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fluentisonus · 5 months

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The churches of the town of Dunwich slowly falling into the sea one after another, as described in a topographical and historical description of the county of suffolk (1829):

"Gardner, in his historical account of Dunwich, observes, that one of the two carves of land, taxed in the reign of Edward the Confessor, was found to be swallowed up by the sea, at the time of the survey made by order of William the Conqueror. The church of Felix, and the cell of monks, were lost very early. In the first year of Edward the Third, the old port was rendered entirely useless, and before the twenty-third year of that king's reign, a great part of the town, with upwards of 400 houses, which paid rent to the fee-farm, with certain shops and windmills, were devoured by the sea. After this the church of St. Leonard was overthrown; and, in the fourteenth century, the churches of St. Martin and St. Nicholas were also destroyed by the waves. In 1540, the church of St. John Baptist was taken down; and in the same century the chapels of St. Anthony, St, Francis, and St. Catharine, were overthrown, with the South Gate and Gild Gate, and not one quarter of the town left standing. ... In the reign of Charles I, the foundation of the Temple buildings yielded to the irresistible force of the undermining surges, and in 1677 the sea reached the market-place. In 1680 all the buildings north of Maison Dieu lane were demolished, and in 1702 the sea extended its dominion to St. Peter's church, on which it was divested of the lead, timber, bells, and other materials, the walls only remaining, which tumbled over the cliff as the water undermined them; and the town hall suffered the same fate. In 1715 the gaol was undermined and in 1729 the farthest bounds of St. Peter's churchyard fell into the sea. In December 1740, the wind blowing very hard from the north-east, and continuing for several days, occasioned terrible devastations for a great part of the cliffs were washed away, with the remains of St. Nicholas's churchyard, as also the great road which formerly led into the town. ... All Saints, as observed before, is the only church of which any portion is still standing.*"

*All Saints Church has, since this account was written, entirely fallen into the sea.

#thoughts #cliff blogging #i think i'm going to make a separate post about all saints because it's so interesting & there are a lot of images & descriptions

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the1920sinpictures · 8 months

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August 20, 1925 Manhattan: Saint Nicholas Avenue looking north toward 141st Street. From Images of Yore, FB.

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jo-harrington · 6 months

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Rise of the Guardians

I can only imagine this is a request for Hymns and not just…asking what I think of the movie? (Because I love it. Jack Frost and Periwinkle from Secret of the Wings was a fluffy ship I had for a short bit.) I hope you enjoy this little blurb. It's a little...angsty.

(Literally poor timing as today is Halloween and this is set in December but idgaf.)

TW: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Eddie and Reader/OC have a little fight and then reconcile, but with a supernatural element involved.

Find Hymns of Heaven here.

And find the Master List for As Above, So Below here.

December 1984

Your night-in wasn’t supposed to be like this.

But that's what he always thought when the two of you fought. It wasn't supposed to be like this. Not with you.

And inevitably...it wasn't.

A little verbal tousle never led to anything disastrous or relationship-ending. It was just...him. His abandonment issues. His need to be...needed.

The night started pretty normally. December, talks of Christmas, a last-minute visit to K-Mart before it closed to get hot cocoa (and fuck around in the toy aisle because you both were still kids inside after all), and then you regaling Eddie with the origins of Santa Claus as he flipped through your shoebox full of cassettes for something decent to listen to.

"...the story of Saint Nicholas of Myra is cool, but I always liked the legend of the Guardians better."

"Guardians?" Eddie asked, only semi-present as he stared at the faded track listing on one tape to see just what it was.

"I read it in a book once," you explained. "The Guardians of Childhood. They're meant to protect children."

You went on and on and explained each of the Guardians, who they were and what they did. Wonder and memories and special surprises made with magic and happiness. Your hands gestured wildly as you spoke and it was easy to see the sparkle in your eyes as the street lights illuminated your face every so often.

But the longer you went and the more Eddie heard, the worse he felt.

The Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus.

He'd been hearing about them for most of his childhood. All of it. Heard about them, though. Never experienced.

He'd always felt...slighted.

Now, as an adult...hell...even back in his childhood he knew. Knew that those things weren't real.

When he lost a tooth growing up, his mom would pull together a handful of change from the tip jar at Benny's for the Tooth Fairy to leave him. He could hear her count the coins as he laid awake in bed, hoping to catch the elusive sprite that first night. He always said he lost the teeth from that point on, not wanting to be burdensome.

