#we know that he used to read when he was a child

[goose-books]

The Ghost of Christmas Past shows up and you’re like, “Ohhhhh for fuck’s sake,” but you’re in your childhood bedroom so it’s kind of on you. The ghost seems offended. She crosses her arms. She looks like you used to, with the pigtails.

“No way,” you say. “Don’t start.”

“I am the—”

“The Ghost of Christmas Past, I know, I know.” Because she looks like you, and it’s Christmas Eve, so what else. Your parents used to read you the story every year. Even when you were old enough to read on your own, it was better in your dad’s voice.

“You came home for your parents,” the ghost says, solemn. “It’s time to tell them.”

“No, like, ‘when you’re ready’?”

“You are ready,” she says, “or you wouldn’t have come back.”

Which is so stupid, because you weren’t on the moon, you were at college, and it’s only been two months of shots, you don’t even have a mustache. “Fucking leave me alone,” you say, so she does the ghost thing and takes you to a ten-years-ago Christmas. The living room. Your parents. Your fledgling self on the carpet with your stocking, the one you can’t look at anymore because when you were a baby your parents patiently hand-stitched the fucking name.

“Maybe they’ll make you a new one,” says the ghost.

“You don’t know that.” Bullshit ghost powers.

“You were happier back then. When they knew you.”

“Everyone was happier back then. It was, like, 2008.”

“There was a recession,” says the ghost.

“Shut up! Shut up!” You turn over in bed. For a second you expect to roll onto child-self-you curled up next to you. Probably crush the life out of her. You got good at that. It’s her bed, her room, pink covers, cat posters.

“This is so stupid, this Dickens thing,” you say. “I’m not even Christian anymore.”

“Tell your parents that second,” the ghost suggests.

“Oh my fucking God I’m not telling them anything can’t you go bother Jeff Bezos.”

“I’m just doing my job,” says the ghost, and vanishes.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Present has an acne problem. As soon as you open your eyes you say, “Oh my God,” and they say, “Hi,” and you say, “You better not be the fucking Ghost of Christmas Present,” and the Ghost of Christmas Present says, “I am.”

Which you knew.

“Why me?” you say, pink comforter bunched around your waist. “I didn’t do anything. Scrooge was mean to orphans.”

The Ghost of Christmas Present shrugs. “It’s the job.”

“Are you gonna show me my parents now?”

That makes them look kind of embarrassed.

“Well, don’t,” you say. If your parents are talking in the other room, huddled up conferencing with the lights off, you can’t hear it over the heater buzz. But you can guess what they’re saying: you went to school with a shitty pixie cut and worse eyeliner, and you came back with a real haircut and a permanent frown and a bunch of new friends you play sentence Twister to avoid pronouning. “I know they’re nice people, I got it. I’m just not ready.”

“It’s just—you’re kind of waiting for them to ask?” says the Ghost of Christmas Present. They scratch their face, where they have spectral sideburns coming in. “Your dad thinks you have a head cold. ‘Cause of your voice. But your mom’s starting to get it.”

You pull the covers over your head. “Cool, awesome, didn’t ask.”

“She isn’t going to ask,” the ghost says. “She wants you to tell her.”

You stick your middle finger out from underneath the covers. When you check, the room is empty again.

#

The Ghost of Christmas Future doesn’t say anything. Just looks at you. You look back. You probably have bedhead. You fixed your daytime wardrobe but your pajamas are still lacy and purple.

“How come you’re a man?” you say.

He says, “I think you know.”

“Fucking—go away.”

“I have something to show you first.”

“Are we going to the goddamn graveyard?”

He doesn’t say anything but then you’re in the goddamn graveyard. Together. Looking at your headstone. The dates are close enough together to make you kind of sick.

“They went with the full name,” you say.

The ghost nods.

“Not even the nickname. My nice gender neutral nickname.”

The ghost shrugs. You kind of want to throw something at him but you’re just looking at it now. Chiseled in marble. Immovable. What’s that thing bigots on the internet say, about someone digging up your jawbone two hundred years from now? You always wanted to think you wouldn’t care.

The Ghost of Christmas Future’s pretty quiet. This is the part where Scrooge goes full breakdown. Tears, begging, promises.

“I’m not gonna cry on you,” you say.

“Okay.”

So neutral. “Man, what do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” says the ghost. “I think you’re there.”

You can’t stop looking at the headstone. “God fucking damnit shit. You promise they’ll be cool?”

“Nothing’s promised,” the ghost says. He gestures at the graveyard. “Except for this.”

“Awesome.” Cryptic cliche philosophical ghost bullshit. Yada yada. Death and taxes. Not with that name on your headstone, though. Not with that name on your tax forms, either.

