Preparing Your Home for a Festive Christmas
Post-Thanksgiving Bliss
The Thanksgiving feast has come to an end; it’s time to prepare you home for a festive Christmas!
We find ourselves in that unique time of year.
The air is filled with the promise of Christmas.
It’s time to shift our focus from Thanksgiving to the most wonderful time of the year – Christmas!
This is the perfect moment to prepare our home. ‘Tis the season to roll up…
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I think it’s wonderful and appropriate for Good Omens to end with S3.
I also think it would be wonderful and appropriate for David and Michael to periodically release little audio-clip minisodes a la the Lockdown Episode so that we can check in on our blorbos throughout their happily ever after, know that they’re okay, and get continued inspiration for the beautiful fic, meta, and visual art this community has produced.
Edit: apparently some people haven't seen the Lockdown Episode. Go watch it. It's adorable and widely considered to be canon.
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Damian doesn't know who Santa Claus is and Danny tries to gaslight him into believing in Santa
Okay but, like, wouldn't even be gaslighting! Santa canonically does exist in the DC universe, I think I remember reading something about him fighting through an army in hell to give Darkseid a single piece of coal once?
So like, Danny doesn't have to gaslight Damian into believing Santa's real, he just has to pull out the proof (Danny has a binder of everything he knows about the Spirit of Christmas for the purpose of when he eventually goes to war with him, Danny hates Christmas so fucking much haha) and show him evidence that Santa is real.
Probably ranting the entire time about how much he hates the guy & Christmas and it's obvious that this is Danny's arch nemesis. His one true villain above all others. Pariah Dark? A nuisance. Dark Dan? Just a tuesday. Santa? That motherfucker is the bane of Danny's existence and he will pay for what he's done (spread Christmas cheer).
And Danny's the newest member to the family. Damian's been encouraged to get to know his new brother and try and bond with him a bit, make him feel like part of the family. So, obviously, the best way to do that is to help Danny in his quest for vengeance.
And of course Tim & Jason end of getting roped in on this. Damian's grown since he's first came to live with his father. He still is a little brat to his older brothers - he's the baby of the family it's his right - but he doesn't actively hate them anymore and can admit when their particular skills would be useful. Tim is the best at strategizing, and Jason is a combat master with access to all sorts of weapons. With all of them working together Santa has no chance, they will destroy him.
Which all just makes me think of something like this happening lol:
“What…uh, what are they doing?” Duke glanced between the chaos unfolding in the family room to where Dick was calmly seated in his favorite chair, sipping idly at a cup of coffee.
“Sibling bonding.” Dick said. There was that specific aura of calm around him that said that he’d already gone through several crisis and all the stages of grief at least twice. Considering the calamity and chaos the eldest batkid had seen over the years - and especially the last few months since Bruce officially adopted Danny and brought him into the fold - it was a bad sign that he’d reached this particular state of Done (TM) before noon. The earliest Dick even woke up was two in the afternoon.
Duke contemplated turning around right then and there - the particular combination of people all excitedly feeding off each other’s feral energy on the other side of the room was a catastrophe in the making he didn’t want to be anywhere near when it finally breached containment and spilled out into the wider world - but unfortunately he was cursed with the curiosity that afflicted all members of the bat clan.
“It looks like they’re plotting to try and kill Santa Claus.”
Dick turned to look at Duke fully for the first time since he’d entered the room. He had the eyes of one that was deeply haunted by the horrors they had witnessed. On the other side of the room Tim was ranting about anti-magic tech while Danny, Damian and Jason argued over what weapons would be most effective against a demi god. There were schematics of what looked worryingly like a rocket launcher looking device that - if the scribbles on the whiteboard someone had drug into the room where to be believed - was going to be rigged to shoot ecto-grenades.
“Danny hates Christmas.” Dick said, and Duke noticed for the first time that his hands around the coffee cup were faintly trembling. “He’s declared Santa is his arch nemesis.”
Duke blinked, glancing over to the others long enough to see Danny start frantically scribbling the words Christmas Nuke on the whiteboard. No one else was trying to erase it. Tim looked worriedly contemplative. Damian and Jason where both nodding in agreement.
He was going to regret this. “But Santa isn’t real?”
Dick’s eyes gained a faintly manic glean, and Duke could faintly hear the sound of porcelain creaking warningly beneath the desperate hold he had on his coffee cup. “That’s what I thought!” Dick said, with enough cheer to make Duke flinch back instinctively. “But apparently he is.” A distinct crack appeared in the cup, coffee dripping down into Dick’s lap. “And apparently they’re going to war with him!”
Well, Duke considered, at least that explained why he caught the four of them burning down the giant Christmas tree in the city center last night.
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Steddie Drabble, sequel to this post.
TW: child abuse.
Steve doesn’t have much. Eddie had made them a list of things to grab before they’d headed over to the Harrington house, a list of clothes, toiletries, basics and such, with “shampoo” underlined and “bowling pin” circled. They’d borrowed an extra duffel from Marianne across the way, since they didn’t know if trash bags would be enough, and thank god they had, kid sure had a polo collection. But moving it all out of that place - nice car parked yet nobody home, they found, blood still on the carpet - and seeing it stacked up next to Eddie’s exploding menagerie were two different things. And it just seemed to Wayne, well, when Steve was up for it, maybe they’d go to the thrifty mart together.
Steve is quiet, on account of the pain he felt moving his face and the shyness he had shrunken into, having been quickly and sharply beaten and disowned and then thrust into a new life, a new space. Wayne knew it was different, going from a frequent guest who got to put on the charm to a hurting ball of need. To feel like a burden. He saw the same thing happen to Eddie, when he was a child; he changed from an energetic ragamuffin who’d visit Wayne once every couple months to a sad, angry teen who he had to figure out how to live with. But it had worked out. And seeing how gently Eddie cleans Steve’s bruised face, how he changes his whole schedule to take care of Steve, how he cuts fruit for Steve, hearing Eddie whisper Steve to sleep, he thinks it will work out again.
Wayne learns a lot about Steve over the next couple of weeks. He learns how good a cook Steve is, how good he is at making scrambled eggs, tuna melts. How his hair is a source of pride but also seems to show off how he’s doing, like it’s connected to his mood. Some days it’s sky-high and some days it’s flat until Eddie starts whistling up the walk. Wayne loves watching Steve’s hair puff up, his smile grow, and Eddie seems to do the trick. Wayne learns just about every shirt he has is striped, that he can’t hear that well on his left side, that he likes his toast burnt to a crisp.
One morning, a couple weeks after Steve becomes his second duckling, they’re both up early in the kitchen waiting for Eddie to rise. Steve is making bacon and pork sausage, shuffling the meat around and shuffling himself around, like he’s scared to say something. Finally Wayne says “what is it, son?” And Steve starts to cry, one slow beautiful tear down each cheek. He’s been looking better, lately, seeming brighter, but he’s still been holding his breath. It’s time to exhale.
“Thank you. For saving me,” Steve moves the pan to the back burner, meat cooked, looking away. Wayne turns the stove off, and folds Steve into his arms, chuckling. Steve smells like Eddie. Steve smells like Wayne’s tobacco.
“Ain’t no thing about it, boy,” Wayne whispers to Steve, trembling and clutching the spatula. “You’re safe. You’re family.” And he pulls away before he goes softer himself, coughs, turns the stove back on for Steve’s eggs. A small little smile creeps up on Steve’s lips, still shy but an agreement nonetheless. He’s home, making breakfast for those that love him. And later, they’ll go thrifting, get Steve a thicker winter coat, more kitchen tools, some striped pajamas.
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