#the example was a lopsided christmas tree

[naamahdarling]

I had a dream where I thought of a new Tumblr meme and how I was going to become Very Popular with it and I got very excited, but when I woke up to write it down it was just a painting of a jousting knight from a medieval manuscript photoshopped opposite various leaning objects and structures and animals and the text was "ANYONE ELSE HERE TILT?"

[unbridgeabledistances]

ok i have an inbox full of prompts, but i was making valentine’s day plans & all of a sudden felt very inspired to write some valentine’s day gallavich! featuring uncle mickey, homemade cards and a lot of domestic fluff- i’ll probs have a part two up sometime this week!<3

--

It was a lazy, slow-paced Sunday afternoon at the Gallagher house. Mickey had been lying on the couch passively watching trashy reality TV for god knows how long—and apparently at some point he’d fallen asleep, because now the TV volume was just a low hum, and he was being woken up to the startling crash of the kitchen back door slamming shut, and the rustling of shoes and coats being taken off and discarded by the front door.

“Alright Franny, let’s set this stuff up on the kitchen table.” Mickey heard Ian’s voice sail across the room, his eyes still closed to block out the cheery sunshine teeming in the living room.

Mickey tried to doze off again, attempting to block out the bright light infiltrating his eyelids, but it was no use— whatever Ian and Franny were doing, murmuring and clanging in the kitchen, there was no way for Mickey to escape the sound now and drift back into his sunwarmed sleep. He begrudgingly shoved the scratchy crocheted blanket off of his lap, stretching as he rose and stumbled into the kitchen.

He wasn’t expecting the carnage that he saw when he turned the corner; the kitchen table was covered in an explosion of sheets of multicolored construction paper, all reds and pinks and whites, with tiny multicolored stickers and tubes of glitter and shiny ribbons arranged and spread wide across the countertop, scattered with glue sticks and pairs of scissors and an exploded box of crayons. There was a small mountain of cut-out hearts piled high on the table, smattered with glitter-glue and blocky handwriting.

Mickey rubbed his eyes, taking in the scene. “What’re you two Picassos up to?” he asked drowsily.

Ian looked up, his eyes light. “Look who’s awake!” He gestured at the table emphatically, like it was Christmas morning. “Isn’t it great? Me and Franny grabbed all this stuff at the dollar store for less than ten bucks. The glue sticks definitely kind of suck, but I think it’ll get the job done.”

Mickeys eyes scanned to Franny, who was hard at work trying to cut a shape out of a piece of red construction paper, her brows furrowed in concentration. Ian kept chattering on as he unwrapped another sheath of the paper.

“Debbie left Franny with me since some rich lady called her with a weekend handywoman emergency that popped up at the last minute, so now I’m helping Franny make her valentines for school.”

Mickey scoffed. “Fucking valentines?”

Ian rolled his eyes as he contentedly started to glue together two pieces of paper. “Yes, Mickey, valentines. You know, those nice things that normal people give to each other on Valentine’s Day, along with a box of chocolates or some shit and a note about how much they love each other—”

“Yes, I know what they are, smartass. Don’t know why you didn’t just buy the little cardboard ones at the store though.”

Ian smirked, his eyes still focused on the paper beneath him that he was smudging glitter on. “Yeah, well. Franny wanted to make them, and I thought it’d be kind of fun.”

Just then Franny gasped triumphantly, raising a lopsided and crumpled paper heart up for Mickey to see. “Look, Uncle Mickey! I cut a heart! Uncle Ian showed me how!”

Mickey raised his eyebrows at Ian, who had a sheepish look on his face. “Didn’t know you had so many hidden talents, Gallagher.”

Ian flashed a grin. “I used to be really into art class in elementary school, what can I say.”

Franny looked up at Mickey with wide eyes. “Do you want to make valentines with us? We have to make twenty-seven, because that’s the number of people in my class.”

Mickey faltered. Sitting here gluing fucking glitter to pieces of paper was not exactly what he’d had in mind as his plans for the weekend…

“Uh. That’s okay kiddo. I think you two’ve got it covered.”

Franny seemed to readily accept Mickey’s answer, instantly looking downward again and grabbing a fistful of crayons from the table to continue enhancing her masterpiece. Ian, on the other hand, tore his gaze from his own valentine.

“Oh c’mon Mick, you don’t wanna help?” Ian asked, his voice goading and his eyebrows raised.

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Yeah, thanks but no thanks.” He turned, walking over to open the fridge and grabbing a beer from the top shelf.

“C’mon, just one valentine. Franny can show you how to cut out a heart shape, right Fran?”

Franny nodded vigorously. “Yes, I know how!”