You turn to tell him that and then you’re blinking in bed. There’s still one glow-in-the-dark star stuck to your ceiling where the glue never wore out. You put those up like ten years ago. Maybe longer. The light in the room says it’s morning. You swing your lacy-pajama legs over the side of the bed and go to ruin Christmas.

[tbaluver]

I Saw Mommy Kiss Santa!- The Love And Deepspace Men

in order: xavier x reader, zayne x reader, rafayel x reader, sylus x reader summary: your child(ren) caught you and santa kissing! genre: fluff fluff + silly + drabble a/n: hihi again lovelies ! ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡ justt one moree holiday drabble just bc i love the holidays and i've always wanted to do holiday posts! this isn't proof read btw i had the idea written out and i wanted to make sure this gets posted before christmas at least- i hope you all enjoy reading and i hope you all have a happy holidays! (ෆ˙ᵕ˙ෆ)♡

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

it was well past midnight meaning it was officially christmas day. the cookies you and the kids had left out were completely gone, quite literally no crumbs on that plate and the glass of milk was left empty right beside it.

although xavier didn’t really like the idea of santa claus, he could tell how excited his boys were when santa was going to visit overnight. you had mentioned that they might try to peek, given how excited they were that they couldn’t sleep, so xavier thought it was a good idea to help keep the surprise.

however both of you didn’t expect that they would peek in the worst possible moment.

xavier had just finished placing the last presents under the tree while you were wrapping up the dishes you’d used to bake with the boys. as you walked over to him, you’d admire the scene he’d set up for them so perfectly, you couldn’t help but smile. it truly did look like santa had come.

you lean in to kiss xavier, his hands naturally wrapping around your waist as he pulls you closer. but little did you both know, your two boys had quietly sneaked down the stairs and were watching from the steps.

before either of you could react, they charged at xavier with plastic swords in their hands, ones that he had given them, and began attacking him. he was quick to stop them and the boys froze, their eyes wide in realization.

“huh? but we saw santa..where did he go?” the older one asked, clearly confused. their plan had failed.

“um.. ho ho ho? merry christmas?” xavier scratches the back of his head awkwardly as he sets their toys down on the couch.

“papwa where did santa go?” the youngest asked, his voice trembling as tears were welling up in his eyes.

“santa was in a hurry tonight,” xavier says softly, kneeling down to their level and pats both of his son's head. “santa was nice enough to lend me his suit..so i became santa’s helper.”

you crouch down beside them, trying to calm them down. “why did you attack your father? i’m sure santa wouldn’t have liked that.” you asked softly.

“we saw santa kiss you momma!” they exclaimed in unison.

xavier turns his gaze to, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. “santa kissed you?”

you had to explain to xavier later that he was santa after you put the boys back to bed.

Zayne:

it was well past midnight meaning it was officially christmas. your daughter was tucked into bed while you and your husband just waited a little longer to ensure she was asleep before starting to make it look like santa visited.

your husband loved you and your daughter more than anything. which is why tonight he was determined to make it perfect and the reason why he was wearing the santa suit you had secretly bought him. it was an effort to see that big smile on her face when she woke up. however you try to hold back your laughter every time you pass by him in that red suit.

zayne used his evol to make a few final touches to the scene. he conjured up a powdery snow on the floor, carefully leaving footprints to mimic santa’s path. he made sure to eat the cookies and drink the milk that you and her left out, also leaving snowy handprints. zayne also made sure to leave a beautifully written thank you note near the empty plate, making sure it was written differently than his.

once everything was perfect, you leaned into him as he wrapped an arm around your waist, the other gently cupping your cheek as he leaned in for a soft kiss. as he pulls away, he whispers, “merry christmas my love.”

but neither of you were unaware that from the spot behind the stairs, your daughter had peeked through the railings, watching you kiss santa.

christmas morning

your daughter came running into your bedroom, squealing in excitement as she jumps onto your bed. she tugs both of you to get up as she drags you both down to the living room where a mountain pile of presents laid under the tree.

but there was a moment of hesitation on her face. you exchange a curious glance with zayne as your daughter stopped in front of the tree.

“what’s wrong dear?” zayne asked, kneeling down to her level.

she twiddles her thumbs nervously, her gaze darting back and forth between you and zayne. “well..” she hesitates, “i-i know i wasn’t suppose to be awake last night.. but i hear santa’s boots and i wanted to see if he was really there. and he was!”

you raised a brow, realizing what she meant. but you didn’t understand why she seemed so conflicted. “you heard santa? did he wake you?”

you daughter nodded eagerly, “yes i saw him! but..i saw mommy kiss santa!” her voice trembling.

you both froze for a moment, exchanging a look. zayne tried his best not to crack a smile but you could see the corners of his lips twitching.

