#rocket sleigh

[thepastisalreadywritten]

Santa Claus and his rocket sleigh. 🚀🫎

Robert Maddox is a remarkable engineer known for building the largest pulsejet engines in the world.

@RobertMaddox (Youtube)

[ceasarslegion]

I mean yeah I understand why the original Holiday Hi-Jynx episode was banned from the air and colour corrected so jynx didn't look... like that... but after watching the episode I was focused on so many other things, such as:

-ash swam them halfway to the north pole on a castaway-ass raft

-Santa canonically exists in the pokemon universe

-Santa's elves are all jynx

-Jessie has a personal beef with Santa clause and wants to beat his ass over a doll

-theres a telepathic lapras who apparently guards the north pole from all those who aren't pure of heart. This is never explained or brought up again

-after being told that Jessie's favourite doll wasn't stolen from her but was actually taken back to the workshop to be fixed and brought back to her, Jessie takes her doll and goes "actually I'm still gonna steal all the presents." Incredible bait and switch that would otherwise be a story of Christmas miracle villain reform in any other cartoon

-the reason Santa clause couldn't bring Jessie's doll back to her was because she didn't believe in him anymore. Which is just objectively false because she distinctly wanted to beat his ass all these years. I think this is what Christians think atheism is

-the jynx beat team rockets asses to the point where they'd just be dead if they weren't cartoon characters to get the presents back. And then throw them as hard as they can into the freezing arctic ocean. I think you just killed those guys

-Santas sleigh is pulled by one single ponyta

-the ending cuts back to team rocket all crammed into one bed arguing that Santa won't come if they don't go to sleep. As if he would after that

-also it was a major plot point that they had to get a jynx back to the north pole because it had one of Santa's boots and he couldn't deliver presents if his toes were cold

Like I understand why the colour corrected it and all that but that was not the wildest thing in that episode

[raccoonfallsharder]

so @thirteens-lucky-tardis had a lovely headcanon about Rocket just absolutely entranced by lava lamps. And I love it and it made me think like, take a moment to just breathe, or relax for a second or something? Just sit here and look at this frickin’ lamp thing. Idk it was such a nice visual I thought I’d bring it up to you ☺️

i went hunting for this but couldn't find it! i need to read it o(╥﹏╥)o

it makes complete sense. i'm just imagining you notice how much he likes yours - maybe you come home one day and you can't find him. he's normally clanking around with some invention or another - dismantling your toaster or building a new gun. muttering to himself, or humming one of those old songs. but today your apartment is silent, and if it weren't for the runabout still parked on the roof like a goddamn sleigh, you'd think he'd gone right back up into the stars.

you find him in your room, staring at the lava lamp that he must've turned on at some point. he's transfixed. it's the first time you've seen him still and quiet in your entire time of knowing him.

"are you okay?" you ask him cautiously.

he doesn't look away - just reaches out with one clawed hand and beckons you. "here-" he says, gesturing for you to come over. "-get over here. look at this weird frickin' thing."

a little chuckle huffs its way up out of your lungs, a breath like the beat of a small bird's wing. you come and perch next to him on the bed. i like to think you both lose time like this: breath slowing, hearts slowing, eyes growing heavy. At some point, he shifts and curls into a ball next to you, a compact bundle of fur pressing warmth into your thigh and flank. He rests his chin on your knee, eyes following the soft floats of wax, reflecting the slow-moving light.

i imagine you both end up dozing off, actually. much-needed naps for the two of you.

of course rocket remains entranced in the coming days and eventually - maybe for winter holidays, or as a parting gift - you give him a package to take with him back to knowhere. two lava lamps: one to keep, you tell him, and one to take apart.

i imagine he comes back to visit you often. you're basically best frickin friends - how could he stay away? no matter how much he hates this rotten mudball, you're here, and that makes it a little bit of a home. on one visit - months later; maybe a year - he finally convinces you to join him. he's still trying to get you to move permanently out to knowhere so you can hang out whenever he's not, like, saving the galaxy - but for now, he just wants you to see how it is. a little vacation, he tells you.

he's sure you'll fall in love.

and you do. the streets, the people, the life. cosmo and kraglin and nebula. drax and the kids. yaro root is surprisingly delicious, and they put it in everything. the streets are built on music. string-lights spangle the streets when the artificial sun sets, and the milky fizzes are way more delicious than they'd sounded when rocket had described them.

and those aren't even the best parts.

the best part is when you head in to rocket's place later that night, after meeting everyone and sharing food and playing card games and listening to music and talking for the majority of the night. though rocket has a few other places he think you might like to actually live if he's successful in persuading you to stay, he'd planned on you crashing at his place for the duration of your visit. you both stumble in the shadowy doors - a little buzzy out of pure exhaustion and happiness.

and then he turns on the lights.

rocket doesn't think about it - doesn't even realize he hadn't already told you about it. but the dark room slowly blooms into a soft, moon-pale glow, all the light emanating from dozens on dozens of smooth, luminous columns.