His family didn't celebrate Easter. He'd heard all of the "he is risen" crap from church-going classmates growing up. He always questioned how it tied in with rabbits and eggs and chocolate, with no definitive response. At best, he and Wayne indulged in Cadbury Eggs as a special treat every year, with a few stashed away at the back of the freezer whenever the mood struck. But the meaning of the holiday was lost on him.

And his dad had pretty much dashed all illusion of Santa Claus immediately when he was younger. He couldn't remember a time when there had been any extra gifts under their mediocre tree.

"Isn't it amazing?" you asked by the time you were climbing the steps and entering the trailer. “Like…ok…admittedly I kind of think kids are the worst but…Guardians protecting the innocence of children. It deserves to be protected.”

“Does it?” He asked flippantly as you went on about how fun it would be to go to the North Pole one day and see if Santa’s workshop was real. “Do they?”

“And he—w-what?” You furrowed your brow as you dropped the bag of cocoa and marshmallows on the counter in the kitchen.

“I don’t know about you,” he laughed dryly as he fell onto the couch. “But there was no one magical and fantastical protecting me. There was my mom, then Wayne and Rick, and now…now I look out for myself.”

“Eddie…I…” you looked like a deer in the headlights. At a loss for words.

He knew you didn’t mean any harm with your story, but he couldn’t help but bicker and bitch and yell. And when he finally turned his frustration onto you instead of his situation, your expression got darker. Because you weren’t going to stand there and take this misplaced anger.

And that’s all it was right? Bickering and picking and mourning the loss of a childhood and a loss of innocence in both of you. You had more in common than you had differences—

Shitty, absent parents whose only priorities were themselves.

A guardian who sacrificed everything for you, to their own detriment.

The obvious fact that you were different from everyone else and there was nothing you could do to change that.

The idea that you were the only ones in the world who could understand each others plight.

—it’s just when you got to feel bad for yourselves that it all turned to shit. Unable to see what the other saw because you couldn’t see past yourselves.

So, back and forth you both went. Deeper and deeper. You didn’t understand. No he didn’t understand.

“I would think,” you scoffed, tears streaming down your cheeks. “That you, out of everyone, would feel some kind of…kinship with this. I didn’t say it to make you feel bad Eddie. You protect all of those kids. Your friends. Me. Instead—”

“You’ve made it very clear, the only person you need to protect is yourself. You only care about yourself. Otherwise why…why would you keep all of these secrets from me?”

You choked a sob. It shook your entire body.

And suddenly he didn’t see red anymore.

He saw…you, his girlfriend, who knew how much he enjoyed magic and fantasy and whimsy as an escape. You, who enjoyed all manner of monsters and cryptids and tall tales as a way to connect with the world around you that, most times, didn’t want to connect back.

You, who didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of his bullshit.

After Eddie’s dad got sent away, his mom had a better head on her shoulders when it came to arguments. To protect herself, protect him. She always chose to walk away from a fight with Rick when one of them got mean. And taught Eddie to do the same.

“You’re gonna hear people say, don’t go to bed angry,” she told him once, as she tucked him into bed after a verbal tousle. He’d asked if they were ever gonna see Rick again. “But that just encourages people to fight more until it’s over. You want to go to bed. Because the Sandman will bring good dreams and help you realize how silly it all was in the first place.”

And that was the philosophy you both had agreed to after your first fight, over Mountain Dew of all things.

So he knew, now, once you controlled your tears, controlled your breathing, that was what you were planning to do. And he couldn’t object. Keys in hand, coat shrugged back on so you could trek out to your car. No goodbye. Because sleep would make it all better.

It had to.

He’d just sat down with his head, full of regrets, in his hands when you knocked on the door, needing to get back in.

“Car won’t start,” you whispered, unable to look him in the eye.

“I can take a look in the morning,” he offered weakly. “You can have my room. I’ll sleep on Wayne’s bed, not like he’s here to mind.”

The two of you went through the motions, calming yourselves down but still not ready for a kiss goodnight.

Eddie fell asleep with the sound of your soft sobs echoing in his ears, whether they were real or imagined.

It was Pitch Black and his thoughts swirled around him.

Literally.

They took the form of spectral creatures, smoky and abyss-like phantasms that grabbed and pinched at his skin.

He was tied down on the ground, held by each of his limbs, by his throat. He choked on his apologies.

“Please please, I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you the way I did.”

They bit and pulled and tore at pieces of him. Filled his mind with dark thoughts. Images of you crying, screaming, burning in fire.

“Please no. Forgive me. I fucked up. I fucked up.”