“no, no hon,” you try to reassure her before it escalates to anything else, “i didn’t kiss santa.”

zayne nods along, “it’s true she didn’t kiss santa. she was just giving him a hug, my love.”

your daughter’s eyes widened with curiously as she darts her gaze between you and zayne, “really?”

zayne smiles softly, lowering himself to her height. “yes, mommy was just thanking santa for all the presents because you’ve been such a good girl this year.”

relief flooded your daughter’s face, making you both relax. her smile lights up the room as she threw her arms around you both, hugging you tightly. “yayyy! santa must like mommy a lot then!” she chirps happily.

“of course he does. now, let’s see what he’s brought you this year.”

Rafayel:

surprisingly it did not take you that long to convince rafayel to play santa. sure, it was meant for you rather than for the kids but he took the role very seriously even when the children weren’t evem around to witness it.

all he had to do was eat the cookies, stomp around in his boots to make sure the kids could probably hear him in the living room and neatly arrange the presents under the tree. but no, rafayel decided to go all out. and honestly, you couldn’t say no his dedication and work.

he starts by making a grand entrance, the sound of jingling sleigh bells ringing near the children’s room, only for it to backfire. the noise woke up the kids and they all debated if they should sneak out to see if santa was really here.

rafayel didn’t stop there just yet. he called a in a few of his friends, the seagulls, to nibble on the carrots left for the reindeers, making sure there were a few crumbs scattered to ensure they were eaten. he even made sure to leave tracks outside the house to show that reindeers were definitely there.

but that wasn’t the end of it. using powdered sugar, he carefully creates santa’s footsteps around the living room to make it look like santa himself had walked around and set up the presents. as you finished up filling the fifth stockings and stepped back to admire the scene, you couldn’t help but feel excited when your children wake up in the morning.

rafayel steps out of the powdered sugar footprints and saunters over to you with a playful grin. “well? give santa a kiss?” he says, spreading his arms wide. you rolled your eyes playfully but you couldn’t resist. walking into his arms, you lean up to press a soft kiss against his lips. his hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer while the other tangled gently in your hair, deepening the kiss.

but before either of you could fully enjoy the moment alone, you heard a small thud and a very panicked rafayel. “hey!! glub glubs-!”

the kids had been watching the entire kissing scene unfold from the stairs and before any of you could react they rushed over, tackling santa rafayel. the squealing stopped abruptly when they looked up. their faces frozen in confusion as they realize it’s their father.

“fawther?” one of them asks, eyes wide.

“papa?” the other repeats, staring at him in total disbelief.

“you..you’re santa?”

rafayel sat up as he brushed himself off, “listen glub glubs..don’t tell anyone okay?” he winks at them, motioning for them to come closer. “you see.. us lemurians actually work with santa. we have an important job in making sure sharks don’t eat him if the reindeers fall asleep. and this year.. santa needed a little help making sure your presents came in extraaaa safely!” he closes his eyes dramatically while nodding. he knew he played it off well when he hears the kids gasp and squeal in excitement

rafayel grins, standing up and playfully ruffling their hairs. “yupp! now let’s get you all back to bed. ya know you shouldn’t be up right now or santa might come back and take all your presents away!” he teases as they gasp in unison, shaking their heads furiously.

“what if he comes back and kisses mommy this time?”

rafayel chuckles as he turns his gaze to you and raises a brow, “puh-lease. as if i’d ever let him.”

Sylus:

it was a few hours past midnight, meaning christmas had finally arrived. while your daughter was tucked in, you and sylus worked under the warm glow of the fireplace and the tree lights, setting up presents and carefully arranging them to make it look like santa paid a visit.

you thought it would be funny handing him a red suit and boots to stomp loudly on the floor but little did you know sylus had his own revenge. with a smirk, he hands you a silly oversized elf hat. ‘my perfect little helper’ he teases.

you carefully stuffed extra toys and candy into her stockings that hung over the fireplace as sylus made a show eating a few of the cookies you had baked together with her, making sure to offer you a couple bites as well. he made sure to leave her a special postcard for her and made sure to ‘accidentally’ drop one of santa’s golden bell.

when you both finished setting everything up, you stood back and admired both your work. everything was perfect and you couldn’t wait for your baby girl to see that santa had visited.

sylus slips his arm around your waist, pulling you close. he lowers his height and presses his soft lips against yours as you slip off the ugly elf hat he’d given you. but neither of you knew that your daughter along with mephisto was quietly watching from behind the banister.

her eyes widened in disbelief as she exchanges looks with mephisto. how dare santa make a move on her mommy? before either of you could react, she charges down the stairs.