rocket's whole apartment is jeweled with lava lamps.

they're set into shelves lining the space above his workbench. there's a massive pillar of soft light shining next to his bed - his real bed, mattress and everything, because he knew you were comin' and though he'd never say it, your comfort is important to him. there are lamps set into the walls, into the corners. a hundred strange, alien light-forms, plucked from planet earth like flowers and improved: made safer, made softer, made more hypnotic and soothing.

inadvertently, from millions of lightyears away, you've touched this place. you've helped turn his shell of a living space into a home for him - into a haven.

a soft bed.

blankets and pillows.

the beautiful living light of countless shimmering columns, welcoming him into something close to peacefulness, something close to rest.

the two of you stay up late that night: sprawled on the soft, cozy mattress, bundled up in blankets. talking, warming the air with your words and your breaths and your quiet laughs. you both watch the shifting shadows on the walls and the swimming shapes of the wax, as slow-moving as moon-jellies, and just as lovely. your eyelashes and his both grow heavier and heavier, softer and softer, until they rest, finally, feather-light on your cheeks.

and eventually, wrapped in these plush shadows and quilts and the quiet glow, you both fall asleep.

[scary-lasagna]

The Christmas Express of the Underrealm, Pt I.

The sun has long since set over the rooftop of the manor, and clocks throughout the resident's rooms eagerly ticked down to midnight, for when Santa would arrive and chuck presents lovingly under the giant tree set in the middle of the foyer.

Slender made sure to simmer the fireplace early, so it would be cool enough to travel down, yet still strategically hold a bit of toasty warmth in contrast to the bitter cold and snow Santa would be facing throughout the night. The tall man ushered everyone off to bed early, clearing out the most populated rooms, and even wagging a finger at Jane for attempting to hide in her designated reading nook with [Y/N].

It's been long since Splendor tucked Sally into bed, and answered most of the Santa-related questions he could. Most of which he pinned on asking Slender tomorrow morning when she opened presents.

The pink walls and frills of her room only stared back at her as she kept her eyes overly wide to struggle to stay awake. The princess canopy made this more difficult, willingly placed there to create a mock sense of snoozy comfort made for a princess. Butterflies and other whimsical insects littered the bare spots of the wall around posters and self-painted portraits of herself and those she claims as her family. Vintage and modern toys alike neatly lined her rather large windowsill, along with paintbrushes used for her lovely portraits, getting the best view of when Santa comes along with his reindeer.

The 8-year-old crossed her fingers together and rested her intertwined hands on her stomach as she patiently waited… She looked over at the window, her toys still keeping an eye out for her as she pretended to sleep.

And waited.

She hummed an old tune to herself, attempting to smartly keep her mind busy enough to stay awake.

…And waited.

Sally lay in her bed, being very careful to not rustle any sheets, while breathing slowly and quietly. After all, how else could she listen for the ringing bells of Santa's sleigh? It might only be a quarter after 10, long past her bedtime, especially on Christmas Eve, but if The Great Claus were to travel across the realm, his sleigh would have to be the size of an ocean liner, and a total of three days to do it. Things just weren't adding up this year. So Sally decided she'd stay up to face the truth, and wondered quite a lot why she was still hearing footsteps outside of her room.

Why were people up if it's almost midnight? They're supposed to be in bed! Everyone knows that, it's literally in the song. Someone grumbled something about a cabin. It sounded like [Y/N]. The footsteps faded down the stairs.

He knows when you're sleeping and when you're awake, so it's only implied that you have to be sleeping by the time he gets here, or you'll be placed on the naughty list last minute!

What silly rules those are. Maybe Sally wanted a glass of water at midnight, would Santa deprive a dehydrated child of water just to put presents under the tree?

Her thoughts ceased to a screeching halt as her door popped open, a pencil-thin light peering into her safe space.

Holy SHIT is that Santa?

Sally shot up like a rocket, quickly peering through the door crack. It widened, revealing a shape that was nowhere near the size of a big jolly fat man and eight reindeer. Well, nine, if you include the weird outcast with a red nose.

In fact, it was a much, much smaller frame. Probably the shortest adult she's ever encountered.

"Ben, what do you want from me? I'm trying to sleep here." Sally huffed and plopped her head back into her pillow in aggravation. There's nothing that could be more important than the arrival of Santa.

Nothing.

"I just had a feeling you were still up, is all." Ben leaned on the doorframe for a second, "Can I come in?"

"Yeah, why not? You already ruined it." Sally gripped her covers and turned over with a haste that was too overly dramatic to imply anything short of spoiled annoyance.

"Ruined what?" Ben took the invitation with ease, and sat on her bedside. "It's not even midnight yet." He glanced at the ticking clock on her bedside to make sure, and sure enough it was still counting down to 10:30.

"Well, you and everyone else are up, which means Santa isn't going to come!" Sally threatened the verge of tears now, with so much frustration in a tiny body like hers, the only way of release is through waterworks.