Mickey took a swig of his beer and sighed. “Jesus, fine.” He pulled a chair between Ian and Franny, slowly scraping it on the linoleum, and then perched on the edge uncomfortably. “Alright Franny, show me what you’ve got.”

“Okay, so the first thing that you have to do is pick which color is your favorite. What’s your favorite color?”

Mickey had taken another sip of his beer, and now he sputtered slightly. “I don’t know Franny, you pick for me.”

Franny’s face melted into a pout. “But you have to pick, Uncle Mickey, it’s your favorite color!”

Ian bit back a laugh, his eyes still bright and cheerful. “Yeah, Mick, c’mon. What is your favorite color? We’ve never gotten this deep in our relationship before.”

Mickey gulped again from his beer can and flipped Ian off in the process. “I don’t fucking know. Never thought about it before.”

Franny held the stack of construction paper up to Mickey. “Look! There’s red, and yellow, and blue, and purple, and green—”

Mickey cut her off. “Uh, give me a green one.”

Ian smirked. “Green?”

“Fuck you, it was the first color I thought of.” Of course, that wasn’t really true—if Mickey needed to have a favorite fucking color, it was obviously going to be green, like the green eyes that met his gaze every morning and were the last thing he saw before he went to sleep at night— even if he would never be caught dead admitting that sappy bullshit to Ian.

Ian looked like he was holding back a smile. “Right,” he mused. “Hey, Franny, pass me a blue paper? Cause y’know, that’s my favorite color.”

Mickey gently shoved Ian in the square of his chest. “You’re being fucking soft.”

Ian let a crooked smile burst onto his face. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

Mickey leaned back in his chair, holding the piece of thick green paper in front of him appraisingly. “Okay Franny, what’s step two?”

Franny stretched her body across the table to reach for one of the strewn pairs of scissors. “Now, you fold the paper in half, and then you cut out the shape of half of a heart, like this.” She drew an example of the curved pattern on the backside of Mickey’s paper with the tip of her finger. “And then you unfold it and it’ll be a perfect shape!”

“Sounds easy enough.”

Mickey took the scissors from Franny’s grasp, and held them up to the paper. It was just a fucking half circle with a little indent at the top— this wasn’t going to be too difficult. Ian and Franny went back to being absorbed in crafting their valentines, while Mickey started to botch and slash at his piece of construction paper.

When he was finally satisfied he unfolded the shape, the outer shell of the paper falling away. It was… well, it was kind of a heart, with two slanted sides and a wonky top half. It looked more like a blob attached to an angle than anything else.

Ian looked up from where he was doodling on a glittery heart and snickered.

“That’s uh… that’s a good first try, Mick.”

Mickey slammed the piece of paper down onto the table. Fucking arts and crafts, he was never good at this shit even when he was little—he fingers were always too fumbling, too clumsy for him to make anything delicate and pristine. Ian’s hands should have been as ungainly as his, but instead they were quick and nimble, smoothly cutting perfectly-rounded circles and gluing neat lines of glitter.

Franny noticed that Mickey was done cutting his shape. “Good job Uncle Mickey! Now you just have to draw on it, and put on stickers and glitter.”

“Yeah Mickey, let’s see those artistic skills.”

Mickey aggressively flicked some flecks of glitter from the table in Ian’s direction, then picked up a crayon and gripped it with an iron fist. What the fuck was he supposed to draw? This was a valentine for kids at Franny’s school, the fuck did kids like anyways? He started to draw some sort of stick figure, but the arms were too long and the head was too small, so he tried to color over it and make some sort of tree or some shit…

As Mickey scratched at the paper, he looked over at noticed suddenly how content Ian looked—how blissed out and settled he was, just running a crayon over the colorful paper and shaking bits of glitter onto pools of glue. If Mickey was being honest, he hadn’t seen Ian this light and happy in a while; he’d had a hunch in his shoulders for months after the wedding and the pandemic and all the minimum-wage job bullshit, the shadows of expectation hanging over him and causing a deflated weariness in his gaze that was impossible to ignore. But right now, Ian looked like he was having as much fun as Franny was, practically vibrating with satisfaction as he put the finishing touches on his drawing and reaching to place his completed valentine in the growing pile.

Mickey snatched the paper out of Ian’s hand, slightly crumpling it around the edges. “Wait a second. How the fuck did you do that?”

The valentine was immaculate, the heart symmetrical and traced in a thin outline of glitter. In the center of the paper there was a perfect little cartoon of a dog in a top hat, with an air bubble that read “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Ian shrugged. “Watched a lot of cartoons when I was little. And I’ve always kind of liked to draw.”

Mickey shoved the valentine back in front of Ian. Goddamn perfect fucking husband who’s good at fucking everything. He crossed his arms and leaned back in the chair, suddenly losing all motivation to play along.