your daughter rushes straight at sylus, who was dressed as santa while mephisto swung at you instead, squawking extra loudly as it flapped around you. your daughter tugs at santa sylus’s boots, wailing, “go away leave mommy alone!”

but when ‘santa’ crouches down at her, her eyes widened with shock. she realized that it was her father underneath the suit. he gently scoops your daughter up as he stops mephisto from attacking you. “what’s the matter, sweetie? you know you’re not supposed to be awake right now,” he says gently.

her eyes threatened to spill tears while her lower lip trembled, “i-i..i heard santa and I just wanted to see him! and then i saw mommy kiss santa!” she whimpered

sylus glanced at you with a raised row, trying not to crack a smile. “sweetie..don’t worry. mommy would never kiss anyone else but you and me,” he says softly, brushing her hair from her face. “santa knew you were awake, so we switched places.”

you daughter gasped, sitting up in sylus’s arms with wide eyes. she looked back and forth between you both, “waaowww!”

you were honestly equally impressed by how quick he had come up with an explanation and at how well he played along. “now, now..let’s all get some sleep and we can see what santa left us in the morning, okay?”

“yayyyy!” she cheered, throwing her arms around him in a tight hug.

[hanihomed]

Read it once in your life, and never regret it.🖐️✅

Are you bored with posts asking for help from Gaza? You are right, but imagine our situation as we live this war day after day for 15 months!! do you think we're tired too

I have been injured for 12 months and my condition is as it is every day there is no treatment or medicine my condition is as it is every day it gets worse no food or drink in Gaza every day we die of hunger The most beautiful thing for a person is to have a family and a family, but unfortunately my wife gave birth to her daughter Mariam and she died as a result of the war on Gaza.

What is the fault of our children to deprive their childhood of their most basic rights of education, food, drink and fun? They have lost all their childhood memories in our destroyed house.

My father is an older 75 years old, a hypertensive patient who also needs treatment and attention, lost his home, he does not have the ability to walk

Asking for help is not easy, it is very embarrassing, especially for a family that is used to living a decent life. We used to help others, not ask for help.

But the war has turned our lives

I have been Hani for the past 15 months and I have been infected and unable to meet the needs of my family, but my wife has been struggling to get healthy food for my children and medicine for my injury and my elderly father, whose weak body has been attacked by infection and anemia. Where prices have risen 10 times and are very, very expensive, everything is done. As you read my letter, my family and I try to survive through all kinds of suffering.

What was once a beautiful dream and reality is now a nightmare. Hunger is one thing, but hunger and conscription forced you to flee in the middle of the night when tanks suddenly arrive in your area, and you run away to save your life while I am injured and unable to move a difficult and indescribable feeling, I want to flee and my father and my fear for my children and my wife is something tiring and sad to describe all that while we are under fire, leaving behind all his daughters for years

Can you feel my broken heart now?? Can you imagine what I'm going through in these moments? We desperately need your help in the hope of escaping Gaza and reaching safety to save my life from my serious injury and save my family from danger and explosions.

You may feel helpless for this genocide, but you can certainly save my family.We appeal to your merciful hearts to help us escape this catastrophe, which the human mind cannot bear

I know that you share my story out of love and humanity, and I am really grateful for that❤️☘️🙏.

Please share our campaign with your family and friends

The cost of monthly treatment to buy treatment and painkillers for my injury is $ 700 A bag of flour costs $250 and is the main source of food for my family and is required daily to make bread. We live in a tent and my children are shivering cold. All I can do is pray.

Please, don't just watch or share so a small donation can be a lifeline for a hungry or sick child who is suffering🙏🙏

Please help us get out of life's crises and the woes of war

Read more about us in the following link, please donate to us on it and share it 👇

Please help us get out of life's crises and the woes of war

Thank you to everyone who supports us in these difficult circumstances, thank you for your humanity and sympathy with us, may God make you happy throughout your life 🙏

Vetted by @gazavetters, my number verified on the list is ( #99 ) ✅

🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹

[revoltrebel]

We The People Must Unite!

We The People Must Command Our Right!

We The People Must Ignite!

We The People Must Win This Fight!

When We The People Unite.

When We The People Fight.

When We Dismantle The Wrong With The Right,

We The People Will End Our Plight.

I think EVERYONE needs to read this. Especially parents! For the sake of the future happiness and equality for their children in their own pursuit of happiness.

Luigi:

I believe He let himself get caught. Possibly even told the employee to report and collect. He ate his meal and waited patiently. He supposedly had the 🔫, the suppressor and his manifesto on him. He is martyring himself to fan the flames of revolution 🫡

I thought it was obvious 🤷🏻‍♂️ He is a man with a very blatantly obvious plan/message. He knows there HAS to be a martyr. It’s how revolutions truly begin.