"Ooohh, so you don't know?"

Sally roughly turned her head toward Ben, yet her body lay still. "What?" She pouted.

"All of those myths are outdated. Santa's really with the times now," Ben shrugged smugly, "and it doesn't matter whether there are people awake or not, he knows how to find a way to sneak past them and place presents under the tree. They're invisible until morning, so even if a kid sneaks down to peek, they won't be there!"

Sally supposed that made sense. But she didn't admit it. After all, why would Splendor lie about having to stay in bed until morning?

"That doesn't mean you shouldn't be sleeping though." He gave her a pat on the shoulder, and attempted to leave, but Sally had one last thing to say.

"I'm not sleeping tonight. I'm listening for the bells on Santa's sleigh."

Ben smiled, and nodded knowingly at the door frame. "Wake me up when he gets here, then."

The door clicked shut, and Sally sank into her mattress with great comfort. She blamed her sleepiness on the canopy, and weakly shook a fist toward it with a sleepy groan.

Her eyelids held too much weight to keep prying open, and slipped, and fell into a cozy and warm darkness of slumber.

[wheezethecheeze]

Santa deary, the weather seems all jolly and bright.

The perfect setting for a joyride

Santa baby, it’s time for this sleigh to take flight!

[guitar and drums fade in]

Dasher Dancer Prancer Vixen, Comet Cupid Donner Blitzen, rocketing past all the trees, enough to feel the winter breeze 

Oh, This is such a lovely sight, sleigh bells ring as we take flight

[goblininawig]

Red Dwarfcember: Santa

@red-dwarfer thought it would be fun to write some Christmasy Red Dwarf fics, so I'll be posting a few I wrote based on her prompts.

Prompt: Santa

Words: 727

Summary: Rimmer explains Io's version of the Santa legend.

Rating: T

A03 link or keep reading below.

“Oi,” Lister calls down to Rimmer. “When you were growing up on Io, did you learn about Santa Claus?”

“What the smeg are you on about now, Listy?” Rimmer says, turning a page in Fascist Dictator Monthly. Lister never can stay quiet when he is trying to read. It would be obnoxious if he didn’t expect it by now.

Lister’s locs and then his upside-down face appear, followed by one hand holding a girly magazine, folded open to reveal a smiling, scantily-clad model in a provocative outfit that vaguely resembling a Santa suit. Lister’s other hand drops out of the bunk to point at it.

“Santa,” he emphasizes. “What’d they teach about ‘im on Io? I mean, it was one thing hearing that he traveled all around Earth in one night, but that couldn’t hold much weight up in the space colonies.”

Lister loses his grip on the glossy pages and the magazine plops onto the metal floor. He shrugs and turns his attention back to Rimmer.

“So, did you hear Santa stories on Io, or not?”

Rimmer gives up on reading his own magazine, and drops it into his lap. He watches as Lister tumbles down from his bunk and settles into a seat at the table, swiping his fallen mag up from the floor.

“Don’t be a gormless git, Lister. Humans took everything they could get up into space with them, including the legend of Saint Nicholas.”

“But how did that work?” Lister asks, “if he was meant to live on Earth?”

“Well, obviously he wasn’t on Earth in our stories,” Rimmer states as if it should be obvious. “He had a base on the ice moon Europa. Humans couldn’t live there, because of the radiation, but jolly ole Saint Nick used his magic to put up protective domes for himself, Mrs. Claus, and the elves.”

“He wha’?” Lister snickers. “And kids believed that?”

Rimmer crosses his arms over his chest and glares at Lister. “How is it any more ridiculous than a man living with elves at the North Pole?” he demands. “If you ask me, the Io Santa is far superior – a Santa for the modern era!”

“All right, all right, no need to get tetchy,” Lister says, putting his fingerless gloved-hands up in mock surrender. “So how’d your Santa get around then?”

“Well, obviously he had a rocket ship that was crewed by reindeer-human GELF hybrids. How else would he travel?” Rimmer retorts, as if that should be obvious.

“And I suppose GELFs made the toys as well?”

“Well, why shouldn’t they? They were made to do what humans want, weren’t they?”

Lister chuckles. “Man, what a smegging story. Did you ever believe it?”

Rimmers stiffens defensively, and deflects rather than answer. “I don’t know what you’re acting so smug about. At least Io’s Santa was based on scientific facts! GELFs and starships actually exist! Earth’s Santa is just a bunch of nonsense and fairy dust. There’s no such thing as elves and a sleigh is one of the most out-moded methods of transport there is! Utter tot,” he concludes dismissively.

Lister laughs, tossing the magazine in the air and letting it fall on the table, where it flops into the remains of his evening curry. “Well, yeah, that’s why only kids believe in it. So, did ya?”

“Did you?” Rimmer returns.

