This year, I spent a lot of time revisiting and refining the TTRPGs I created in 2024. I managed to update 4 of my TTRPGs this year, and now I feel like my back catalogue now just contains works I am proud of.
The Trains of the Glorious Republics of the People
Revised in February
This is a tabletop RPG where the players play as a train crew in a fictional 1930s totalitarian state
Ice, Snow, and the Quest for Salvation
Revised in June - A major improvement in quality in my projects and is the standard I now aim for with all my TTRPGS.
A solo journaling TTRPG set during the golden age of polar exploration.
Case Files - A Detectives Guide
Revised in July
A TTRPG in which the players play hard-nosed 1920s noir detectives trying to solve a case by any means necessary.
Fast Food Fascists
Revised in September
A three-page TTRPG about rebellion and resistance.
Az idei évre vettem egy szép kis adventi koszorút… az elmúlt években mindig egy mű volt, amit még a KIK-ben vettem 1000 éve és volt 1 “igazi”, amit egy virágkötő ismerősöm csinált és mikor pár munkáját befotóztam neki egy versenyre, azt nekem adta ajándékba. Volt vagy 40 centi átmérőjű csoda! 😍 de nyilván nem élt meg 3 évet 😞
More Light Presbyterians, which is the LGBTQA+ justice organization for the PC(USA) denomination, will be posting a short reflection video each Sunday of Advent. This first week of Advent centers around hope — but what do we do when hope seems hard to muster?
Video transcript:
This first Week of Advent centers around hope. I don’t know about you, but I struggle with hope — especially after horrific, hateful events like the shooting at Club Q in Colorado.
Thus I was relieved to learn a few years back that when I do experience hopelessness, I don’t need to shove that feeling aside or pretend it’s not happening. It is not sinful, or a failure of faith, to feel hopeless...
I learned this from Miguel de la Torre’s book Embracing Hopelessness, which argues that hopelessness can be a “desperation rooted in hope denied” where we have nothing left to lose and therefore we are freed to do whatever it takes to achieve justice.
When things feel hopeless, when achieving justice seems impossible, de la Torre recommends an ethics para joder — the Spanish F word — an ethics that “screws with the screwers.” Basically, if we can do nothing else against unjust systems, we can become a massive thorn in their side.
A person who embraces this ethics of joder “constantly disrupts the established norm, shouts from the mountaintop what is supposed to be kept silent, and audaciously refuses to stay in [their] assigned place…” Doesn’t that sound quite a bit like Jesus in his life, death, and resurrection?
This Advent, will you join me in pondering how we might mess with the powerful who maintain this mess we’re all in? And as we learn to live with the kind of hopelessness that is an urgent desperation, our hope against hope can be in the God who entered the world as an infant to teach us queer, subversive ways of achieving justice and peace for all.
hello everyone!! the teeniest bairn here with a very exciting announcement! since it is officially december (CAN YOU HEAR THE SLEIGH BELLS?!) we are going to be doing an advent series leading right up to christmas! they will be posted in the evenings each day! this first one is a wee bit of fluff for you all, and a double bonus for those of you who follow my series a string of pearls, as this is actually a scene taken from later in the story! (if you haven’t checked pearls out, please do, it’s my pride and joy, even though i barely have time to work on it)
we hope you are all enjoying the holiday season! for those of you who celebrate thanksgiving, we hope you ate your fill! and buckle up with a mug of hot cocoa, you’re in for a treat with some of these advent fics!
much love ~ mikayla
Christmas Eve, 1941
Lallybroch
“A bit more to drink, Claire?” Jenny, who had just bent to fill up her own glass, leaned forward with the decanter, one eyebrow cocked in question.
At first, Claire smiled and made to politely decline, feeling herself already crossing the threshold from pleasantly buzzed to drunk, but shrugged and offered her glass with a grin, pulling the shawl around her shoulders a little tighter. “Oh, why not?” Jenny grinned and obligingly poured her another finger and the two sat back in their respective chairs, a warm silence settling over the living room. Near the hearth, Ian sat slumped in the large wingback, his leg propped up on a spare ottoman and his book precariously abandoned in his lap. Every now and then, a gentle snore rumbled from his corner and Claire felt herself smiling, the comfort and familiarity of Lallybroch all around her.
“Did you have many Christmas celebrations as a child?” Jenny asked softly, one hand smoothing over the growing mound of her stomach.
Claire took a deep breath and tucked her feet up under herself, nestling further into the corner of the couch. “Not particularly, no. My father was more traditional, liked to have a big family dinner with just the three of us on Christmas Eve, gifts on Christmas morning. My mother liked to get up early and go for a walk. But we never had people over, and we never really went anywhere. After they died, Uncle Lamb and I would go out to a fancy restaurant in town and eat as much as we could stomach, and then on Christmas morning he would leave a few gifts for me, mostly books and trinkets wrapped in newsprint. Nothing like this.”
Jenny and Ian had invited her over the week prior, asking if perhaps she would like to have dinner at Lallybroch on Christmas Eve.