Freedom and fairness in living and the pursuit of happiness. Capitalism has become a greedy dirty monster. Puppeted by the elite and their govt cronies. Using radical ideals from both sides of the aisle to keep Us, “the common poor citizens” at each others throats instead of realizing who the real enemy and threat really are. To keep us down and struggling just to survive when we should be thriving. Together. They need to be stopped. Only We can stop them. United We Win. We The Ants Ignite Our Fire!

Anyone who knows me personally, knows I’ve been jabbering about the 2nd American Revolution since I was a god damn child…

I thought that this was how I’d react when it came…nonchalant, watching it all unfold with a smug “I told ya so look on my face”…

Now I know.

I want to fight.

I want to make change happen.

I want to surround myself with others of the same ilk

To bring 💀 to the system, we must first bring 💀 to those that control it Deny Defend Depose 🫡

Will you join me?

🫡

Deny Defend DEPOSE! Rise, organize, prepare and FIGHT TOGETHER! This NEEDS to happen! I’m rising. I WILL fight back! Will you join me?

WE need to have EACH OTHERS backs. Ants Vs Grasshoppers. Nobody but OURSELVES are going to make any change happen. Rise up TOGETHER. No matter the religion. No matter what side of the aisle. It’s always been Up Vs Down and they have used EVERYTHING to keep us divided. United WE WIN.

Sorry but I am LEGITIMATELY TRYING to gather Us ALL up and actually do something. Need as many as possible to help and be ready to actually fight. People who aren’t scared. People who are tired and angry at the elite and their government cronies and are WILLING to do what TRULY NEEDS TO BE DONE!

Deny Defend DEPOSE!!!

luigi STUNS in new court photos

[usagiarchive]

what is love? — jing yuan x reader (in the eyes of yanqing)

"Ooh, maybe someday, could it happen to me too? When will it be? Who will it be? I wanna know, know, know, know, what is love?" — TWICE

sypnosis. [ 0.4k words. fluff. family. ] — When asked on the question of love, Yanqing thinks of his parents.

“Mama, what is love?”

You turn your attention to the little boy snuggled into your side as you read him a Xianzhou fairytale.

“What do you think love is, honey?”

The kid pondered for a moment before answering, “You and Dad are love!”

The joy he displayed on his face melted your heart and you couldn't help but bundle him up in your arms.

“Really? How so?”

“Don't you and Dad love each other? Isn't that love?”

You smiled and laughed a little, “That's an action, sweetheart, we love each other, it's not really a meaning, sweet boy,”

He tilted his head at you like a seal, very confused.

“The meaning of love and being in love are two different things, honey,” you tell him, not knowing how to approach the subject of love with a four-year old child.

“Think of it this way, let's think of love as your swords, Swords and using your swords are two different things, right?”

The child blinks up at you, “Mama, I understand… but at the same time I don't…”

You laughed and gave him a kiss on his forehead, “I'll explain when you're older, but for now… bedtime!”

…

Yanqing doesn't remember the interaction now that he's grown older, but if he thinks about what love is for him, you'd find his answer the same.

Love for him, was you and his Dad.

In the way that you learned to love tea as he did, even if you didn't like it at all, detested it at first, all because he loves it and you love him.

In the way his Dad never let you do anything when he's around, during grocery runs he'd lift all the bags and just let you hold his hand, during your weekend dates, he'd never let you worry about anything.

In the way you'd immediately get a pillow and a blanket if you find him sleeping in the patio (and most of the time join him), because he always complains about the crick in his neck he always has when he wakes up.

In the way he'd never seen the two of you have a serious fight, not in front of him at least, or not long enough that he'd notice because the two of you resolved anything within minutes of talking.

In the way his Dad would always peel an orange for you to share, “A half for your Mom, a half for me”, even if you'd go for a second orange, half of it will always be the other’s.

So yeah, if ever you'd ask Yanqing what love is. His answer would be you and Dad.

And maybe… he thinks as he pictures a certain spitfire girl that burrowed her way into his heart, maybe he can find a love like that, too…

usagi's note: december has been so incredibly kind to me (aside from me breaking my foot and not getting sunday) it's actually been so nice, ive met more people in this app and people here are so supportive and nice! i think ill enjoy this more hehe, merry christmas guys :))

also guys how do you do the tiny text thing? im so interested and i kinda wanna try that type of format in my works.

@usagiarchive 2024. do not repost, translate, or use for AI.