Ian smirked, then reached to rest a hand on the back of Mickey’s neck. “Giving up already?”

Mickey rolled his eyes. “Fuck you, Gallagher.”

Ian’s smile just widened. “Here, how about I cut the fucking shapes and you glue stuff onto them. That’d still help me and Franny a lot, right?”

Franny nodded. “It’s okay Uncle Mickey, I was bad at cutting the shapes too at first.”

Mickey huffed. Okay, so maybe he was horrible at this shit, but the least he could do was suck it up for Franny’s sake. “Fine,” he muttered, and grabbed a glue stick and a bottle of glitter.

A few minutes passed and they settled into a comfortable silence, enveloped in the sound of the scissors gliding and Franny scribbling on paper.

Suddenly, Franny looked up as Mickey reached across the table to grab a pad of stickers.

“Hey Uncle Mickey, what do you and Uncle Ian do for Valentine’s Day?”

Mickey didn’t really know how to answer that question— he darted a glance over at Ian, trying to signal as much. Could you ruin the spirit of Valentine’s Day for kids in the same way you could fuck up Christmas? “Uh, nothing really.”

Ian chimed in. “We used to like Valentine’s Day when we were little like you Franny, but now that we’re big we don’t really celebrate it. Right Mick?”

“Yup.”

Franny’s brows were furrowed again, this time in contemplation. “But. You love each other, right?”

“Sure, Franny. But we don’t need a special day for us to remember that,” Ian explained.

Franny seemed appeased enough by that answer to resume her drawing. “You don’t give each other valentines or candy or anything?”

Mickey almost laughed. Of course he and Ian had never celebrated fucking Valentine’s Day; if he was being honest, he didn’t remember even really thinking about Valentine’s Day before now, other than it being a day when Mandy came home crying in middle school because the boy she liked didn’t ask her out, or buying all the half-priced chocolates in red and pink wrappers at the drugstore a week later with his brothers. With all the shit in his life the past few years, frilly fucking holidays like Valentine’s Day were just… not on Mickey’s radar.

But maybe— maybe this year was different. This year, for maybe the first time in his life, Mickey felt secure and steady in a way that he never had before, like the ground was solid beneath him and wasn’t going to cave in at any minute. He had a fucking husband that he loved—why couldn’t they celebrate Valentine’s Day like a normal goddamn couple? Ian didn’t seem to be too bothered that they both didn’t give a fuck about the holiday, which was all the more reason to catch him off guard. He kept pressing stickers down onto the construction paper, his mind starting to churn.

By the time they’d made the twenty-seven fucking valentines, Mickey had made up his mind; this year, he and Ian were going to celebrate Valentine’s Day.

part two here!

[wits-writing]

Klaus and the Crying Snowman (Comic Book Review)

Maybe it’s just because they only come around once a year, like the man himself, but I swear these Klaus one-shots from writer Grant Morrison and artist Dan Mora get better every year. Funny thing though, I didn’t remember this one was coming out until I check Boom Studios’ solicits last week. That personal memory slip fits with the circumstances of the title character in this year’s special, Klaus and the Crying Snowman. It has the distinction of leaning the most into the cosmic aspects of Morrison and Mora’s Santa out of any of the stories so far and having an ending that left me with tears in my eyes.

The title character, Sam the Snowman, becomes the lens we’re brought into this story through in a framing device where he doubts his own memories of the amazing adventure he had. Klaus came across the mysterious snowman while surveying the neighborhood where he fought against tree-monsters, the precursors to an oncoming alien threat. Sam’s a simple-minded creature because the more he melts the more memory loss he suffers. While he fails to remember himself, Klaus knows him as he knows anyone who was ever a child. Sam get flashes of who he was before his frosty predicament and it paints the picture of a less than virtuous man. Klaus brings the lopsided snowman along on his adventure as much to show him how to be a better man as he does for help dealing with the monstrous aliens growing ever closer to Earth.

The alien threat also brings in connections to Norse mythology, fitting since the Klaus books have had connections to Yule from the beginning. Mora’s interpretation of these soldiers of Ragnarök balance elements of high fantasy and space opera. They get to make a dramatic first impression in the book in a two-page spread that flashes back to their last time on Earth and their battle against the Norse gods. There’s a reveal relating to their motives for attacking Earth that ties them into the books overall theme of second chances, but I won’t give that away.