With a shrug and a shake of his head, Lister replies, “Nah. Growing up in an orphanage, they don’t really bother with all that. And by the time I was adopted, I was past being fooled about it.”

“Ah,” Rimmer vocalizes. “Well, that’s probably for the best.” 

“Why do you say tha’?”

Rimmer scowls. “At least you didn’t have to watch, year after year, as Santa left your brothers gifts, while you got a lump of coal, only to find out that it was your own mother doing it all along.”

Lister expression softens. “Sorry, man. I wouldn’t’ve brought it up if I’d known…”

“Yes, well, I’m sure she was just pushing me so that I could achieve greatness,” Rimmer says, almost to himself, as he looks down at a black-and-white image of Mussolini.

“I think you’re great,” Lister declares.

Rimmer looks up at him, hazel eyes wide before narrowing in disbelief. “Do you?”

“A great big smeghead,” Lister concludes with a cheeky grin.

To both their surprise: Rimmer laughs.

[strictlyfavorites]

Santa Claus and his rocket sleigh. 🚀🫎 Robert Maddox is a remarkable engineer known for building the largest pulsejet engines in the world.

[omg-just-peachy]

Santa Stony AU: Steve is Santa, racing across the night sky with his magitech sleigh, both rocket powered and pulled by his best buddy, a magic reindeer named Bucky (think Sven from Frozen). He works himself to the bone making sure all the good kids of the world have gifts in the morning unlike him growing up. (Maybe the super soldier serum was a magic potion instead or something. And after whatever war he decides to do this instead?)

His “head elf” (think Bernard from the Santa Clause, a slightly shorter then average handsome young man lol) Tony keeps the production lines of toys and gadgets and gizmos humming along, he maps out the best routes every year for Steve to take and keeps his sleigh going faster and better every year.

They’ve fallen in love only a few years into their partnership but it’s been centuries at this point because they’re to afraid to make a move, and if it goes wrong what becomes of their working relationship? They might ruin Christmas!!! Best to keep pining forever and ever

(Or we could swap it! Artist Steve is the head elf keeping the toys coming and Iron Man Santa zooming around the world delivering gifts using magic and tech (teleporting, a magic bag that holds all the presents shrunk down by Pym Particles, time travel tech etc). Same reasons for not getting together and all but Tony has Dum-e and U as his less intelligent magical reindeer lol)

Anyway, either one assumes one day Santa is going to find his “Mrs. Clause” or maybe thinks he already has? Either Peggy or Pepper was mistaken as her once and now it’s part of the lore and the other assumes it will be true one day soon.

omg i have to go with the second situation SIMPLY because bernard is my absolute favorite lol so head elf steve is extra cute to me!!

i need the entire workshop to be dedicated to the cause, i need dum-e and u to be causing absolute chaos to make steve and tony spend time together, i need pepper to be at her wits end with the flirting, all of the avenger elves have to be in on some insanely elaborate plan to see how many toys and ornaments steve can break as they talk loudly about the dates tony is going to be set up on until he fins the right person...

holiday chaos and then a christmas kiss, the end <3333

[nanoland]

i’m publishing a new book! here’s the first chapter!

Dough is a contemporary M/F small town romance that’ll be available for purchase on December 23rd; HOWEVER! you can, if you like, preorder it right now, as preordering is a way of helping out independent creators like myself who don’t have a marketing department at our disposal. i’d be really, really grateful if you did. 

here is the link! 

and here, as promised, is the first chapter: 

Chapter 1

Lucy Laufenberg’s Christmas display was, once again, the talk of the town.

Last year, she’d constructed an entire cookie forest, with wafer trees and coconut snow, through which a herd of gingerbread reindeer cavorted – one with a fat juicy cherry on its snout – their respective positions and size carefully calculated to create the illusion of depth. An architecturally-accurate cabin of pocky and marzipan had nestled in the background, a snickerdoodle pathway leading up to its front door, beside which stood a beaming fondant Mrs Claus.

Adorable, her customers had said.

Genius, the mayor had said when he’d come round for a photo op.

A waste of God-given talent, Pastor Carl of the local megachurch had said in reaction to the banner she’d put up over the display reading ‘Happy Holidays!’, and she was proudest of that.

This year, just to really fuck with Pastor Carl and his Facebook Flat Earth freakshow, the theme was cosmology. The Earth, a marzipan geoid, orbited a sun made from yellow cake, both elevated by thin, transparent plastic rods to seemingly hover against a black liquorice backdrop. The stars were one hundred and seventeen vanilla cookies, nestled amongst nebulas crafted from purple-pink candyfloss and dark chocolate pizzelle singularities.

To render her creation adequately festive, she’d added a bright red fondant sleigh being pulled by a fondant rocket ship, racing a pair of gumdrop meteors.

“Heck, kiddo,” said her Dad when she texted him a picture. “Guess that engineering degree wasn’t a total waste after all!”

The inevitable self-loathing spiral that line would have usually initiated was, thankfully, quickly cancelled out by the already-existing spiral of anxiety she’d been caught in all morning.

