got back from America on Saturday, so I’m enjoying a rare lie in. Well I was, until Simon dropped something that hit the bottom of the bathtub with a loud bang.

He opens the bathroom door and a waft of his scent reaches me. I breathe it in as deep as I can manage. He comes around to my side of the bed and kisses my cheek. “I’ve got to go,” he says, quietly.

“Mmm,” I groan.

Simon laughs. “Are you going to stay in bed all day?”

“Maybe,” I mumble, pulling the duvet up over my head.

Simon pokes me in the ribs through the duvet. “Don’t make me pull this off you,” he threatens, lifting the bottom edge and exposing my feet. I pull them up further so they’re covered again.

“Nooo,” I moan. I fell asleep naked and it is so cold outside of the bed. I don’t know where my clothes are.

Simon laughs again and kisses the top of my head. “I’ll be back at lunch time. Love you.” I hear him leave the room and a minute later the front door opens and closes.

Three days ago, Simon proposed to me. We haven’t told anyone yet; we’re just enjoying being together for a few days. It hasn’t been hard; we just haven’t seen anyone. Well, Simon had to go to work yesterday but since he’s not the one wearing the ring it hasn’t come up. We spent Saturday afternoon and most of Sunday in bed, sleeping – and not sleeping. Simon has been in such a good mood; I actually think he might be able to enjoy Christmas this year.

We’re going to Lady Ruth’s for dinner this evening before her party starts. We can’t stay for the party because we’re driving up to Oxford tonight to spend Christmas with my family. We’ve spent the last two Christmases with the Salisburys because I didn’t want to leave Simon and I didn’t want to take him to Oxford – that’s not going to help anyone’s depression. But Daphne called me a few weeks ago and practically begged me to spend Christmas there. They’ve just finished converting one of the small barns near the house so I have somewhere to sleep other than the sofa. Daphne said she wanted me to bring Simon, she said it would be ok. I don’t really know what that means; has she had an actual conversation with my father about it? That would be more conversation than I have ever had with my father about it. I spoke to Simon; I told him he didn’t have to come if he didn’t want to, but he said he wanted to. So we’re spending Christmas in Oxford. Where we will have to announce our engagement to my family.

I groan to myself, still curled into a ball under the duvet. I’m not looking forward to this at all. I try to focus on the positives; the children will be excited. Daphne cooks a lovely Christmas dinner. The barn is separate from the house so we can at least escape if we need to. I get to dress Simon for dinner.

I poke my head out over the duvet and try to locate some clothes; I am absolutely not getting out of this bed without something to put on. There’s a pair of pyjama bottoms within arm’s reach and I put them on under the duvet. They’re too big for me because they’re Simon’s but they’ll do. I find one of Simon’s hoodies, too and put that on. I need some tea.

Simon

Baz keeps checking and rechecking that we’ve packed everything we need for our stay in Oxford. It’s not like there’s a lot of it – we’re only staying one night. He’s been very quiet since I got home and trying to get a whole conversation out of him has been a non-starter, so I’m just leaving him to his thoughts. He’ll speak to me when he wants to and not before.

I watch him check the suitcase again. When he zips it up for about the fifth time I seize my chance to lift it off the bed. “I’m going to put this in the car, we should leave soon.” He nods silently.

I take the suitcase down to the car and put it in the boot with the bag of presents that is also going to Oxford. If I’m honest I’m nervous about spending the night with Baz’s family, too; I don’t like the way Baz shrinks into himself around them. Here, with me and our friends, he can be Baz - all Baz all the time. He can be a vampire and be gay and wear suits with big pink flowers on and hold my hand and no one whose opinion he cares about will raise an eyebrow. But with his family… he dresses in plain suits and holds himself stiffer. He wears his hair all slicked back like he used to at school and his vampirism is only acknowledged in euphemism; his queerness isn’t acknowledged at all. I don’t want to do this any more than he does, but he’s doing it for Daphne and I’m doing it for him.

I go back up to the flat and find Baz sitting on the bed sort of staring into space. I sit down next to him and put my arm round his shoulders, pulling him into me. “It won’t be as bad as you’re expecting,” I say. I don’t really believe it myself; it’s more a statement of hope than anything.

“I don’t know, Simon. My father…” he trails off. He’s looking down at his hands, fiddling with the ring I gave him.