They’re hardly the only example of Mora cutting loose in this issue’s imagery. I’m torn between whether this or last year’s Crisis in Xmasville has my favorite imagery in Klaus so far. Even then, these two examples are only slightly above everything else Klaus-related Mora’s done. Sam’s design alone, with his asymmetrical arms and melting form, makes a fun showcase of the artist’s expressive style. This issue also affords us as close to a direct look as we’ve gotten for the “Lunar Civil War” that these one-shots keep talking around, a single panel feature Klaus and his allies rendered in a more cartoony style surrounded by surreal, colorful creatures. There’s also the prominent reveal of the clockwork base Klaus built on Saturn’s moon Titan and the creations he set up on it to defend the solar system. The flow of events in this issue, in line with Sam’s faltering recollection, are dreamlike as we witness the story through his perspective.

When Klaus and the Crying Snowman reaches its emotional climax, Morrison and Mora deliver an emotional impact that left me with tears in my eyes. The best way to explain it without giving away the game is that Sam’s emotional journey over this issue is Ebeneezer Scrooge by way of Frosty. This is a story about taking a second chance and being a better person and how even at our worst we can always come back to be better, like how the sun starts coming back after Winter Solstice. These Christmas collaborations between Morrison and Mora continue to delight, so like every year I recommend going out and grabbing everything under the Klaus title.

If you like what you’ve read here, please consider throwing some support my way at either Ko-Fi.com or Patreon.com at the extension “/witswriting”

[strawberriestyles]

The Christmas Series: Part 2

Harry X Reader: Fluff (and angst?)

In which you try to find Harry’s merry.

Read previous parts here.

Request? Yes:

buying a Christmas tree with harry and a spider crawls out it while he is putting an ornament on and he screams his ass off

I have a Christmas idea that might be silly but…..your first tree with Harry! You insist on starting small, just a little runt of a tree with some of your old ornaments from your childhood and some of his from his own childhood but then also going shopping to pick out new ornaments to showcase your time together like a little pair of skates for the time he took you to the rink, a coffee mug for all the late nights spent talking all night, etc. it just makes me melt 😍😍 also I love the icon 😊

“It has to go in front of the window, Harry,” you argue, placing your hands on your hips. “I’m not settling.”

“Didn’ go in front of the window last year,” he mutters, sighing deeply. “Don’t know why we can’ just put it in the same spot.”

“Please, stop moaning about it. I thought you’d jump at the chance to show me how strong and muscley you are.”

“Am strong and muscley, aren’t I?” Harry asks, finally rising from his chair to help you move the sofa. It’s only taken a solid half hour of bothering him.

Patiently, you squat to grip one side of the couch, waiting for Harry to lift his own side. Once it’s hoisted into the air, however, Harry’s mind seems to wander.

“H, you need to move it my way. It’s going over by the door, not in the corner.”

“Why? Don’t yeh think—”

“Harry,” you interrupt, tilting your head. Your patience has begun to wear thin. “Baby, please cooperate.”

“Fine,” he mumbles, following you to reposition the couch where you’d like it.

You love your boyfriend. You love him more than you’ve ever loved anyone else, but he can be a pain. Right now, for example, when he’s been home for a little over a week, there have been at least three times that you’ve considered booking him another entire tour, just to get him out of your hair. You understand his exhaustion. Really, you do, but he can’t expect you not to be excited for the holidays, and he certainly can’t expect you to do all the preparations yourself.

“Right here is fine,” you tell him, but his mind has wandered again, and he continues walking. “Harry! Harry, I said here is fine!” you shout, stumbling backward with the pressure he puts on the sofa.

“Oh, sorry,” he apologizes, setting the couch down at his feet. You lower your own end and huff indignantly, glancing at the bare area by the window. It’s perfect.

“It’s fine. Just grab the keys,” you tell him, heading off to slip into your coat.

***

“Fuckin’ frigid out here,” Harry complains, zipping his coat up further so that it covers his mouth.

“Yes, I know,” you inform him, pulling your hood up to shield your ears from the cold. “We’re in the same place.”

“All righ’, well yeh don’ have to be so bloody snarky about it,” he mutters as you begin to walk away from him.

“Me, the snarky one,” you whisper under your breath, trekking through a foot of snow and away from the car. Wind blows up mists of white and presses against your front, making your path that much harder.

“Y/N, will yeh slow down, please?” you hear Harry call after you, his voice muffled by the material of his coat and by the whistling of the breeze.

“Move your little ass,” you yell back at him.

Harry trots to catch up to you, nearly tripping in the thick snow. He always was clumsy. He’s still muttering under his breath when he reaches you.

“What was that?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow at him. “Certainly you’re not trash-talking your loving girlfriend, who’s trying to have a nice day of tree shopping with her ‘treat people with kindness’ boyfriend. Right?”

Harry goes silent, a deep frown etching itself onto his face. All you can see is the pouty crinkle of his eyes beneath the hood of his coat. “O’ course not,” he mumbles.

“You would never do that.”