The magazine people were coming round at noon.

There would be photographs taken.

In between shovelling batches in and out of the oven, she’d dusted and polished every last inch of the shop. While one hand was giving a customer change and handing over a dozen hot croissants in a brown bag, the other was applying Tarte Maneater Voluptuous Mascara. When Antoinette arrived, dapper as ever in her waistcoat and tweed hat, Lucy left her in charge while she ducked into the kitchen to finish bullying her dense brown locks into an Amy Winehouse-style beehive decorated with delicate snowflake hairpins.

“Very nice,” said Antoinette, her white sleeves already rolled up and busy placing shortbread triangles into a pale peach box emblazoned with their looping logo: The Sugar Palace.

Lucy glanced at one of the six full-length mirrors that lined the shop’s walls to make it look bigger than it was, studying her gold nails, sparkling heels, and very favourite cute, deep green babydoll dress with frills and big, functionless wooden buttons running down the front, currently obscured by her apron. “Not too much?”

Her best friend and staunchest ally was firm: “No such thing as too much. You’re a goddess.”

“Aw.”

“Feel good? Feel powerful?”

“Yeah. Totally. Totally powerful.”

“Good. Now, there’s your coffee. Have a sip, then process what I’m about to tell you with patience and decorum.”

One month older than her, Antoinette Reynolds was the only childhood accomplice who’d stuck with Lucy all these years and Lucy was still ashamed that it had taken her so long to recognise that she had anorexia – long enough that her by-then business partner, ever proud and fiercely independent, had been well into her first battle with recovery when the truth had come out. The last half decade had brought marked improvement for them both, health-wise, though Lucy was still compelled by habit to check with a glance how brittle Antoinette’s nails were looking as she gently placed the mug in Lucy’s hands.  

Lucy shut her eyes. Took a sip. Set the mug back down. “I’m prepared.”

“He’s back.”

“Back?” she hissed, spinning towards the shop’s front window. “No! No, no, no! He’s visiting his grandma in Atlanta! He’s not due back until tomorrow!”

Though her cookie cosmos partially obscured her view, through the candyfloss clouds and gleaming glass she could just about make out a thirty-year-old pickup with duct tape where its back window should have been and thick mud coating its tires. “Dammit. This is not okay, Ant. I went out of my way to ask his brother when he’d be back. The magazine people can’t see him. Absolutely not.”

Antoinette sighed, absently brushing a strand of her artfully messy bob out of her eyes. “Lucy, I get it. I do. This sucks. It’s a blow. But let’s be rational here, right, and let’s not make any hasty… Lucy?”

Lucy was already out the door.

He’s not getting away with this, dammit. He’s not. 

0   

Her holiday displays were only one of many ways Lucy worked her ass off turning her little shop into the cutest thing this side of town.

The front of the building was painted duck-egg blue with creamy yellow stripes. Dense flowering bushes grew in wooden tubs on either side of the main window, dribbling purple petals everywhere. A small cobblestone path meandered down to the road, flanked by a dozen lawn flamingos wearing bonnets and berets. Off to the side stood a perfectly-pruned lemon tree from which hung a charming handmade birdfeeder.

To be clear: Lucy hadn’t been trying to make the colourless, featureless block across the road crummy by comparison. If anything, she’d been trying to draw attention away from its dowdiness.

Alas, the result was the same. As The Sugar Palace had blossomed, Murkins’ Laundromat had become ever greyer and meaner-looking.

(As had its owner, Antoinette was fond of saying.)

But you couldn’t get to Strut Murkins without first wading through an army of half-feral relatives.

A grubby adolescent nephew, Kyle or something, sat warming his ass on the pavement next to the truck like he was guarding it – like there was a single human on Planet Earth who might want to steal it – and smoking a cigarette Lucy tore right out of his mouth as she passed.

He leapt up with a strangled ‘The fuck? Bitch!’ that elicited an amused chortle from the tall man with the world’s most God-forsaken mullet striding out the front door carrying a bulging garbage bag; Bronco, Strut’s younger brother by a decade, twenty-something and looking, as per usual, like he’d spent the morning traipsing around the woods.

(Maybe he had. Rumour had it he was a poacher.)

Getting in Bronco’s face, Lucy snarled, “You let the kid smoke? He’s a child, for God’s sake.”

She punctuated her sentence by throwing the cigarette on the ground and stomping on it, her sparkling heels failing to deliver the decisive ‘thud’ she’d have preferred.

“Hell with you, lady!” Kyle screeched.

Bronco shrugged, which was his default response to everything. “Eh. He’s a li’l shit.”

Then something else, low and incomprehensible as he glanced away. Like her, the Murkins clan wasn’t from round these parts. Some trailer park in Alabama – that was the rumour. Their accents supported it. Lucy got the distinct impression that those accents thickened, quite deliberately, when they were talking to people they didn’t like.