“Baz,” I take his hand in mine. “We don’t have to tell them now. You could take the ring off while we’re there, I don’t mind.” I really don’t. If it were up to me I’d tell everyone. Strangers on the street. I’d shout it from the rooftops “I get to marry Baz Pitch, love of all my lives!” I think Baz would, too – he just doesn’t want to tell his father. I don’t blame him.

He meets my eyes then. His eyes are dark grey and sad; I think he feels like he’s letting me down. He couldn’t ever let me down; not after all the times I’ve let him down. He takes a breath. “Come on, let’s go.” He stands up and heads out of the bedroom. I open the top drawer of my bedside table and take out the ring box. I put it in my pocket, just in case.

***

I put the radio on in the car so we can listen to Christmas songs on the way to Lady Ruth’s. Baz rolls his eyes at me when I sing along but he doesn’t say anything or turn it off. I’m in the passenger seat holding a large potted poinsettia on my lap. Lady Ruth insisted on no presents but it felt rude not to bring something.

Baz takes the poinsettia from me when we arrive at Lady Ruth’s house and motions me through the door in front of him. Lady Ruth hugs me enthusiastically and takes my coat; the nice charcoal coloured one Baz bought me last year when I had my wings removed. “This is for you,” I say, gesturing to the plant that Baz is still holding.

“Oh Simon, now what did I say? You really shouldn’t have – oh!” She’s not looking at the plant, but at the pot; Baz’s hands are wrapped around it. “Basil,” Lady Ruth says, “are you wearing a ring?” She looks from me to Baz and back again, eyes wide.

I can feel myself blushing; I hadn’t meant to do it like this. “Uh, yeah, he is.” I feel a bit sheepish but I’m grinning, I can’t help it. I’m relieved to see Baz is smiling, too.

“Oh how wonderful!” She takes the plant from Baz and starts down the hallway. “Come into the kitchen where I can see it properly,” she stops at the bottom of the stairs to shout “Jamie! The boys are here, and they have news!” We follow her into the kitchen.

Lady Ruth deposits the poinsettia on the nearest worktop and immediately takes Baz’s hand, bringing it close to her face to inspect the ring. “How lovely,” she’s saying as Jamie comes through the door. “Congratulations darling.” Her voice sounds thick as she hugs Baz tightly. He hugs her back and I push away the thought that this is not the reaction we’re likely to get in Oxford.

“What’s happening?” Jamie asks, slightly bewildered but in an indulgent sort of way.

“We, uh, we’re engaged.” I tell him. It feels weird to say it “we’re engaged”. It’s surreal. Baz untangles himself from Lady Ruth and holds his hand up, showing Jamie the ring.

“Amazing; congrats man.” Jamie smiles wide at both of us and claps me on the shoulder.

“Thanks,” I grin back. Lady Ruth is wiping her eyes on a tea towel.

“Can I take your coat Baz?” Jamie asks; Lady Ruth forgot to take it in her excitement.

“Oh, Basil, I’m so sorry. I got completely carried away,” Lady Ruth fusses as Baz hands his coat to Jamie.

Lady Ruth has, as usual, made enough food to feed an army. There are cakes, finger sandwiches, pigs in blankets, gingerbread men, meringues, minces pies… it just goes on. The centrepiece is a large gingerbread house and a Christmas tree made from star shaped shortbread biscuits covered in green icing and stacked on top of each other.

“You’ve outdone yourself Ruth,” says Baz, immediately taking a mince pie from a platter when Lady Ruth motions for us to help ourselves. They get on so well you’d think she was his grandmother; watching them together makes me feel warm inside.

We eat and chat; Jamie asks me about work and Baz talks to Lady Ruth about magickal history - he’s a proper nerd about that sort of stuff. Eventually Jamie says “Mum, the guests will be here soon.”

“We’ll leave you to it then,” says Baz, standing up. “Thank you so much for having us, Ruth.” He’s so smooth it’s unbelievable.

“Before you go, boys, I have something for you, wait there.” She disappears for a minute and returns with two Christmas presents, wrapped in white paper with silver snowflakes on.

“Thank you, Ruth.” I say earnestly as she hands us one each.

“Open them now, boys. Let an old lady have her fun.”