Harry doesn’t say another word as the owner of the tree farm welcomes the two of you from inside a cozy wooden shack. Harry takes a saw and knee pad from the sweet old man with merely a nod of thanks. You roll your eyes at his lack of speech.

“C’mon,” you urge with a sigh, gripping his arm and dragging him through the snow to the many lines of trees. He trudged along beside you, swinging the saw back and forth, and suddenly you’re not so thrilled about him wielding the tool.

“Let’s get this one,” he says, stopping at the first tree the two of you pass. Your eyes turn to scan the spruce he gestures to and you can’t help but let out a scoff.

“Harry, you’ve got to be kidding.”

The miserable tree in front of you is missing entire patches of branches. Pine needles litter the snow around its base. The top of it curves off to the side, making the entire plant appear lopsided.

“Wha’? ‘S got character, yeah? Innit that what yeh’re always on about?”

“There’s a difference between character and just plain ugly, baby. I’m pretty sure this tree is dying.”

“Okay, fine. How long are yeh gonna make me walk around, though?”

“Until we find a good tree, Harry. For fuck’s sake.” You roll your eyes and let go of his arm, tromping ahead again.

“Tha’ gonna take long?” he yells after you. “The air’s hurtin’ m’face!” “Fucking wimp,” you mutter.

Harry follows you in silence for another few minutes as you scan trees. Finally, you find one that would look perfect where you picture it. You stop to test it’s branches and they’re quite strong.

“I don’ like it,” Harry says when he stops beside you.

“And why’s that, Harry?” you ask as you take a quick tour around the tree. “‘S too perfect. ‘S got no character.”

You turn to look at him and his eyes are serious. His hands are stuffed in his pockets, saw and knee pad clasped between his arm and torso. His face is buried in the front of his coat and his eyes are watering from the cold. 

“I suppose you’re right,” you say with a nod.

“Now this one,” Harry says, gesturing to the tree beside the one you’ve been looking at. “This one could work.”

You turn and laugh loudly. “Harry, it’s huge!”

“Yeah, it’ll look grand, don’ yeh think?”

“Maybe if we cut a hole in the ceiling. It’s too big, baby.”

“C’mon, love, we could squeeze her in.”

“We could absolutely not. We’d have to cut four feet off the top.”

“Then let’s do that!” His eyes are hopeful, but he’s being ridiculous.

“Harry,” you chide with another laugh, “it would look very stupid with half of it cut off. I’m sorry.”

“Yeah, whatever.” He sighs and continues walking on, thoroughly disheartened. You kick up snow in your wake as you race to catch up to him and cling onto his free arm. He barely acknowledges your presence as he trudged along. You almost lose your balance when he stops suddenly, squeezing his arm to keep yourself upright.

“What is it?” you ask, turning to find him with his eyes locked on a tree.

“This one,” he whispers. You can barely hear him over the whistling wind. “This is it.”

You scan the tree and raise your eyebrows. It certainly has character. The trunk has a slight bend to it and there are a few bare patches. You move forward to test it’s branches.

“It’s sturdy enough,” you say, biting your lip. “Are you sure this is it?”

“‘S the one,” Harry confirms with a nod.

“Okay, then.” You reach for the knee pad and toss it to the base of the tree. “Get working Mr. Lumberjack.”

***

“Harry,” you breathe with a gasp. “Harry, pull over.”

“What?” He peers out your window and furrows his eyebrows. “Righ’ here? This grubby li’l place?”

“Harry, pull over!” you shout.

“All righ’, all righ’!” he yells back. “Christ.”

The two of you whip into the parking lot of a small trinket shop. You hang on tightly to the door handle.

“Thank you,” you say sweetly as he puts the car into park. You lean over the console to press a hard kiss to his cheek.

“Yeah, yeah,” he grumbles, getting out of the car.

You unbuckle your seatbelt and step out into the lot, closing the door carefully behind you. Your tree is strapped haphazardly to the top of the car.

Harry strolls ahead of you into the shop, not even bothering to hold the door open for you. You push inside to find him across the store already, filling up a cup with free, steaming hot chocolate. He brings the styrofoam container to his lips and yelps.

“Every fuckin’ time!” he nearly shouts. Everyone in the store turns to stare at him and you find yourself chuckling at his unfortunate luck.

“Maybe you should be more patient,” you tell him as you approach. “Let it cool down first.”

“‘M not a patient person,” he mutters.

“I’ve noticed.”

The store smells like spices and Christmas. Most of the shoppers are little old ladies. The room is split up into small cubicle-like spaces, each holding different types of trinkets.

“C’mon, grump,” you beckon, leading the way toward a stall packed full of ornaments.

“We need more ornaments?” he asks as he enters behind you.

“We’re missing some special ones,” you answer, reaching for a guitar-shaped ornament that resembles his own instrument. The one that Mitch gifted him.