“You said your brother wouldn’t be back until Wednesday,” she insisted.  

Another shrug. “Strut does what he likes.”

Bronco resumed walking, flicking his fuming nephew’s ear as he went by. Gritting her teeth, Lucy stepped inside the laundromat and was instantly assaulted by the only thing worse than holiday carols; holiday bro country.  

‘That Christmas tree ain’t the only thing getting lit this year!’ sang FGL, making her wish she’d brought a baseball bat.

The twins were perched like exotic birds atop a tumble dryer, all gangly limbs and bangles, Priss painting her nails black while Barb groped her own left breast.

“Would you cut that out? Customers gonna think you’re a perv,” sneered Priss, tossing back her long bottle-blonde hair.

Barb, drabber and with a buzz cut, snapped, “The internet said this is how you do it! Catch ‘em early and the doctors can zap ‘em with a laser. Catch ‘em late and they gotta hack your tits clean off. I’m being fucking responsible, you whore. And you should be, too! You wanna work in Hollywood one day, yeah? How’re you gonna do that if they’ve hacked off your tits? Not like you’ve got anything else going for you.”

“Where’s Strut?” Lucy interrupted, before they could descend into one of their habitual screaming matches.

Seemingly at the sound of her voice, the baby, playing in a plastic laundry basket placed below the twins’ dangling feet, started to cry. Dee, real name Dorothy-Amber-Leslie Murkins, was the only member of the family with big, beautiful green eyes, doe-like and dewy. Everyone else’s were blue and squinty. Lucy endured ten seconds of silent, identical squints before giving up and stalking over to the back room.

“He’s busy!” Barb called.

“So am I,” muttered Lucy, pushing the door open and finding Strut Murkins standing there with his dick out, pissing into an empty Coke bottle.

Stream unfaltering, he growled, “Y’all mind?”

He was a broad man with close-cropped dirty blond hair whose body language had two settings – looming and skulking – and was, Lucy guessed, somewhere between forty and forty-five, with deep frown lines and thin lips prone to curling.

“Told you he was busy!” Barb chimed as Priss cackled. Evil little rats.

They all expected her to clutch her pearls and flee. Damned if she’d give them the satisfaction.

“A word, Mr Murkins,” she said icily, glaring at the bottle, because what was the alternative? Pretend it wasn’t there? “Please.”

At last, the stream trailed off.

Strut gave his dick a brisk shake before tucking it back into his pants and screwing the cap back on the bottle. “No time to chatter today, girlie. Some of us work for a living.”

He put the bottle down on the floor, just close enough to Lucy’s feet that its contents would splatter all over her shoes if it toppled.

Her eyelid twitched. Behind her, Dee was still wailing, atonal and shrill. “You have a bathroom.”

“Toilet’s fucked. Plumber won’t be here ‘til late afternoon. Nothing be done about it,” he informed her airily, then added, with a nasty grin, “unless a fine, charitable person like yourself feels inclined to let us use the one in your shop?”

Inspecting her nails, she said, “Mm. I’m afraid that won’t be possible today. Photographers from Transcendentally Domestic will be coming by. The shop needs to be pristine. The whole street, ideally. That’s why I’d appreciate it if you’d move your truck to somewhere a touch more discrete.”

She’d deliberately adopted her snootiest voice, knowing that it was the fastest way to piss Strut off and that pissing him off was the fastest way to getting what you wanted out of him. He’d explode, call you names, make threats, and then Bronco or the twins would reluctantly intervene and tell him to chill out and cooperate before someone called the damn police.

The police, she’d noticed, were the only people, the only entity that not a single member of the family cared to fuck with. Antoinette’s leading theory was that Strut used the laundromat to smuggle cocaine in and out of town.

True to form, storm clouds were already gathering on Strut’s face.

“Hell’s wrong with my truck?” he growled. “That’s my legal goddamn property. Can park it wherever the fuck I like, thank you oh so very much.”

“Well, no. You can park it where the law says you can park it. Now, at the moment, where it’s parked wouldn’t be a problem – if it weren’t for the picture, Mr Murkins. I believe we’ve already had a conversation about the picture.”

Dee unleashed a particularly piercing cry and Strut cursed and stuck his head out the door to yell, “Brats! Y’all deaf? Feed the fuckin’ baby!”

“Already did!” Barb hollered back.

“Then check her fuckin’ diaper!”

He turned back to Lucy with folded arms and a sneer. “Picture on the truck’s a damn masterpiece. Took Bronco three days to spray paint that shit on.”

“No, it didn’t. It’s an anime mermaid with comically huge breasts. It looks like it took half an hour and as I have told you before, it’s not in keeping with the neighbourhood’s tone. I run a bakery renowned for its cookies and sweets, Strut. I have little, impressionable children coming in every hour of the day. What will their parents think, seeing that… that monstrosity?”

“Eh. Frankly, you got off lightly,” he drawled with a shrug. “Bronco’s a furry. He wanted to make her a sexy fox ‘til I put my foot down.”

