Be John.

You are now John and in being John you don't even have to open your eyes to guess what is sitting on your nightstand. The sticky, sweet smell of buttercream icing fills your nostrils. You try to be angry that your personal space was invaded once again. Cake was your Dad's trademark, as was stepping into your bubble. But you soon realize that you can't be upset. Today, you feel nothing but happiness. Today, not troll nor pastry could ruin your mood. Today is Christmas.

John, be Rose.

You are now Rose and in being Rose are awoken to the cacophony of a sputtering vacuum cleaner. You think to yourself as you do every morning how you should really grow a tolerance to the noise considering that not even the birth of Christ himself could rouse your Mom from her tiding ecstasy. You almost regret getting her that copper vacuum cleaner as your holiday offering. It was meant to be ironic, per a friends suggestion that you took eagerly. This would be an excellently tasteful way to spite her. But now you have a not-so-subtle feeling that your Mom will actually use the thing regularly. You try to curse yourself for being so blind to the consequences of your actions, but you find that you are unable. Today is much to joyful a day to spend the better half of it arguing with yourself, despite how badly you wish too.

Rose, be John.

You are now John. You make your way down the stairs and into the kitchen. Dad was, of course, there as well as three finished cakes on the countertop and one in the oven. Dad hands you a plate. On any normal day, you would refuse, possibly even sticking a pair of plastic arms in the slice. That would have been deliciously humorous. You personally would consider yourself a caketarian of sorts and adding false limbs to your Dad's work would have been a wonderful cameo to that, but you don't. Instead, you take the plate, take a fork, and plop a bite into your mouth. Your Dad's face swells with pride.

John, be Rose.

You are now Rose. In retrospect, your Mom's present isn't all bad. When you first peel back the wrapping of the obnoxiously large princess doll, you had been appalled. But after imagining some purple tentacles knitted in place of the arms, you begin to see the appeal.

Your Mom, as expected, goes on and on about the vacuum. She swirls her wine around in the glass, suggesting having the thing bronzed because it was "too thoughtful to use." What a ridiculous notion. You smile despite yourself.

John, pester Rose.

-ectoBiologist [EB] began pestering tentacleTherapist [TT] at 23:11-

EB: hey, i know it's late but i wanted to see how you're christmas was. i would have pestered you sooner but, you know, time zones...

TT: That's alright, I can't sleep anyways. I find it easier to sleep in silence rather than the white noise of a soon-to-be bronzed vacuum.

EB: oh man, she's actually using it?

TT: Not only is she using it, she's talking about getting it sculptured.

EB: that's weird but... oddly sweet.

TT: I suppose. Anyways, what did you acquire this christmas?

EB: some joke books, some sweet movie posters, and a whole lot of cake...

TT: Sounds likely.

EB: what about you? what did you get?

TT: A horrifying doll, but after reimagining it in Fluthulu's image, it's not quite so horrid.

EB: oh sweet, let me see.

TT: *sends John a picture of her and the life-sized doll*

EB: haha beautiful...

TT: I hope you're making use of your sarcasm degree...

EB: oh, I wasn't talking about the doll.

EB: hey rose?

TT: Yes John?

EB: merry christmas.

~The End~


AUTHOR'S NOTE: We had a prompt in my short stories class to write a story based on a song so I wrote this based on PhemieC's "Home." Also, I know that the vacuum/princess doll exchange was on a birthday, not Christmas, but bare with me. This is my first Homestuck fanfiction and it's actually harder than I thought it would be.