“Woah,” he whispers, taking the decoration from your outstretched fingers. “‘S just like mine.”

“Mhmm,” you hum.

The two of you skim displays of ornaments. Harry doesn’t pick any up, but watches as you collect a few. A pair of skates, a miniature mug of hot chocolate, complete with marshmallows, a snowy tree to place on your own tree, and a fake frosted cookie.

“I get it,” he says, nodding. He takes a sip of his hot chocolate, which is now cool enough for him to drink comfortably. “‘S all stuff tha’ we’ve done. But what about the cookie?”

You turn to grin at him. “That’s still to come.” Then you lead him to check out.

***

Harry showers when you get home, despite your protests and reminders that baking is not a clean process.

“Was cold outside, but I was sweatin’ the whole way home in tha’ thick coat,” is his complaint. “Feel gross.”

Now, his hair is damp and he smells like soap and cologne. True to your words, his clean gray shirt is now coated in flour as he rolls out another batch of cookie dough.

“How come I have t’roll again?” he asks.

“Because you made me mix the dough all by myself,” you remind him. “That’s hard work.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he mutters. “Don’ even want any cookies.”

“You will eat them and you will like them,” you command. All he does is roll his eyes. “That’s thin enough.”

Harry sets down the rolling pin and picks up a cookie cutter. He cuts out a snowman and flops it carelessly onto a cookie tray. You get the feeling that he’s not enjoying himself as much as you hoped.

“Let’s take a break from cutting,” you suggest, moving toward the oven as the timer goes off. You pull out the most recent tray of baked cookies and set it on top of the stove. Cooling racks along the counter are overflowing with cookies. Your hands ghost over the pastries and find that they’ve cooled sufficiently.

“Wha’re we doin’, then?” Harry asks, itching at his jaw with the back of his hand.

“Let’s frost some.” You move a cooling rack to place in front of him and reach for the bowls of different colored icing that you prepared while Harry was in the shower.

Your boyfriend doesn’t say anything as he picks up the knife from a bowl of blue frosting and smears it over a snowflake cookie. You cover your own sled-shaped cookie with pink icing.

“Are you not enjoying this?” you ask after another few minutes of frosting.

Harry sighs, setting down a green tree. “‘Ve told yeh, love. ‘M just—”

“Tired, yeah,” you interrupt. “I know. It’s exhausting for me that I have to be excited enough for the both of us, though.”

“‘M not tryin’ t’be unexcited.”

You hum and set your most recent cookie down, reaching out to swipe a glob of frosting onto his cheek. Harry clenches his jaw and sets his own cookie down.

“I just washed m’face,” he whines.

“It’s frosting, Harry. I can lick it off, if you’d like.”

Your tongue finds his cheek before he has time to protest. He groans and tries to pull away, but your hand finds the other side of his face, trapping him.

“Tha’s bloody gross,” he complains. You can feel his face cringing beneath your mouth as you lick away any remainders of icing.

“You’re such a grouch.” You pull away and he wipes at his wet cheek with the back of his hand.

“You weren’t just slobbered on,” he retorts.

“Why is it only gross when my spit is on your face, huh?”

“Dunno what yeh’re on about.”

“Sure.” Your lips find the crook of his neck. True to your words, he doesn’t pull away, even as your tongue peeks out to swipe at his skin. Instead, he hums, a deep, throaty sound that makes your throat constrict. You leave a trail of soft pecks up to the line of his jaw. Harry wraps his arms around you and tilts his head to press a long kiss to your lips

“I love you,” you whisper against his mouth. “Even when you’re miserable.”

“Mmm,” he hums in response. “Love yeh too. Even when yeh’re a nag.”

***

“Can’ see a fuckin’ thing,” Harry complains from behind the tree.

“Just keep walking straight,” you direct.

The tree has been out in the garage all afternoon, allowing the snow to melt. Now, it’s time to get it inside and in front of the window. Harry isn’t thrilled about the extra task, though.

“Okay, you’re almost there.” You guide Harry out of the hallway and into the living room. “About three steps to the left.” He follows your directions until the tree is in place, and then he steps back.

“Looks nice,” he comments.

“Was that something positive?” you ask, feigning shock.

“Ha ha.” Harry rolls his eyes as you reach into the box beside you and pull out a string of white lights.

“Get to work, Father Christmas.”

Harry sighs loudly and takes the lights from you. While you busy yourself by kneeling down to sort through a box of ornaments, Harry plugs in the string and begins to wrap it through the branches of your crooked tree. You find some of Harry’s childhood ornaments, and can’t help the grin the finds its way onto your lips. A picture of four-year-old Harry, wrapped up in Anne’s arms and cheesing for the camera, framed with ceramic candy canes.