“Regardless. Please move the truck. At least until the magazine folks have come and gone. Then you can move it back, with my blessing.”

She graced him with a tight smile.

Scratching his stubble and pursing his lips, he said, “They’re gonna – what? Do an article ‘bout that weirdass school science project you got in your window? Why? Who gives a shit?”

Prick.

“Transcendentally Domestic is currently putting together a series on small female-owned businesses and the challenges of managing a start-up in this economic climate. It’s actually very interesting.”

Bronco burst into the room, almost knocking over the piss bottle and brandishing a phone. “Strut! Call for you. Think it’s Sergio.”

Taking it, Strut gave her a final glance, grunted, “Answer’s no,” and stalked out.

“Your lesbian friend’s looking for you,” Bronco told her, oblivious to her clenched fists and gritted teeth. “Says the magazine woman’s here.”

[kamenwriter]

Old SANTECLAUS with much delight His reindeer drives this frosty night, O’r chimney tops, and tracts of snow, To bring his yearly gifts to you.

The steady friend of virtuous youth, The friend of duty, and of truth, Each Christmas eve he joys to come Where peace and love have made their home.

Through many houses he has been, And various beds and stockings seen; Some, white as snow, and neatly mended, Others, that seemed for pigs intended.

To some I gave a pretty doll, To some a peg-top, or a ball; No crackers, cannons, squibs, or rockets, To blow their eyes up, or their pockets.

Where e’re I found good girls or boys, That hated quarrels, strife and noise, I left an apple, or a tart, Or wooden gun, or painted cart;

No drums to stun their Mother’s ear, Nor swords to make their sisters fear; But pretty books to store their mind With knowledge of each various kind.

But where I found the children naughty, In manners crude, in temper haughty, Thankless to parents, liars, swearers, Boxers, or cheats, or base tale-bearers,

I left a long, black, birchen rod, Such as the dread command of GOD Directs a Parent’s hand to use When virtue’s path his sons refuse.

"Old Santeclaus with Much Delight" is an anonymous illustrated children's poem published in New York in 1821, predating by two years the first publication of A Visit from St. Nicholas (Twas the Night before Christmas). It is the first publication to mention (and illustrate) Santa Claus's reindeer and his sleigh, as well as being the first to describe his arrival on Christmas Eve. The accompanying illustrations are the earliest published artistic depictions of a Santa Claus figure.

[owilder]

Happy Christmas, loves. I hope that Astro Father Christmas brings you something lovely in his rocket sleigh.

[spaceagebachelormann]

𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄 𝒊 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆!

@likefolksong!! here it is love!! the bullet points are my favourite songs by them and i’ll definitely be adding more to this list!!

~~

╰┈➤ DAVID BOWIE!

Ziggy Stardust 

Magic Dance

Life on Mars? 

Sorrow

Be My Wife

╰┈➤ TEARS FOR FEARS!

Head over Heels

Mad World

Sowing the Seeds of Love

╰┈➤ THE BEATLES!

Penny Lane

Yellow Submarine

Help!

Maxwells Silver Hammer

╰┈➤ MITSKI!

Goodbye, My Danish Sweetheart

Stay Soft

The Only Heartbreaker

Townie 

╰┈➤ TAYLOR SWIFT!

Enchanted 

Illicit Affairs

New Romantics

State of Grace

╰┈➤ SZA!

Nobody Gets Me

Tread Carefully

Love Language 

╰┈➤ THE SMITHS!

Back to the Old House

I Know it’s Over

Jeane

Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me

╰┈➤ LAUFEY!

Let You Break My Heart Again

Valentine

Like The Movies

I Wish You Love

Magnolia

╰┈➤ FLEETWOOD MAC!

Big Love

Rhiannon

Gypsy

╰┈➤ THE ROLLING STONES!

Moonlight Mile

Paint It, Black

Brown Sugar

╰┈➤ TINA TURNER!

Disco Inferno

Tonight

What’s Love Got to Do With It

Proud Mary

╰┈➤ FRANK SINATRA!

Strangers In The Night

The Girl From Ipanema

Somethin’ Stupid

My Way

I’m a Fool To Want You

╰┈➤ ELLA FITZGERALD!

Misty

I’ve Got a Crush On You

╰┈➤ NIRVANA!

Heart-Shaped Box

Lithium

The Man Who Sold The World

In Bloom

╰┈➤ ELTON JOHN!

Rocket Man

i’m still getting into his music so i’ll come back when i know more songs 😭

╰┈➤ THE CURE!

The Lovecats

Let’s Go To Bed

The Caterpillar

Just Like Heaven

╰┈➤ BILLY IDOL!

Rebel Yell

Dancing With Myself

Cradle of Love

╰┈➤ METALLICA!

The Four Horsemen

Seek and Destroy

╰┈➤JANIS JOPLIN!

Cry Baby

Bye, Bye Baby

╰┈➤ THE RONETTES!

