#five names

[chicleeblair]

The mad white supremicists in the notes, though. Y'all, the Black names we consider "weird" are often based on African/Muslim names, and also having the freedom to name in a previously enslaved culture is a Huge Deal. Yes, there are non-American white people who pronounce the Roman alphabet differently, but this is not that.

This is colonialist, British, Christian superiority in addition to the Need to be Special. English has, like, four girls names everything is a variant of.--Elizabeth, Anne, Jane, Catherine, basically Henry VIII's wives, with a hat-tilt to Jennifer in the past few decades.-- Add in some biblical names--which Rachels, Marys (take Margaret* to get it and you have everything from Maggie to Peggy), Rebeccas and Sarahs, maybe a Christina, and you have GENERATIONS of Germanic American Whites who got really tired of sharing a name, but are mostly pulling from nicknames of the above.

Names with meaning (adjectives/nouns) are associated with Actual Puritans (as opposed to our puritanical culture which is very Victorian). I think that (the nicknaming--oh, hey, Nicole**) is why we have an idea of what Looks Like a Name. There hasn't been really a generation that would've named that child Rifle directly.

This is a girl whose grandmother Barbara (b. 1960)*** named her daughter Jennifer B. (b. 1980) (to differentiate from Jennifer K. down the street) who then named her Kaycee (b 2000). (There's something in here re:phonics I'm sure, but I'm not a linguist.)

There are other names these days, of course. A lot of traditional male names or surnames became feminine' names and vice versa. I think more boys got those initially, but they didn't have many more first names--Peter, Paul, John, James, Henry, William--. I say all this as someone who loves having a uniquely spelled name. I'm a Chelsey--a very British name-- who would've been Chelsea, except my birth mother, a teenager in 1989, spelled it Chelsia and my parents dealt with it being pronounced "Chel-see-uh" for my first year, which I think is a product of said phonics thing. Four years later the first daughter stole my name ensured that didn't happen. I've never been able to find my name on a keychain, but I'd argue that shouldn't be possible in a country that's supposedly a melting pot (ha.)

I don't know what this is tbh, except to say this has NOTHING to do with the Northern European native populations being mentioned in replies, wtf, people?

*name people, tell me, does Martha come from Margaret??

**and it's how Wynonna Earp gave us Nicole Rayleigh Haught, so I'm not against it. Just aware.

***known as Babs!

stop saying white people don’t have their own culture this belongs to no one else

[foolsocracy]

identity reveals are always fun

[wally-lake]

*Markiplier voice* WAS THAT THE BITE OF 87!?!?!?

Dunno wanted to draw how Michael + his friends/the bullies reacted after the chomp.

what a day that must've been for those kids

[chloesimaginationthings]

Michael Afton gets owned in FNAF 4

[andysanimation]

Movie with a trash little little bb girl who is a man in his 30-40s who needs a job, and has a difficult relationship with his child/sibling. Then gets a job as a night guard and everything seems fine, until the night, when the inanimate objects come to live and get quirky. But eventually understand each other and team up to stop the bigger evil.

[kwadlayns]

Small crows' hang out 🐦‍⬛🧡

-----

Bonus: their hand poses match their 3rd Year Karasuno jerseys (Yachi is automatic #4, of course)

[costcopunk]

headcanon where mike starts working at sparky's after freddy's goes out of commission and matpat ness just likes to infodump abt the fazbear franchise to him

[muffinlance]

Hi ! prompt idea : What if Zuko was armed during the first episode and was stranded with the water tribe while the avatar left with Katara and Sokka, Iroh on his trail for white lotus reasons.

Oh we are going to have us some FUN with "stranded with the water tribe", say no more.

---

Zuko was dripping, and steaming, and staring down two dozen women and their gaggle of small children, plus that old not-the-Avatar crone from earlier. They were all cowering away from him. Which was--

Good. It was good. If they were cowering, then they hadn’t noticed how steam was not flames. He wasn’t sure he could make flames, not after the arctic water he’d landed in, with that last sight of the Avatar glowing; not after surfacing under the ice pack, after swimming, after kicking slamming breaking through and his ship was gone and there was only ocean all around and

and he’d made it back to this pathetic little camp of the Southern Water Tribe, because that was the only place he knew for sure would have shelter, and he wasn’t going to die just because they were all staring at him, even if felt like he would.

Even if the old not-the-Avatar woman could probably take him, right now. But she didn’t know that.

Zuko pulled himself up, taller than her by at least a few inches, and blew steam from his nose.

“I am commandeering one of your huts,” he said. And added, because Uncle said even a prince should be gracious: “You may choose which one.”

---

She choose her own.

...The only one without children that flames might scar, or younger women to catch a soldier’s interests.

Zuko sat by her fire and determinedly started struggling out of his wet clothes and she was still in here with him--

Zuko pulled one of her animal pelts over himself, and finished fighting off his clothes. When he stuck his head back out, cheeks still reddened from what was obviously the cold, she dropped a parka on his head.

“Dry clothes, Your Highness,” she said.

The parka was much bigger than he was. He fell asleep hoping that the camp’s men were on a long, long hunting trip.

---

He woke up again. Kanna tucked her favorite ulu knife away, newly sharpened, and stopped contemplating the alternative.

---

“I am commandeering a ship,” he said.

The crone led him across the village, all twenty paces of it, to a row of canoes.

“Take whichever one you want,” she said. “Will you need help getting it to the water?”

Zuko looked at the canoes. Looked at the ocean. Watched a leopard seal, easily the size of the largest canoe, dozing just past the ice his own ship had broken through the day before. It was frozen again, a great icy arrow pointing from the waves to the village, snow already starting to cover it over.