“Jesus Christ, bloody fuckin’ hell!”

You spin around, dropping another ornament onto the carpet as your heart hammers in your chest.

“What?” you shout. Harry is dancing around the tree, still shouting and waving his arms around wildly. He looks like an amateur interpretive dancer, floundering his way through a heavy metal song.

“A bloody spider jumped out o’ the sodding tree!” he yells, throwing the lights onto the floor and running his hands up and down his arms. “Dunno if it’s still on me. Make sure it’s not on me!”

“Okay, okay,” you say calmly, struggling to stifle your laughter. You push yourself onto your feet and press your hands to Harry’s back, running them down the length of his shirt.

“‘S not fuckin’ funny, Y/N!” he snaps, running his fingers compulsively through his hair.

“I know,” you whisper, walking around to stand in front of him and scanning his clothes. “I don’t see it.”

“Great,” he mutters. “Now it’s in the house. Bastard’s gonna sneak up on me again.”

“I’ll protect you,” you assure him.

“With what? A bloody flamethrower? That thing was ginormous!”

You pick up the string of lights and hand them back to him, grabbing a cookie from the platter on the coffee table and stuffing it into his open mouth. “Stop complaining, okay? Let’s just finish decorating the tree and then I won’t ask you to do anything else.”

Harry grumbles something inaudible through his mouthful of cookie as you press a kiss to his cheek. He continues to string the lights while you go back to your box of ornaments. You see a small movement to your right and look to find a tiny spider crawling slowly along the edge of the box. Harry always has been overdramatic.

“How big was it?” you ask.

“Big-ass spider,” Harry answers. He continues around the tree and you roll your eyes.

With another glance at the little arachnid beside you, you nod. “I’m sure it was.”

Part 3: Christmas Snow and Mistletoe

[asleepinawell]

suburban au, root sneaks out to see shaw and carter calls to warn fusco and "she's bringing over some of our spare christmas lights to help you decor- oh no"

poor carter. she didn’t sign up for this shit. how did john end up in the least problematic house in this au? 

side note: can TM control christmas light displays? make pretty light shows? or maybe root programs them to blink out something rude in morse code.

side note 2: every time i think about christmas lights in suburbia i do my best impression of a reese grimace. google image search suburban christmas lights or lawn displays or something similar and you’ll probably find some good examples of why. the level of competitive holiday cheer is frightening.

side note 3: in the suburban hellscape i grew up in, our entire block always busted out the fancy christmas lights. my dad, otoh, enjoyed being A Rebel and would haphazardly wrap one clunky strand of ancient lights around a tree in our yard, thus ruining the neighborhood aesthetic. the neighbors hated us. my dad absolutely knew and did not forget even one night to turn on the mismatched, lopsided christmas lights. also while our neighbors all shelled out to get their lawns redone with sod so they’d look green and pretty, my dad let our yard grow wild. he really likes killing aesthetics.

other acts of passive aggressiveness: 

slugs infested our garden one year so my mother collected them all and threw them over the fence into the neighbors’ yard in the dead of night. 

my father got some bamboo to plant in our yard, knowing exactly how it would grow and spread everywhere…he planted it right by the fence. 

oh and our wifi router was named ‘i hate my neighbors’. 

(our neighbors were pretty awful to us, too, though usually not as creatively).

i mean all of this is ridiculous, but it’s also what happens when you have a ton of privileged-and-overly-entitled-but-miserable families being crammed in almost-identical houses and made to coexist. the goal becomes to make your life seem better than your neighbors. some people do that by trying to make their house look nicer than anyone else’s so they can feel a momentary thrill of superiority and some people do that by trying to make their neighbors more miserable than they are by throwing slugs in their yard. basically everyone is nuts.

and then you go and put Root and the mayhem twins in the middle of this mess. I almost feel bad for their neighbors. like turning a flame thrower on a powder keg.

(also this is absolutely how reese would decorate)

[josephkitchen0]

How to Craft with Grapevines

By Cherie Dawn Haas – One of the beauties of homesteading is learning how to use everything that’s available to us in some way, and if you grow grapes for wine or jelly, that resourcefulness includes making grapevine crafts. I discovered this firsthand a few years ago after pruning hundreds of our vines one season. During our usual practice of burning the cuttings, I had an epiphany — I could craft the cut vines into shapes and turn them into pieces of art instead of piles of ashes.

My vision, because my pieces were relatively short (we keep our vines pruned from spring through fall), was to take the two to four-foot sticks of vines and create one of my favorite shapes — a star. In addition to stars, I realized there’s a wonderful variety of grapevine crafts you can make as a fun piece of primitive art or even as a supplement to your income. And if you’re a full-time homesteader, this is a great way to turn your extra vine cuttings into a small craft business.