And then…

They stopped.

He was released in a puff of smoke, the inky, insidious tendrils evaporated and he was left to lay…on a glowing golden cloud.

Eddie looked around and saw…in the distant darkness…another cloud lazily approached. And on it there was a rotund little man with glowing skin and a beatific smile. His eyes crinkled as he got close enough to Eddie where their two clouds merged to become one.

“Who…are you?” Eddie asked dumbly. “Is…”

The man grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet.

“Is she ok?” He felt relieved when the man nodded sympathetically. “Where are we?”

The man’s eyes closed and the void they were in brightened to reveal…

Unicorns and sword-wielding elves and a palace spire that reached the sky. A stage with a crowd of roaring fans, a large gaming table with a group of eager participants, a comfy sofa and a coffee table with a bowl of popcorn and two steaming mugs of cocoa resting atop it.

All made of golden dust.

“Dreams,” he muttered. “My dreams.”

One of the man’s hands landed on Eddie’s shoulder and the other over his heart. He pressed down carefully and raised a brow in question.

“I do love her,” he whispered to the man, easily able to understand despite the silence. The man patted his hand twice. “And I know. She loves me too.”

The man’s brow became stern and his fist clenched then knocked on Eddie’s chest again. Eddie frowned, and then the man huffed a sigh. Above his head gold dust swirled and suddenly…there you were. A tiny version of you with a sword in one hand and shield in the other. You slashed and hacked as the gold dust turned black and attacked you.

“She’s…” He nodded. “She’s protecting me.”

The man smiled and nodded, the little dust mirage disappeared.

His hands then went and cupped Eddie’s face. He leaned in close and pressed a kiss to Eddie’s forehead.

For the briefest second, Eddie felt the most serene than he had felt in his entire life.

And then it all disappeared.

He woke with a start, tears dripping down his face.

It was dawn, the living room glowed with the rising sun, and you were there. Puffy-eyed and somber, with your hands on his cheeks.

“Hey it’s ok,” you told him. “It was just a nightmare.”

“No, no,” he shook his head. “It’s…it was…it was a dream.”

“Yeah?” You quirked a smile at him. Before you could make a joke, he was upright, engulfing you in a tight hug. “You, uh…sure it wasn’t a nightmare?”

“I’m sure,” he spoke, words muffled in your neck as he willed himself to become one with you. To no avail, of course. Your hand ran over his back, through his hair and you let him have the time he needed.

“Did you know…” he finally spoke. “Did you know that the Sandman is a Guardian?”

You got stiff for a moment, body immediately on the defensive, but as he pulled away to look at you with—he hoped—an apologetic gaze, you relaxed.

“Oh yeah?”

It wasn’t an apology. He could get to that later. But it was enough of one for now, one that you were willing to accept.

“He is the Guardian of Dreams. And he…he doesn’t talk. Did you know that?”

“Well obviously he doesn’t want to wake anyone up,” you gave him a small nod and a smile.

Eddie thought about it for a moment.

“…that actually makes sense.” He pressed his lips to yours for briefly. “I was so…occupied with what I didn’t have that I forgot what it was that I did.”

“Your dreams?”

“Yeah.”

He’d always been a dreamer. Always thought of fantastical far away lands and the most epic future. Filled with adventure and laughter. Friends and fans.

But there was one dream that was his reality, and he would never forget it again.

“And you.”

#hymns of heaven #aasb #as above so below #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fluff #Eddie Munson angst #eddie munson x oc

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magnetnorth · 5 months

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PRISCILLA QUINTANA – Por Glinda e sua varinha mágica! Olha só se não é SAMIRA VICENCIO NORTH caminhando pelos corredores da torre DAS NUVENS. Por ser filha de NICHOLAS SAINT NORTH (PAPAI NOEL), é previsto que ela deseje seguir caminhos parecidos com o dos pais. Ao menos, é o que se espera de alguém com VINTE E OITO ANOS, mas primeiro ela precisará concluir o módulo ESQUADRÃO VIL I, para depois se assemelhar como um conto de fadas.

Novo conto: BRYCE, A CAÇADORA.

Stats:

apelidos: Mira, Sam, Poly; aniversário: 25 de setembro (Libra); alinhamento: chaotic good. terra natal: nascida na Cidade do México (Shadowland), mas residente do Polo Norte (localizado na Winter Forest, em Neverland) desde os oito anos.