Sleigh Ride

Do I Love You?

I Can Hear Music

[thevindicativevordan]

so much like Spider-Man, Superman is a character who’s powers really negate any reason for him to have a vehicle of any kind; his speed and flight make transportation a non issue. Even for when he’s gone interstellar, we’ve always just seen him fly through space with no problem minus any power issues like with Authority Superman. But do you happen to have any ideas for a potential Super vehicle on par with the Batmobile and Invisible Jet? something along the lines of the Sleigh from Morrison’s Klaus or the TARDIS would be fun visuals i think

Having a spaceship would still be useful for Clark because he would need it both to transport large groups of people if the situation called for it, and also to travel to worlds with red suns (or any other type of sun that doesn’t empower him to travel without needing protection). Taking the rocket his father launched him to Earth in and improving on it is a natural next step.

[zahri-melitor]

Two more Santa stories over in the Super books!

In Adventures of Superman #623, we have a compilation of stories that Clark tells Lois. One of them is How Superman Saved Christmas, an occasion when Clark came across one of the reindeer being sick and volunteered to help Santa with his deliveries by pulling the sleigh.

Next is Bizarro World, where we are looking at Jing Kal-El.

This is another ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas’ parody.

In this one, Clark’s rocket comes down in the North Pole and he’s found by two Elves. He’s then raised by the Elf Queen and grows up to be Santa Claus.

[havendance]

Santaquest pt3!

I'm falling behind on this, so let's speedrun some comics.

Limited Collector's Edition #34

Not Santa related, but the second story, features Captain Marvel where both Billy and Captian Marvel buy presents for each other. Billy does his best to be polite about his alter-ego's taste:

Santa (not the real deal): What's this? From Capt Marvel to Billy?? Billy: Sure! Ha, Ha! Capt. Marvel bought me something I never had the nerve to get myself. Billy: Er--uh--I always wanted a loud necktie like this!

Story 3--the one with the real Santa!--we see that he and his dwarves are happy to throw down:

Santa: Hmmm! I'm against violence, but... ...they were trying to steal our Christmas toys!

One of the thieves tries to get away, unfortunately there's a truck containing explosives!

A move which destroys all the toys Angel and Sam collected for Santa!

DC Special Series #21

We've go our Santa appearance as previously documented by Zahri:

Also in this story: an explosion breaks the time barrier!

Destiny: As the fuel tanks exploded, the rocket-plane crashed through the time barrier--with an explosion that was seen across the ages...

The sort of comics pseudo-science I do enjoy

Best of DC #22

In a reprinted story from Batman #27, we have no appearance of the real santa, but we do have another appearance of the holiday bat-plane!

Onward to our real santa story: The Seal Men's War on Santa Claus!

Our young Jed finds himself making a deal with the old miser who lives nearby to raise money for the christmas fund:

Mr Gotrox (note: what a name!): I like your spirit, young fellow, so I'll tell ou what I'm going to do! If you can prove to my by midnight tonight that there is such a person as Santa Claus, I'll give that fund of yours a check for one million dollars! Nephew Gotrox: Uncle Titus! Jed: Oh wow! A million dollars! Do you really mean it, sir?

Will he succeed? Judging that this is our real Santa story I think he might, but we'll have to see. Fortunately, Jed is friends with the Sandman, and the Sandman is friends with Santa Claus!

Narration: And after Jed has breathlessly told the Sandman his story... Sandman: Why, that'll be no problem at all! Santa Claus is a friend of mine from way back! He'll be glad to help out. Jed: Gee, Sandman, that's great!

Anyway, there's a whole adventure with the seal men and the nephew but in the end, Santa shows up and Mr Gotrox remembers his Christmas spirit. Santa even lets him ride in his sleigh!

Santa: ... Is there something special you'd like for Christmas? Mr Gotrox: Yes, Santa, there is! It's something I've always wanted. Bzzzz-bzzz-bzzz Narration: And what is it that Titus Gotrox has always wanted, you ask? Well... Santa: Ho Ho HO! You're doing a fine job driving my sleigh Titus! But you'd better put on some hustle! The kids in Asia and Australia will be popping out of bed any time now, and we don't want to be late!

Finally, in the justice league story (no real) Santa, we get this little gem for the dinahollie fans:

Narration: Oliver (Green Arrow) Queen and his Lady Friend, Dinah (Black Canary) Lance, interrupted in the midst of a more personal celebration... Oliver: Of all the lousy times for the JLA to call!

Hey! At least you've still got your clothes on...

Well, that was perhaps not quite so speedy but there really were quite a few christmas stories to get through. Well, until next time!

[askrobouteguilliman40k]

So... how was Logan Grimnar able to fucking sprint in terminator armor? That shouldn't he possible. And yet he managed to do so.

It is a matter of momentum.

He starts slow, but builds speed.

Also, he is normally riding a rocket powered sleigh.

So he doesn't run often.