Aside from selling the grapevine crafts, I have also made them as thank-you gifts to those who help us manage our vineyard throughout the year. At harvest time, for example, our family and friends can take home a jar of homemade concord jelly, a batch of fresh eggs, or a grapevine star — all which come from the very land they appreciate as much as we who live here do.

How to Make Grapevine Crafts

You only need a few supplies, some you may already have on hand if you grow grapes — pruners, scissors, twine, crafting wire, and wire cutters. A photo reference of a star with complete lines will be helpful the first time you make a star-shaped wreath, so you can see the angles and the way the lines (sticks) cross each other.

The author with a star wreath she made from pruned vines on their one-acre vineyard.

Option One: To make a star wreath, gather 15 vines that are similar in thickness and cut to the same length (anywhere from two-to four-feet long works well). You can keep the curls of tendrils to add character, but snip off-shoots for a nice, straight(ish) piece of wood.

Each line of the star will be made from three of the sticks. Line up two sets of three in a V-shape and tie the intersection with a one-foot piece of twine you’ve cut with the scissors. Continue to wrap the twine around the intersection. I have found that the outside corners do well if you wrap the twine around the outside of the sticks only. This makes it easier to adjust the angles of the star corners as you add more pieces.

Take the next set of three sticks and tie them to one of the untied ends of the V so that the new set of sticks points toward the inside of the V. Note that you’ll want to tie off the twine on the same side each time you add to the star, creating a front side and a back side of the wreath.

Continue adding the remaining sets of vines and securing the corners with twine until you’re happy with the shape. Don’t worry if it turns out lopsided at first; as you gain practice and a better understanding of exactly how to place the sticks (which varies depending on the sizes), your stars will become more uniform.

Last, use the wire to more permanently secure the corners; you can even tie some wire around the interior intersections to make it good and tight.

This is the beginning of a wreath; you can see how the end has been tucked through the circle.

Option Two: To make a circle wreath with grapevines, start with as long a vine as you can cut. If the vine has extra pieces growing off of it, keep them because these will add substance to the wreath. While you can work with the star wreath pieces when they are completely dry, a secret technique to making wood pliable for a circle shape is to soak it in water first. This will make it more flexible and it won’t break as easily.

Wreath courtesy of Country Heart Florist in Alexandria, Kentucky

Holding the thicker end of the vine, begin folding it into a circle, similar to how you would wind up a hose. As you turn the wreath, begin tucking the vine into itself, around the outside and then inside of the circle as you go. The vine itself will dictate how big it will be as a wreath; you will see quickly how it will take the perfect size circular shape when you first begin to work with it — especially do not try to force it to be smaller; when it comes to nature, in most cases it is much easier to go with the flow.

You can add more lengths of the vine to the circle until you get it as thick and full as you like. Simply continue to weave the vines and tuck them into the open spaces. Use wire to secure the vines here and there as you go.

Wreath courtesy of Country Heart Florist in Alexandria, Kentucky

Once your circle or star wreath is complete, you have the option of giving it a coat of Polyurethane spray to seal the wood and give it a pretty sheen. Note, however, that even if you spray it, the wreath will last much longer if it is hung under a porch awning or indoors. Another option is to spray paint it if you want it to be a special color to match your décor or an occasion.

Ways to Sell Grapevine Crafts

You might already make the rounds as a patron at local craft shows, but once you have created an inventory of grapevine crafts you could think about renting a booth space. Consider decorating some of the wreaths with silk flowers, burlap, lights, or ribbons, but remember that many people love the primitive look of the bare wood, and others will choose to decorate it themselves to match their décor.

  You can even make a cone/tree shape by winding the vines around a frame and stapling the vines to the frame once placed. Add Christmas lights for a homey, warm touch. credit: Wreath courtesy of Country Heart Florist in Alexandria, Kentucky

Research what other people in your area are selling their wreaths for; you do not want to overcharge customers or undercut your neighbors.

We have seen a growing trend in events at which friends can meet at a winery, taste the various wines, and take a painting class together for a light-hearted evening out. Why not organize a gathering to make wreaths together? Hosting a party like this for a fee and using the materials you have already growing on your farm is a great way to add some extra holiday spending money to your budget, and to get new people to visit your homestead and see what else you have to offer if you sell homemade soaps or if you sell eggs as a business, for example. Consider treating your guests to grape-themed drinks and snacks; you could even send them home with a complimentary jar of jelly or a stuffed grape leaves recipe just for fun.

Wreath courtesy of Country Heart Florist in Alexandria, Kentucky

The key is to make it special — this will have your guests coming back and bringing more and more friends, helping to support your homestead and creating lasting memories.

How to Craft with Grapevines was originally posted by All About Chickens