Headcannon:

Todos na residência dos Vicencio sabiam a história de cor. Após anos tentando e perdendo gestações, Lucretia ajoelhou aos pés da árvore na noite de natal e pediu por um milagre; nove meses depois, gritava na sala de parto e dava a luz a Samira. A criança era seu maior presente, e foi tratada como tal mesmo com todas as complicações que sucederam ao parto. Nem a asma, nem a tosse constante eram empecilhos para a hiperatividade da menina, que parecia ter uma imaginação acima da média. Podia afirmar com certeza que era visitada por passarinhos furta-cor quase todas as noites. Que tinha uma amiga fada. Que, nas tardes de neve, o vidro de seu quarto embaçava no formato de uma carinha sorridente. E tudo isso seria perfeitamente natural… Se ela não vivesse na tenebrosa, sombria, amarga Shadowland, onde a magia tinha data de validade e expirava azeda feito leite.

Mas, fazendo jus ao nome que recebiam, os guardiões olhavam por ela; lhe ajudavam a acreditar, porque isso também a dava mais vitalidade. Samira era um deles, afinal, fruto da mágica, e precisava da fé natalina para sobreviver naquele ambiente hostil. Entretanto, a crise no mundo encantado recaiu em seus ombros sem piedade. A maldição da vilania superava até mesmo o anterior ataque de Breu, e com tantas crianças desamparadas naquele primeiro natal infeliz, Samira adoeceu gravemente. Não havia mais esperança para sua existência em meio aos humanos. Se não atravessasse o portal antes do fim da noite, desapareceria como Scar! Carregada nos braços do Coelhão, sequer teve tempo para se despedir da família.

Era só uma criança quando conheceu St. Nicholas, uma garotinha franzina em frente a um homem grisalho do tamanho de um armário ─ ainda que bem mais magro do que esperava. Houve uma troca de olhares, um reconhecimento mútuo, e em pouco tempo ela já era membro dA Resistência! (mesmo que seu papel se restringisse a contar as luzinhas no globo terrestre; se perdendo e recomeçando de vez em quando). A Resistência perdeu membros importantíssimos ao longo dos anos, como a Fada do Dente, a quem Samira amava como uma tia, e uma série de renas e duendes. Mas quando viu que realmente não poderia derrotar os vilões, o polo norte se rendeu à tríplice.

Amargurado e enfraquecido, North não é nem a sombra do que um dia foi. Passa seus dias trancado na oficina como um eremita, tendo surtos de inventividade seguidos de períodos de auto piedade, a barba tão longa que cai como neve à altura da cintura e essa enfim da circunferência conhecida. Quanto a Samira, crescer no caos do boom tecnológico foi estranhamente conveniente, ainda mais quando seus poderes começaram a aflorar. A hiperatividade da infância custou a lhe abandonar e ela fez daquele mundo encantado seu parquinho, dançando conforme a música grave dos vilões até finalmente compreender tudo o que eles lhe tinham tirado ─ e tudo o que ainda tirariam.

A cada ano que passa, Samira nota os poderes enfraquecendo. Ciente de que o declínio do natal significa seu próprio declínio, não viu outra alternativa para seu futuro além de entrar em Tremerra e receber um novo conto. A perspectiva de se tornar um dragão é tanto encantadora quanto assustadora, mas não desistiu por completo do natal e sabe que North muito menos. Sua aliança com a vilania é tão tênue quanto um fio de seda, e se houvesse uma rebelião, certamente ambos se juntariam a ela. Enquanto isso, tentam fazer o que podem pela data nas duas horinhas diárias que lhes restam.

Poderes:

MAGNETOCINESE ── Há quem acredite ser culpa de Samira o fato de todas as bússolas apontarem para o norte, mas isso é apenas uma fantástica coincidência! Sua habilidade lhe confere a capacidade de mover, atrair, levitar e repelir livremente metais ou qualquer outro tipo de matéria que possa ser influenciada por campos magnéticos, coisa que, costumeiramente, ela usa para atirar adagas e projéteis balísticos numa precisão assustadora; desde que apenas um de cada vez. Suas mãos também são conhecidas por retorcer metal nas formas mais intrincadas, criando arte seja em peças de brinquedos, de esculturas ou de armas.