Beyond was blue sky and gray ocean and white ice, floating in blocks like stepping stones, like boulders, like cliffsides.

There wasn’t even a hint of gray steel, or smoke. Or any land, besides what they were standing on.

He looked down at the canoes again. Somehow, they seemed even smaller.

“I, uh,” Zuko cleared his throat. “I’ll require supplies. Before I go.”

---

They... did not have supplies. Not extra ones. This didn’t stop them from trying to give him supplies, food and blankets and anything else he could think to ask for. But each blanket was a pelt hunted by someone’s grandfather, had been inked with images and stories by someone’s mother, was the favorite of someone’s husband or brother or uncle or cousin--

They couldn’t go to the nearest market to replace things, here.

And when they talked about food, about what they could spare, they kept sneaking glances to their children, who were sneaking glances at Zuko from the huts, sticking their heads just over the snowy ledges like their fur-trimmed hoods would hide them. Their mothers and aunts shooed them away, and they crept back, like barnacle-crabs. Zuko glared, and they disappeared.

“When are your men coming back?” he asked. “They’re hunting, aren’t they?”

Oh. So that was what they looked like, when they weren’t trying to hide their hate.

---

Zuko wrapped himself up in the same blanket that night. It was printed inside with fine lines and images, telling a story he didn’t know. He wondered whose favorite it was.

---

Kanna wondered how quickly he’d wake—if he’d wake—if she built the fire up with wet driftwood and tundra grass, if she had one of the younger girls boost up a child to plug the air hole, if she let the smoke draw its own blanket down over this fire child.

---

It was hard to know when to wake up, because the sun never set. So everyone was up before him, and they all had spears and clubs and—and nets, and trap lines, and snow googles with their single slat to protect the eyes from snow blindness. Zuko had seen those once, at the Ember Island Museum of Ethnography, where they’d gone when it was too rainy for anything more exciting.

Oh. They were going hunting.

“Give me that,” Zuko said, and took a spear.

The women looked at him. One of them adjusted her googles.

“I can hunt,” he scowled.

He did not, in fact, know how to hunt.

---

“Give me that,” the Fire Prince said, and Kanna almost, almost gave him her ulu. Humans, like most animals, had an artery in their legs that would bleed them quick enough.

She kept skinning the rabbit-mink one of the women had snared.

“I can help,” he said, with less grace than most of their toddlers. Likely with the skinning skills of a toddler, too. She wasn’t going to let their unwanted visitor ruin a perfectly good pelt.

“Chop the meat,” she said, and gave him a different knife. “It’s dinner.”

“...This is really sharp,” he said a moment later, looking at the knife with some surprise.

“Is it,” said Kanna.

---

Things the Fire Prince was convinced he could do: hunt (until he realized he couldn’t tell the tracks of a rabbit-mink from a leopard-rabbit apart); spear fish (at least he could dry himself); pack snow for an igloo (frustrated princes ran hot); ice fish (the prince was a problem that kept coming close to solving itself).

Things the Fire Prince could actually do: mince meat, increasingly finely; gather berries and herbs, once he stopped trying to crush them; dig roots, under toddler supervision; mend nets, after the intermediary step of learning to braid hair loopies.

“Can’t I take him ice fishing again?” asked one of the women, as she watched Prince Zuko put as much apparent concentration into braiding her daughter’s hair as his people had into exterminating hers.

“Wait,” said another woman, sitting up straight. “Wait wait wait. I just had an idea.”

---

Three words: Infinite. Hot. Water.

---

Summer was coming to an end. The sun actually set, now, and the night was getting longer, and colder. The salmon-otter nets were mended and ready. The smoking racks were still full of cod-lemmings. The children were all a little older, the women all a little more used to doing both halves of their tribes’ chores; a little more used to not watching the horizon, waiting for help to come.

The Fire Prince was staring at the canoes again.

“Are you actually going to try leaving in one of those?” Kanna asked.

“...No.”

“Come on, then; someone needs to watch the kids while the women are hunting.”

She didn’t leave him alone with them, of course. But she could have.

---

Elsewhere, the war continued.

The moon turned red, for a moment none could sleep through; they did not learn why.

The comet came and went, leaving their castaway prince laying on the beach, his breath fogging up into the night sky above him, as the energy crashed from his system as quickly as it had come. Above, lights began to dance in the sky; Zuko pulled his hood up, so none of those spirits—children, dead too soon—got any ideas about kicking his head off to be their ball.

The war had ended. The world didn’t feel any different; no one in the south would know until spring came again.

---

Suffice it to say, Sokka and Katara were not prepared for this particular homecoming.

[umblrspectrum]

i hate perspective. happy new years also

[forumtrashbin]

siblings siblings siblings siblings

[chorttttttt]

How many faces do you have ????

[pinkelotjeart]

If I had a nickle-

[latehere]

i made this a while back but forgot abt it

+ close up of moon :33

[pixlokita]

More of thisssss aight -evaporates-

[chloesimaginationthings]

Doggo will haunt FNAF series forever

[doks-aux]

The idea of William Afton genuinely loving his children is so much more interesting to me than the alternative, not just because it's more tragic and makes his motivations make more sense, but also because it's fucking hilarious.

You are about to be obliterated from this Earth by a six-foot-something zombie rabbit, and your last moments are spent terrified and deeply confused as he shows you pictures of his kids in a blood-stained wallet: a clearly haunted bear costume, a limitlessly unnerving chrome clown doll, and what looks like Grimace's corpse left to shrivel in the sun.