[physalian]

How to Make Your Writing Less Stiff 9 | Modifiers

Part 8

Part 7

Part 1

I can't believe there's now 9 of these holy butts

I’ve already talked about crutch words like “character feels” but I want to focus this list specifically on modifiers, and why they’re way less necessary than they seem. Full freedom if they're in dialogue of course, we're talking about the narration itself here.

Modifiers include:

Almost, nearly, slightly, very, a bit, certainly, probably, likely, definitely, really, basically, totally, virtually, rather, quite, etc. (here is a long list of filler words to work off)

—

These words seem necessary because we say them all the time without thought, and their inclusion tends to make the distinction between a literal amount and hyperbole (though even “literally” is rarely used properly anymore).

“I nearly slept a week” is hyperbole, we all know you did not sleep for an entire week straight.

“I totally died” is also, obviously, hyperbole, unless you’re a zombie.

However.

There are times when these words are necessary.

“I almost stopped for gas” does not mean the same thing as “I stopped for gas”.

But “She laughed almost childishly” pretty much does mean the same thing as “She laughed childishly”.

What’s the difference you’re trying to highlight, and is it such a bad thing that she does indeed laugh like a child?

In essence, a modifier tends to be necessary when discerning between whether an action was or was not done, vs how that action was or was not done.

“He almost kissed them” vs “He kissed them.” Well, did he or didn’t he?

“He kissed them almost tenderly” vs “He kissed them tenderly.” What even is ‘almost’ tenderly? If you delete the modifier, you probably won’t realize it’s missing the next time you read that line.

Is a venue basically filled, standing room only? Or is it filled, standing room only? What difference does 'basically' make? Give your prose confidence!

Hope this helps!

[nebulablakemurphy]

What’s in a name?

Summary: Haymitch Abernathy x Reader set in the moves & countermoves universe. Y/N is currently pregnant with their second child and they need a name.

Warning: 18+ ONLY MDNI (Smut)

They struck gold with Everest, the child and his namesake. The people of Panem loved the grandiose nature of the name Everest.

The novelty of his existence dwindled over the years, in the public eye. But to his parents, he becomes more perfect each day. By the age of three he possesses luxuries other children his age could only dream of.

Y/N and Haymitch are more than happy with just him. The thought of another child rarely crosses their minds.

Y/N is reading to Everest on the living room couch when Haymitch receives the pristine white envelope stuffed through the mail slot. He skims over the letter three times, painting on a smile as he returns to his wife and son.

Y/N knows him well enough by now that she can feel his distress. Waiting until after Everest is tucked into bed to whisper, “Haymitch, what’s wrong?”

“Snow wants us to have another baby.”

“Ok,” Y/N takes the blow better than she had the first time. “We knew this was coming.”

Haymitch curls his fist around the open bottle of liquor on their bedside table. He gulps it down, unwilling to admit how much he hates the way she isn’t surprised. Even when she cries or screams or throws things, she is fighting. This time she doesn’t fight at all, doesn’t resist in the slightest and it breaks his heart.

He takes it out on her two days later, without meaning to. Instructions from Snow come, sentencing them to the “room” in Y/N’s house with the cameras.

Madge stays with Everest at their house, oblivious to it all.

Before long Y/N is face down, fisting her pretty hands in the sheets as he fucks her.

Haymitch can’t see her face, perhaps that’s why he positioned them this way. He doesn’t deserve to see it.

Her fingers search for his, longing to entwine them, but his mind is far from here, far from his body and her. Going through the motions.

“I love you, Haymitch.”

No, his hips falter. Not that, anything but that. He runs a hand along her spine, her sweat damp skin. “Turn around,” he pulls out, rocking back on his heels to give her room.

Y/N turns to face him, catching her breath. Watching with worried eyes. They don’t switch positions during a recording unless it’s been requested specifically. The goal is always to finish as quickly as possible.

Haymitch closes the space between them, leaning onto his forearms as he eases himself back inside her. “I love you so much.” He murmurs against her ear, causing Y/N to shiver. “I love you.”

Y/N nods, burying her hands in his hair. Understanding how hard those words are for him to speak. “I know.”

“I love you.” A plea, an apology.

“I love you too.” Y/N holds him to her, kissing any part of him she can reach.

————————————————————————-

Haymitch wastes no time, the minute the test is positive, he is on his knees. Talking to their sweet baby, kissing Y/N’s belly, telling them stories. The way he feels about his wife hasn’t changed much since her first pregnancy, he just knows how to communicate it better. He knows what she likes and what she doesn’t, he knows the extent of reassurance she needs to feel safe.

As her belly grows, Y/N comes to him often, seeking comfort in the form of physical intimacy. He welcomes her with open arms, makes her happy. Makes her laugh. Makes her cum. Doing everything he wishes he would have while she was pregnant with Everest.