Daemons:

CHRISTOPHER, THE PINE ── Não fosse pelo calor e peso, facilmente teria confundido por uma semente de pinheiro o ovo que lhe fora entregue após assinar seu nome no livro. O daemon de Samira eclodiu na cor caramelo-cobre, mas com o passar do tempo suas escamas foram se tornando mais longas e esverdeadas na parte superior, em alusão a uma árvore que prospera em bom solo. Tem chifres que lembram bengalas doces pontudas e um olhar sereno e acalentador. É um daemon reservado e fica acuado na presença de estranhos, mas nem sempre foi assim. Acontece que Chris Pine ficou gravemente ferido após proteger Samira de um monstro, atitude que resultou na perda de boa parte de sua asa esquerda. Em gratidão, Mira passou tempo projetando uma prótese de liga metálica para o wyvern e, desde então, num trabalho em conjunto, ambos estão reaprendendo a voar.

referência visual somente para as cores do daemon, pois as asas são diferentes: (x)

#acabei de perceber que perdi a oportunidade de chamar ela de poly north 😭😭#Oi galeraa #vamo plotaaar!

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mask131 · 4 months

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Can I ask this question?

What's the deal with Pére Noel?

Do you any information about him?

I really found very few information about Pere Noel before he was synchronized with Britain's Father Christmas and US' Santa Claus.

Was he just a french version of Father Christmas, focused in adult festivities and merrymaking before becoming a gift-bringer like Santa and St. Nicolas?

Is he today any different from Santa and Father Christmas?

I read that in some parts of France St Nicholas is still the main gift-bringer figure, so I'm confused about the events that led to Pere Noel being a major holiday figure in the French context.

This ask actually needs a very long and complex answer that I will provide below, because the topic of the "Père Noël" is extremely complex...

My guess is that you are referring to the "Père Noël" that appeared in Chris Schweizer's set of "Father Christmas cards" - which appears here if you want the original post, but to clarify I will copy the art below for the sake of the explanation -

This is not the current day "Père Noël". You will NOT see this guy around in the streets today. In modern France, "Père Noël" is the name of the French version of Santa Claus. Or rather, French people call Santa Claus "Père Noël". Current day's Père Noël is just a Santa Claus copypaste. Now, "Père Noël" literaly means "Father Christmas" in French, so one would expect him to be much closer to the British Father Christmas... But yes and no. Yes because it is another incarnation of Father Christmas that predated the American Santa Claus, but no because the French Père Noël has a different (though similar) iconography than the British Father Christmas.

Overall, if you recall my previous post, it is the same thing as with the "proto-Santa Claus/Kris Kringle" of 19th America (mischievious elf-like figure wrapped in brown furs) versus the 20th century American Santa Claus (jolly old man in red and white). "Père Noël" was the figure that was the placeholder of the gift-giver before the arrival of the American Santa Claus in the post WWII world (as with all things American in France, it was imported by the Americans that helped set France free). The earliest records of Père Noël appearing are from the mid-19th century - George Sand writes in her 1855 biography that as a kid she was waiting for "little father Christmas", this "good elder with his white beard", that dropped at midnight from the chimney to place shoes in the "petits souliers" (little slippers" of the kid) ; while an humoristic newspaper of 1848 wrote a dialogue where Père Noël knocks at someone's door - only for the person not to believe them, and saying he should be entering by the chimney not the door. Here, despite the name linking him to the British Father Christmas, he bears the marks of the proto-Santa Claus/Kris Kringle of 19th century America (such as the small size, explaining why he fits through chimneys). But it is all unclear as the figure was definitively not set in stone. In fact, in the second half of the 19th century, there was a certain fleeting between "Père Noël" (Father Christmas), "Bonhomme Noël" (Old Man Christmas/Christmas Man) and "Petit Noël" (Little Christmas, aka a variation of "Little Jésus", a French variant of the German Christkindl).

The thing with France is that it is a cultural crossroad - and this explains the diversity of Noël/Christmas traditions. For example in Provence there is a strong focus on the Epiphany and the Rois Mages (the Three Magi), similar to the traditions of the Reyes Magos in Spain ; while Eastern France truly kept alive the Saint Nicholas tradition typical of Central Europe (Netherlands, Germany, etc). And that's without counting local figures like Tante Arie... Anyway. So yes, saint Nicholas was a very popular gift-giver in France for a long time because France was a deeply Christian country (First Daughter of the Church), and the tradition stayed in the "Germanic" or Dutch-influenced parts of France (North, North-East). But in the rest of the country, Père Noël emerged. A continuation of Saint Nicholas-Sinterklass (still an old man, still with a donkey/horse, carrying gifts in a wicker basket), but with less religious symbols (while he still looks like a monk in some depictions, he never looks like a bishop and never has any overt Christian symbols). There's also the whole Père Fouettard as the French evil counterpart of Père Noël, the same way Saint-Nicholas/Sinterklaas has many "dark companions", but that's another story...