“No one should be alone on Christmas, Claire!” Jenny’s sweet, sharp voice cut through the other end of the receiver, and Claire smiled, leaning against the counter as she folded her arms against her chest.
“I’m touched by the invite Jenny, but I would really hate to intrude on your evening, what with the kids and all. And you and Mrs. Crook must be doing all the cooking and I’m hardly family.”
The voice on the line scoffed. “Nonsense, Claire - JAMES ALEXANDER MURRAY YOU PUT THAT DOWN-” Claire recoiled with a grin as she held the phone away from her ear, catching Jenny murmur a quick “one moment, Claire,” before the sound of the phone being put down thudded in her ear and the telltale stomp of footsteps ensued, followed by a shriek and the scamper of small feet. After a moment, Jenny returned. “Sorry, that wee scoundrel keeps trying to steal the glass baubles off the tree.”
Claire laughed, picturing the scene as she shook her head. “That’s alright. But really, are you sure-”
Jenny cut her off. “Claire. Nonsense, ye’ll no’ be spending Christmas Eve alone. We will see you promptly at six o’clock.” And then the line had cut and Claire had been left standing in the semi-darkness of her kitchen feeling light-headed with joy.
“Well, we’re all verra glad ye came. Wee Jamie loves ye somethin’ fierce, though I think it’s only he suspects he might be able ta bribe ye into givin’ him sweeties.” She smiled and took a sip of her drink and looked as if she was going to say something else, but they were interrupted just then by the doorbell. Bran, one of the big farm dogs, leapt to his feet and took off for the foyer with his best battle cry.
Ian jerked awake, blinking blearily, and Jenny made as if to get up, but Claire quickly swung her feet out from under her, slid them into her shoes, and set her glass down on the small table. “Please, Jenny, let me. You’ve already done so much tonight. I’m sure it’s just carolers.”
She made her way around to the front of the house, where Bran was still making a ruckus, tail thumping the wall as he circled the door. “Alright, you big beast,” Claire smiled, patting him on the head and taking hold of his collar, “stay.”
There were not, in fact, carolers on the front stoop. Only a pair of heavy boots and hopeful eyes and a smile that made her knees weak.
“Merry Christmas,” Jamie whispered, cheeks flush. A small, brightly wrapped package was clutched in both hands, and his scarf had been wrapped haphazardly around his neck.
Claire wanted to laugh or cry or do both at the same time. She settled instead for throwing her arms around his neck before he could say anything else and burying her face in the crook of his shoulder. “Oh my God, Jamie!” His arms came up around her back and a chuckle rumbled against her chest.
“Happy ta see me?” He teased as she drew back, but she could see his eyes were glittering with emotion as well. Laughing, she wiped a hand across her cheeks and grabbed him by the sleeve of his coat, pulling him into the foyer.
“Come in, you must be freezing. My God, Jamie, what are you doing here? I thought you weren’t coming home until the spring?” She closed the door behind him as he undid his scarf and shrugged out of his jacket, the smile never leaving his lips.
“They let a few of us come home for the holiday. I have to leave the day after tomorrow, and-”
Claire silenced him by leaning up to press her lips to his in a chaste kiss, and drew back beaming. “You’re here now; that’s all that matters.” Her hands slid into his and she squeezed his fingers. “Oh, Jamie, everyone will be so happy to see you.”
His smile softened as he reached out to tuck a curl behind her ear, and leaned in for one more kiss, though this one was marginally less proper than the last. After a moment, he drew back and grinned as he took Claire’s hand and led her into the living room. “Aye, let’s see about that then.”
“Who was it then, Claire, just the-” Jenny looked up and all the blood drained from her face. For a moment, she sat immobile, and then clambered to her feet with a shriek, coming over as quickly as possible to throw her arms around Jamie. “Jamie! What the devil are ye doin’ here?” She pulled back to look him over, tears streaming down her cheeks. Across the room, Ian stumbled up as well, clutching his cane for support as he came over to embrace his brother-in-law.
“Oh, it is good to see ye, Jenny. And you, Ian.” He clasped the other man in a crushing hug, and when he stepped back there wasn’t a dry eye in the room. “I was tellin’ Claire they gave some of the men permission to come home for the holiday. I canna stay long, but I took the train home as soon as I could.” He was barely done with his sentence before Jenny was ushering him into the kitchen, going on and on about how he must be starving. Seemingly before Claire could catch her breath after he had stolen it away on the doorstep, Jenny had him sat down with a heaping plate of hot food.
Jamie wasted no time with preamble, setting himself to eat almost immediately, but paused intermittently to recount to the three of them what the last few months had been like. For a while, he and Ian went back and forth in what to Claire might as well have been another language. They talked about everything from new planes Jamie had gotten to test fly to the passing of one of the old colonels.
Claire sat down next to him, perfectly content to hang on his every word simply because he was there and safe. He smiled over at her as she scooted closer, and beneath the table grabbed her hand.
“Christ, it’s late,” Jenny said some time later, sparing a glance at the clock that rested on the mantlepiece. Once Jamie had finished two plates of food and a heaping slice of pie, the four of them had migrated back to the living room. Ian and Jenny had set themselves down on the couch, her feet resting comfortably in his lap as he pressed his thumbs into her sore arches, and Jamie and Claire had opted for the loveseat, holding hands and bumping knees as they all caught up with where the war had taken him.