Can’t argue with that. We both tear off the wrapping paper, Baz managing to look like less of an overgrown child than I feel. Under the paper is a knitted jumper. Mine is emerald green with a row of white snowflakes and Christmas trees across the chest. Baz’s matches mine but his is bright red.

“Did you make these?” I ask, incredulous.

“Well, there was some magic involved. They’re just silly things; you don’t have to wear them.” For the first time ever Lady Ruth looks sheepish.

“Impressive,” says Baz and I know he’s genuinely impressed; that’s complicated magic.

I step forward and hug Lady Ruth. “I love it. Thank you, Ruth.” I mean it, too; I do really like the jumper. I’m starting to feel a bit overwhelmed; my grandmother made me a Christmas jumper.

***

Baz is quiet again in the car; there’s no trace left of the relaxed Baz that just made conversation with my family for two hours. It makes me tense; I want to make this as easy as possible for him but I don’t know how. Baz always has the right words when I need him but he’s usually so unflappable and I don’t know what he needs right now; this is a whole new Baz to me.

Baz drives past the hunting lodge and parks the car next to a barn. I guess this must be the one we’re staying in. At least it’s not haunted like the house in Hampshire. He turns the engine off and leans his head back against the seat. I feel like I need to say something to reassure him, but I don’t know what. Usually I’m the one who needs reassuring, not him.

“Baz…” I start, not really sure where this is going. He turns his head to look at me. “Babe, look, we can handle this however you want, OK? Just say the word; I’ll follow your lead.” He’s frowning but for once I don’t think it’s at me.

He takes a deep breath. “Simon…” another breath, “I don’t want to do it right now, in front of the children. What if my father spots the ring right away, like Ruth did?” He looks me in the eyes and it’s painful to see how much this has got to him. I just want to make it stop; how do I make it stop? I want to tell him to drive us home. He can call Daphne and tell her we can’t come; he can say I’m ill or something. But I know he won’t do it; he promised Daphne he would spend Christmas with them.

I take the ring box out of my coat pocket and offer it to him. “Take the ring off, Baz, please. Don’t do this to yourself.” Baz frowns again and this time it is at me. “I wanted you to have the option, just in case.” I explain.

He sighs heavily and looks away from me, taking off the ring. I open the box and he pushes the ring into the gap in the little cushion. I put it in the glove box for safe keeping.

“Ready?” I ask him, squeezing his now bare hand.

He leans over and kisses me slowly. “Ready,” he says.

When we get to the front door Baz takes a moment to straighten his collar (it was already straight) and smooth his hair back (it was already smooth) and then he opens the door and steps through into the hallway.

“Hello? We’re here,” he calls as we take off our coats. A dog barks somewhere in the house and the sound of claws on wood floors is joined by several pairs of feet running towards us. The large and extremely fluffy dog beats the twins into the hallway, gets one whiff of Baz and immediately growls and backs up. Sophie and Petra (and I still don’t know which is which) push past the dog and run at Baz, arms wide. He lets them hug his legs for a moment and then says “Say hello to Simon, girls.”

“Hello Simon!” They both chant, wrapping themselves around my legs. I pat them awkwardly on the head. They’re wearing matching Christmas pyjamas with cartoon reindeer on.

Mordelia appears in the doorway and looks up from her phone. She flashes a genuine-seeming smile at Baz and then me. “Hi,” she says, “Mum’s just bathing Swithin. Dad’s gone to put the Nightmares in for the night; he’ll be back in a bit.” She goes back to her phone then and retreats back the way she came. Baz rolls his eyes at me; I’ve had to listen to him complain before about the kids all having phones and ipads. I think he’s just mad that he didn’t get a phone until he was fifteen.

The twins have let go of my legs and one grabs my hand while the other grabs Baz’s; pulling us into the living room. “Will you watch a Christmas film with us Simon?” my twin says.

“Please Baz,” says the other, “we want to watch Arthur Chirstmas!” my twin leads me over to the sofa, where she climbs onto my lap as soon as I sit down.

Mordelia is sitting in an armchair I suspect is usually Malcolm’s. She groans. “No, not again. Can’t we watch Love Actually?”

“That’s boring,” Baz’s twin says, wrinkling her nose. Baz picks her up as he sits down on the other end of the sofa, sitting her down on his lap, too.