That all being said, the reason Père Noël was so easily "morphed" or "transformed" into the American Santa Claus is because, while he existed as a figure of Christmas folklore in France, he was not actually... defined. There was no specific image of him, no specific attribute, no lasting tradition - he existed as an archetype, as a general image, as a figure everybody knew by name but nobody agreed on how to depict. Sometimes he was closer to Saint Nicholas/Sinterklass by appearing as a thin monk-like old man with his donkey ; other times he was similar to the British Father Christmas by being a larger man dressed in green ; other times yet he was rather similar to the traditional embodiments of winter by appearing as a being wrapped in a grey or white large cloak... You've got some fleshy red-dressed Père Noël with fur-lined clothes similar to the future Santa Claus, just as much as you have skinny brown, blue or purple Père Noëls. There was a father Christmas but more as a general idea. And it is this inconsistency, this "freedom" of depiction that led to the American image of Santa Claus easily becoming the new face of Père Noël.

For example, here are various images of what the pre-Americanization Père Noël looked like:

You will notably notice that many of the visuals used in these Christmas pictures can also be found in England as the Father Christmas there tried out and found various looks - which is why it is sometimes hard to differentiate Victorian Christmas cards from French ones, and shows again how the French Père Noël is basically a cross between Father Christmas and Saint Nicholas.

In conclusion, long story short, Père Noël is not actually truly "French". It is a French figure, but born of the arrival of the British Father Christmas figure into a very Catholic France that fused him slightly with Saint Nicholas, hence a slightly more "religious" look ; and threw in some traditional Father Winter/Old Man Winter imagery to the lot. Overall, when you say "Father Christmas", you also speak of "Père Noël" as they are basically the same figure, with no massive difference, just slight alterations and a different cultural context.

And today Père Noël is just Santa Claus. BUT some elements that were part of the "old" Père Noël legend stuck around even in the modern Americanized incarnation, such as the habit of referring to "petits souliers" (little slippers) as the place he is supposed to leave gifts.

#french folklore #christmas lore #santa claus #father christmas #père noël #saint nicholas #the evolution of santa claus #the evolution of Christmas #christmas #noël

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goblininawig · 4 months

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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.

#red dwarf #dave lister #arnold rimmer #reddwarfcember #santa claus #red dwarf fic #goblininawig

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ltwilliammowett · 1 year

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St. Nicholas Day

Today is St. Nicholas' Day, which is celebrated on 6 December. So far so good, but what is behind this day?

The history of Saint Nicholas goes back to the third, fourth century AD. As the son of a wealthy family, Nicholas was raised to be a devout Christian. When his parents fell victim to an epidemic, he distributed his wealth among the poor and became a priest. Later he became Archbishop of Myra - in what is now Turkey - and from there word of his good deeds spread throughout the Mediterranean countries.

Saint Nicholas saves a ship, c. 1425 (x)

St. Nicholas is considered the patron saint of seafarers because, during the Council of Nicaea, he is said to have appeared to a ship in distress and saved it. In Nicaea, today's Íznik in Turkey, the first Christian council in history took place in 325 AD. Nicholas took part in it as a bishop and was recognised there by the saved Sailors, who venerated him.

In the course of time and the belief in miracles, Nicholas became the patron saint of all sailors and merchants and especially of children. After his death - the date of death is 6 December 342 or 343 - the great veneration of St. Nicholas spread rapidly to southern Italy, the Mediterranean and then to the port cities of the Atlantic and North Sea coasts. As the patron saint of seafarers, he helps in a storm and is said to bring the ship safely through all perils if he is asked for help.

There was the custom of making St. Nicholas ships out of paper or other material, in which the saint is supposed to place his gifts, has been known since the 15th century. The background to this custom is probably the patronage of sailors. Even today, many merchant ships still bear an image of St. Nicholas. The little St. Nicholas ship was later replaced by a boot, shoe or stocking, to which the gift plate was later added. On the eve of St. Nicholas Day, children put shoes, boots or plates in front of the door or hang stockings in front of the fireplace so that the saint can fill them with nuts, mandarins, chocolate, gingerbread, etc. on his way through the night.

I hope that your boots were also filled and that when you read this you will give a smile to St Nicholas and think of all the sailors out there and wish them a safe journey.

#naval history #st nicholas #6. dezember #patron saint #advent calendar #day 6 #ancient seafaring #medieval seafaring #age of sail #age of steam modern

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