“Do you think it’s another boy or a girl?” Y/N wonders, watching her husband trace patterns across her belly.

Haymitch smiles, “girl.”

————————————————————————

A few months later his suspicions are confirmed, they are expecting a daughter, announced via Caesar Flickerman and a slew of pink confetti.

Everest squeals in his father’s arms, until Haymitch sets him down so he can dance under the falling pink glitter.

Y/N turns to her husband, with a knowing smile.

“I told you so.” Haymitch cocks his head to the side.

Y/N is in his arms a moment later, silencing him with a kiss.

————————————————————————-

“Is there a name you like?” Haymitch asks; she gets first pick.

Y/N shakes her head, “this one’s all you.”

Finding a name suitable for this child takes months.

“Can’t you just tell me, kid?” He whispers to his unborn child. “What’s your name?”

Y/N chuckles.

“Help me out here.” A swift kick to his nose tells Haymitch that he’ll just have to keep looking.

He searches high and low for a name. In books from the hob and passersby on the street, until finally he passes over the third page of the potential names again.

Arista.

‘The name Arista has its origins in the Greek language and signifies 'Best.’

“Arista,” he murmurs.

“That’s pretty.” Y/N smiles, passing a hand over her belly.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

[steddieas-shegoes]

what does a barbie mean?

for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt 'hanukkah'

all of my holiday drabbles will be from the bear hugs universe. many of them could probably be read standalone, but will make the most sense and be enjoyed best if you read that first!

rated g | 633 words | no cw | tags: established relationship, fluff

🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎🕎

When Steve picks Rory up from her friend’s birthday party, she’s surprisingly quiet. Usually after parties, she’s bouncing off the walls, blaming the cake and ice cream and soda and goodie bags full of candy.

By the time they get home, Steve’s getting concerned at her silence.

“Hey green bean, you okay?” He asks as they park in the garage. Eddie’s at work for another hour, so he has to do this alone.

He got used to not having to do this stuff alone anymore.

“Mhm,” Rory answers as she unbuckles her seatbelt. It’s not convincing and Steve turns to tell her that. She’s not looking at him, though.

“Do you wanna talk about something? Did anything happen at the party?” Steve asks. He shouldn’t push, but he’s worried that someone was mean to her. Rory can handle herself, but she’s still human, and she’s still a kid, and words can hurt.

“Nothing happened,” she says, but Steve’s not convinced.

“You can tell me anything.”

Rory finally looks up at him. “How come Santa doesn’t bring Sarah and Rebecca presents? They’re good all year.”

Oh. Well, this is definitely better than he expected, and way easier to explain or fix. No one bullied her, she’s just confused.

“You know how Sarah and Rebecca celebrate Hanukkah instead of Christmas?” Rory nods. “Well, for Hanukkah, they don’t need Santa to bring them presents because the family gets all the gifts and they have special meanings to them.”

“What does a new Barbie mean?” Rory asks.

“I think it just means that Sarah is six and wants a Barbie,” Steve laughs.

“But how come they have eight Christmases in a row?”

Steve briefly explains what he knows about Hanukkah, which is not as much as he should know.

And they go inside and look up more information, because Rory is a curious child and Steve never wants her to stop learning.

And when Eddie gets home, she starts telling him all about how Sarah and Rebecca get to light a candle every night and their dad says a prayer and maybe they could light their own Christmas candle on Christmas Eve.

That weekend, they go straight to the library to get a book about the dreidel game, and make a stop at the store to find chocolate coins. Eddie tags along, a little confused about how serious Rory is taking this, but enthusiastic about playing any game that leads to eating chocolate.

The fascination with Hanukkah ends rather abruptly two days later, when she hears Rebecca talking about jelly doughnuts. Rory hates doughnuts with fillings.

Steve doesn’t bother telling her that it’s not a requirement to eat them for Hanukkah, and he gives Eddie a look to stop him before he does.

“I think we should just have Christmas like we always do,” Rory says. Steve nods like he knew this would be her decision the entire time.

Eddie leans over to whisper in his ear. “Was there a chance we were converting to Judaism?”

Steve shakes his head. “She did this with Chinese New Year two years ago and Dia de los Muertos three years ago. She’s just a curious kid.”

Eddie nods, immediately understanding and knowing that she’ll probably find another way to celebrate something next year, and many years after that. He was the same way as a kid, even remembers one year when he learned what Mardi Gras was and made Wayne buy them all dollar store beads and a King Cake at the grocery store.

“Can we keep the candles though?” Rory asks.

“Yeah, those are nice candles,” Eddie looks at Steve to confirm.

“Sure,” Steve laughs, fond as he can be over his two favorite people being so in sync, even with something like this. “We can keep the candles.”