“What about The Grinch?” I suggest. That was one of the films we used to watch every Christmas at the home when I was a kid.

“No,” says Baz. “We are going to watch the only Christmas film that matters: The Muppets Christmas Carol.” I had no idea Baz had a favourite Christmas film. Probably because I’ve ruined every Christmas we’ve been together. Baz would never say so, but I know I have. The first year I killed the Mage; the year after that I was having a complete breakdown; the year after that I actually wasn’t much better. Last year I had just had my wings off and I was starting to process everything that meant; I wasn’t as bad as the year before but I wasn’t exactly the personification of Christmas cheer, either. I really want him to have his own family Christmas this year; I am determined not to ruin it for him.

“Oh yes, I love the Muppets!” Daphne says from the doorway. She’s holding Baz’s little brother who is wearing a bright red onesie that says “SANTA I’VE BEEN VERY GOOD” on the front. “We used to watch it together every year, didn’t we Basil?”

“Hello Mum,” Baz says from his seat. He can’t get up to greet her because one of the twins (Sophie, Petra? How am I supposed to tell? How do they keep track of which one they are?) is still sitting on his lap. Daphne comes over and shifts Swithin onto her hip so she can bend down and kiss Baz on the cheek.

“Hello darling,” she says to him, and then she turns to me and kisses my cheek, too. “Hello Simon, merry Christmas.” I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks; this is a level of familiarity I’m not used to but Baz did say that Daphne wanted to make an effort with me, for his sake.

“Merry Christmas, Mrs Grimm,” I mumble awkwardly.

“Please, Simon, call me Daphne,” she insists breezily, going to sit in the other armchair. Swithin immediately wriggles off of her lap and comes over to the sofa where Baz and I are sat with the twins.

“Baz!” Swithin shouts. He’s just turned four but he doesn’t say very much and he’s got a bit of a lisp. Baz says his father’s worried about how it will affect his magickal ability. Apparently they’re sending him to a speech therapist. Poor kid, can't they just let him get there in his own time?

“Hello, Little Puff, do you want to sit up here?” Swithin holds his arms up and Baz leans around the child on his lap to pick Swithin up and settle him on the sofa in the small space between us. “Are you going to say hello to Simon?” Baz asks him.

Swithin looks up at me, “Simon!” he squeals. I laugh at the joy on his little face.

“Hello, Swithin. Shall we watch the Muppets?”

“Up-pets!” He squeals again. He only seems to squeal single words at a time, but he seems pretty happy about it.

We watch The Muppets Christmas Carol; Malcolm comes in and moves Mordelia out of his armchair just as Jacob and Robert Marley are warning Scrooge about the ghosts coming to haunt him. Swithin falls asleep under Baz's arm while Kermit and Tiny Tim are signing about there being one more sleep ‘til Christmas. The twins fall asleep before the Ghost of Christmas Future shows up – which seems like a good idea; he’s kind of scary.

When the film is over Daphne takes Swithin upstairs and Baz and I follow, each carrying one of the sleeping twins. Once the children are all settled in their beds we go back downstairs to the living room and make polite conversation. It’s awkward; more awkward than it usually is when I’m here. Malcolm seems to be employing a “if you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all” policy, which just means he doesn’t really talk to me. Baz has put that posh boy mask on; the one that looks and speaks a lot like Malcolm. I think he’s stressed about the whole situation so he’s properly retreated back into the old habits, as a sort of defence mechanism; or self-preservation.

Eventually, Daphne concludes that it’s late and the children will be up early, so we should probably go to bed. She comes over to the barn with us to get the presents we brought up so she can put them under the tree for the morning. I start unpacking the suitcase, looking for my toothbrush and pyjamas. Baz chats to Daphne; he seems more relaxed without Malcolm here.

Daphne opens the drawer of one of the bedside tables and pulls out a small and slightly battered cardboard box. “Basil, I found this in a box of old things in the loft when I was clearing out a few weeks ago. They belonged to your mother and I thought you might want them. I know how much you love music and well, so did Natasha.” She says quietly. I don’t know why but this feels like a particularly private moment so I busy myself with the suitcase on the other side of the room.