“Aye,” Ian agreed with a stretch, his back popping, and didn’t even bother to stifle a yawn. “Wee Jamie will be tearing down the walls in a few hours. Best we all go on up and get some rest.”
Claire, as if waking up from a daze, blinked harshly and suddenly stood. “Yes, of course, and I really should be going. Thank you both for a lovely evening, really, it was splendid.”
“Claire, ye’re more than welcome to spend the night,” Ian offered as he and Jenny stood and gathered their things. “It really would be no trouble, and we’d love to have ye. We’ve a spare bedroom-” his eyes passed between the two of them but, bless him, he didn’t so much as smirk “-if ye’ll be needin’ it.”
Claire’s cheeks flushed, but before she had a chance to answer Jamie had stepped up behind her, settling one hand in the small of her back. “If it makes any difference to ye all, I was hoping ye might humor me and come for a wee walk, Sassenach? And I’ll help ye settle down when we come back?” His eyes were bright with hope in the flickering light from the hearth and Claire felt her heart melt.
“Of course,” she said softly, and the pair bundled up and stepped out into the cold.
Jamie took a deep breath as the heavy door closed behind them, and rubbed his thumb over Claire’ s knuckles as they walked down the long driveway. “I’ve missed you, mo graidh,” he said softly, his breath little more than a cloud on the cold night air, his eyes flashing.
Claire pressed herself against his side, seeking the warmth radiating off him. “I missed you too,” she breathed back, one hand wrapping around his bicep. “I can’t believe you’re here.” She leaned his cheek against his shoulder as they made their way down the driveway. “You’re certainly better than a group of carolers.”
Jamie’s laugh echoed softly off the night air, the gently falling snow muffling almost any noise, and blinked a few stray snowflakes off his lashes. “I’m glad ye think so, though I could sing Holy Night if ye’re so inclined.” He grinned down at her and Claire leaned up to catch his mouth, unable to get enough of him in the short time she would have him.
“I think I’ll pass,” she murmured against his lips, feeling him smile.
They walked in silence for a while, simply enjoying being with each other. It was like they were the only two people on the planet. Fat, lazy snowflakes danced around them and filtered through the light from the lamp at the end of the driveway. She would have been content to pause the moment forever, but knew it would have to end in a couple days. She tried not to think about it.
When they reached the end of the driveway, Claire slipped on a small patch of ice, nearly landing on her arse and grabbing onto Jamie’s jacket for support. He reacted quickly, locking his arm around her waist and setting her back on her feet as she dissolved into laughter against his chest. “Sorry, sorry I didn’t see that-” she pressed her face into his coat, still giggling, and he wrapped his arms around her shoulders and dropped a kiss on the top of her head with a chuckle.
They stood that way for a few quiet minutes, swaying, and then Claire leaned back and reached up to cup her hand around the back of his head, drawing him down for a long, slow kiss. The air against her cheeks was like ice, but Jamie’s mouth was as sweet and warm as sin. When she came up for air, he bumped his nose against hers and smiled, their foreheads still touching. “I’ve a wee gift for ye, mo cridhe,” he murmured.
“A gift?” She smiled, scratching her nails lightly against his scalp as she ran her hands along his neatly trimmed hair. “Wouldn’t you rather wait until the morning?” She teased lightly, sliding her hands into the collar of his jacket for warmth. He shuddered at the touch of her icy fingers against his neck.
“I’ve waited long enough,” he said softly, his smile flashing in the warm yellow light from the lamppost. “Open your hand,” he whispered, like it was the most precious secret in the world.
Claire licked her lips slightly and offered one hand, palm up. Slowly, Jamie withdrew something from his pocket and placed it in the center of her hand. Claire’s breath hitched in her throat, and when Jamie spoke, his voice cracked. “Marry me?”
Claire closed her hand around the delicate, simple ring and choked back a sob, pressing her mouth to his in a hot, bruising kiss. “Yes,” she murmured into his mouth, laughing and crying at the same time. “Yes, always yes.” There were tears on his cheeks as Jamie slid the ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. He pressed her hand, the small diamond now glittering, against his chest and leaned down for another kiss, tasting the salt of both of their tears.
In the distance, the old church bells rang, ghostly and far off in the snowy night. “Merry Christmas, Claire.”
Life goes on.
Until it doesn’t.
We’re picking up here with Jesus’ teachings on the destruction of the Temple, this time from Matthew. Jesus speaks of a massive cataclysm, sweeping over people during their normal everyday activities, and killing them apparently at random. There’s no possibility of safety here. What are you going to do? Not go to the fields to tend your crops? Not grind grain to…
This week’s passage envisions dramatic signs in the sky and in the earth throwing people and nations into a panic. This is said to precede the coming of the Son of Man on the clouds. Reading a little more of the context in the previous verses, these dramatic signs are part of a larger cataclysm. There’s lots of destruction and suffering.
And then there’s this little three verse parable about…