Baz

I didn’t know there was anything left of my Mother’s that I hadn’t already seen. Daphne is holding out this old shoebox which has no indication on it as to what it contains. I take it and remove the lid – it’s full of cassette tapes. “Thank you,” I say to Daphne and I mean it. I have some of my mother’s old records but she inherited them from her uncle, I think, so they are just that – old. That’s how I got into The Beatles. But she bought these herself; this was music she liked enough to go out and buy a copy of. This feels like the most tangible piece of her I’ve ever had. I put the box down on the bedside table and hug Daphne, who looks like she might cry (I might, too).

“I think you might find something particularly comforting about this collection, Basil.” She says seriously, looking me in the eyes as though she’s trying to tell me something telepathically. Then she turns to leave, stopping at the door to wish us both a good night.

Simon has been doing a poor job of pretending that he’s not in the room where he can hear everything we’ve said, but I’m grateful that he tried. I take the lid off of the shoebox again and start rifling through it, pulling tapes out at random. It looks like a who’s who of the 70s, 80s and early 90s charts – Boyzone, Abba, Take That, Kirsty McCall, T. Rex… There’s all sorts in here. But, as I start pulling more and more cassettes out of the box, I start to notice something.

Queen, Elton John, David Bowie, Melissa Etheridge, Culture Club, George Michael, Frankie Goes To Hollywood… Is this what Daphne meant?

“Baz,” Simon says quietly behind me. “You’ve gone very quiet, are you ok?” He’s standing behind me but not close enough to touch me or look over my shoulder at the tapes. I realise then that there are tears on my face. I take a deep breath and wipe them away, turning to face Simon, though I keep my head down. I nod but he knows it’s a lie. “Baz, what is it? What’s wrong?” He steps in closer and takes my chin in his hand, forcing me to look him in the face.

I sniff and give a small laugh that’s mostly breath and at least part sob. “The box is full of my mother’s old cassette tapes,” I explain, gesturing to the box. Simon steps around me to look at the tapes.

“It was nice of Daphne to give them to you. I wonder how they’ve been missing this long,” he says, picking up tapes at random and turning them over to read the track listings on the back of each case.

“Snow, look at this pile,” I indicate the stack of tapes I’d made on the table, beside the lamp. Simon picks up each one in turn; he hasn’t seen what I did, though. I didn’t really expect him to.

“I’ve heard of some of these guys,” he says, looking at David Bowie’s The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars and Queen’s The Works. Simon Snow generally has terrible taste in music but it’s hard to not hear about some of the biggest acts in the history of the music business.

“Of course you have,” I say, not bothering to muster the sneer his musical ignorance deserves. “David Bowie, Freddie Mercury, Elton John… they’re all musical geniuses. They redefined genres and pushed all sorts of boundaries. Freddie and Bowie are both gone now but they continue to inspire musicians to this day.” I can feel myself starting to monologue about this like the bad guys in those terrible superhero films Snow watches. I make an effort to stop myself going on.

Simon looks at me with a ridiculous, soft expression on his face like he’s indulging a child. “So your mum had a pretty good taste in music then?”

“It was OK,” I say, eyeing all the boy bands in the shoebox. “But that’s not the point. Do you know what all of these artists have in common?” I indicate the now scattered pile of tapes. Simon looks up at me, eyebrows furrowed, and shakes his head. I take another deep breath; I’m starting to cry again. “They’re all queer,” I say, my voice shaking.

“Oh,” Simon says quietly. “That’s good though, isn’t it? Your mum obviously didn’t hate queer people. Not enough to stop listening to their music, anyway. Not like all those idiots who tried to boycott Sainsbury’s after they had a gay couple in their advert.”

I wipe at my face again. “Yeah, I suppose so.”

“Baz-” Simon starts, putting a comforting hand on my upper arm. I don’t want to have this conversation right now; I need some time to make sense of it.

I cut him off, clearing my throat. “Look, Simon, I need to go and hunt, OK?”

“Uh, yeah. I’ll come with you,” he puts the tape he’s been holding back on the bedside table.

“Simon, no. Not tonight,” It comes out more pathetic sounding than I had intended and I think that’s why Simon relents so easily.

“OK,” he says, though he looks disappointed. I wonder if he’s thinking about the first time he kissed me, that night in the woods. In the fire.

“You go to bed, I won’t be long.” I try to make it clear that I’m not planning on starting any forest fires tonight. I leave before Snow can protest any more.

***

I take my time hunting, trying to sort through my thoughts. By the time I’m done (a badger and a fox) I still don’t know exactly how I feel. Daphne meant well, giving me those tapes, and I’m grateful for them. I can’t ever know for sure how my mother would have felt about me being gay, but Simon did have a point – she clearly didn’t hate gay people. She had to deliberately go out and buy those tapes. It’s one thing when it’s a celebrity you don’t know personally, though, and quite another when it’s your own family, your only son. I hear Fiona’s voice in my head, “we’ve got to make decisions for the living, you know?” I do. If Fiona gets her happy-ever-after with her scandalous marriage to a vampire… well, shouldn’t Simon and I get that, too?

When I get back to the barn, Simon is sitting on the bed looking at the tapes again. His hair is damp; he’s had a shower and changed into his pyjamas. He looks up at me. “OK?” he asks.

“Yeah, thanks. I thought you’d be asleep,” I say, taking my shoes off and going to sit next to him on the bed.

“I wanted to wait for you,” he mumbles, looking down at the box of cassettes on his lap. “You were upset when you left and-” he huffs out a breath and runs a hand through his damp curls, “I don’t know Baz. I don’t know what you need right now. You’re always there to solve things when I feel like this and now I don’t know what you need but I want to give it to you. I don’t want to be asleep on the job, you know?” He leans sideways so our shoulders touch and he rests his head against mine. Suddenly I feel lighter.

“Worried I was going to start another fire and you were going to have to rescue me with true love’s kiss again?” I say with a smirk, bumping my shoulder into his. He sits up and looks at me, exasperated by my sudden change in mood.

“You’re feeling better then,” he pokes me in the ribs; I knock my knee against his. “Oh, I found this in the drawer,” he reaches behind him and holds up an old portable cassette player; Daphne must have left it there. “I didn’t play any of the tapes though; I didn’t know if you’d want to.”

He hands me the tape player and I take it, looking at the buttons with their markings almost completely rubbed off from use. “Let’s play something,” I say. An odd sort of nervous energy runs through me. I know most of this music, but there’s another layer to it now; like my mother’s voice has been added to it. “You choose.”

Simon hands me the David Bowie album he was holding earlier, Ziggy Stardust; it hasn’t been rewound all the way. I put it in the tape player and press play. The opening notes of Starman play and I smile. Simon puts his arm around my waist and squeezes, I kiss his temple.

“Didn’t know what time it was, the lights were low oh oh...” Bowie sings.

Simon gets up off the bed and stands in front of me, holding out his hand, “c’mere Baz,” he says, grinning.

I raise an eyebrow at him but I take his hand and he pulls me upright. He keeps his hold on my left hand and puts his other arm around my waist, holding me there. I put my right hand on his shoulder, we’re not really moving – Snow can’t dance to save his life – but he sways us on the spot, still grinning at me.

“There’s a starman, waiting in the sky…”

I move my hand from his shoulder to the back of his head and kiss him, slowly at first and then deeply. I kiss him like he’s the first glass of water I’ve seen after weeks in the desert. “You’re such a beautiful idiot,” I tell him when I’m finished kissing him; he’s still grinning.

“He told us not to blow it…”

I step back from Snow and hold our still connected hands up over our heads. He takes the cue and spins clumsily underneath them, laughing. I catch his free hand in mine and dance with him the way you dance with children at parties. Snow’s skill is about the same. We’re both laughing.

“Let the children lose it, let the children use it, let all the children boogie…”

We dance like that for the rest of the song, me in my jeans and shirt, Simon in his pyjamas. Bare feet on the carpet. When the song ends Simon pulls me down onto the bed with him, we’re both still laughing. I reach over and stop the tape.

“Thank you Simon; this is just what I needed. I love you,” I tell him; sometimes I can’t stop myself from saying it. I’m not thinking about my mother, or Christmas dinner with my father, or anything else. I’m savouring what might be the best moment of my life; I don’t want to be anywhere else right now.

“I love you, too,” Simon says, leaning in to kiss me again. “And Baz, whatever you want to do tomorrow; whether you want to tell them or not, I’ll support you OK?”

“Thank you, Simon,” I whisper back. “Let’s go to bed love.”

[annab-nana]

colby brock oneshots

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