[fail-eacan]

My parents and their friends were discussing this idea a few months ago. It was supposed to happen at a parade, I believe. I remember my mom’s friend speaking enthusiastically about placing a Palestinian child in a manger surrounded by rubble and I remember being horrified by the fact that she clearly had no idea it was antisemitic.

I spoke to my mom afterward. She’s very anti-Israel- an academic, they both are. I said something like, “Don’t you think it’s antisemitic to use Christian iconography to imply that Israel, commonly thought of as a Jewish state, killed the christian God? Isn’t that one of the most classic examples of antisemitism like… ever?”

She just stared at me for a while and said something about Jews today claiming everything was antisemitic, even when it isn’t.

I went to an event held by Ithaca College’s Hillel last year. It was a Holocaust survivor, speaking about his experience, at the campus center. There was a security officer in full bulletproof gear with some sort of huge gun in his arms, watching the entrance.

My friend told me her Temple was taking volunteers to guard it during services because they were worried someone might come attack them.

I met a Palestinian, once. She wrote a song about violence and generational trauma. There was a choir concert where they performed it. Maybe in Watkins Glen? A few hours outside of town. It was beautiful.

I read about a Palestinian boy who when asked what he would do when he grew up said, “Children in Gaza do not grow up.”

I knew an Israeli. A girl, in my fourth grade class, named Gili. She could hardly speak English. My same friend from before became close with her. I didn’t really notice her throughout middle school- perhaps she went to Boynton, or LACS. But I saw her at IHS. She was just another one of my classmates, until she wasn’t. I didn’t notice that I hadn’t seen her in months until we were discussing war and involuntary military service in my English class. Someone said they knew someone who had been drafted into the Israeli army. I have never felt so close to the war as that moment. I hope she is safe.

I have known Jews all my life. At least while I was there, Jews were a fairly high percentage of the student population at Belle Sherman. My grandmother (a family friend, who became my grandmother when all of mine died in early childhood) is a Jewish Holocaust survivor. She has a wonderful sense of humour, and the most beautiful laugh. She has been a consistent part of my life, but is growing frailer. I can hardly bear to think about how it will be when she is gone.

My friends were mostly Jewish growing up. I knew so many Cohens as a kid I thought it was a very common name even outside the Jewish community. I didn’t realise Judaism wasn’t a huge religion (I conceptualised it as slightly smaller than Christianity) until I was in 9th grade Global History. My teacher showed us a pie chart of world religions. Judaism was hardly even there. We looked at “most common religion by country”. I was shocked that only Israel had Judaism.

I was at an afterschool program in which a few other kids and I made jewelry together out of metal wire, jeweler’s saws, brass sheets and resin. We often had political conversations. This was before Oct 7, years before, when I was in middle school. My instructor was Jewish. We were discussing Israel for whatever reason. She said she didn’t approve of how Israel treated Palestinians, but the idea that there was a place in the world that was majority Jewish was very important to her. “You never know what will happen” she said, “when you look through history we have never been safe, and we never will be. I do not approve of the modern politics of Israel, but it represents a kind of safety to me that I can never have anywhere else. I went there once, on a birthright trip, as a young woman. I remember the potency of being in the majority for the first time in my life.” I nodded, and we discussed it more. This woman, a girl, and myself. Later, the girl’s father was accused of antisemitic remarks. Later, my mother was accused of the same. The girl and I were friends. I heard she was bullied because of what her father was reported to have said.

When I was in elementary school, I was reading a book. One of those “Dear America” or “I Survived”, one of those children’s historical fiction series that I was so fond of. It was about a young girl escaping the Nazis. My mother scoffed at it and said, “they should write one of those about a Palestinian child, there’s already so many books about the Holocaust.” She was right, but she was also wrong. There should have been one about a Palestinian child. There wasn’t one. And also, there being one about a Holocaust refugee had nothing to do with that. She saw them as one or the other. Many people did, I came to find out.

When October 7th happened, posters went up around Ithaca. “KIDNAPPED” they proclaimed in large, bold lettering, “Taken by Hamas terrorists.” One of those posters had a “Free Palestine” sticker on it.

On my walk home from school every day I cross over a bridge. Someone spray-painted “LET GAZA LIVE” on the concrete. Someone else painted over that, “LET ISRAELIS LIVE” if I hadn’t known what it said before, I wouldn’t have been able to figure out the message. Either of them. It was hard to read- all the same colour, faded from rain and scrubbing.

My favourite message is over by the boulevard near Gimme! Coffee, the one that runs along one of the creeks downtown. I was walking home with my friend. We had grown somewhat apart lately. I was relived to walk with them. They stopped, at an innocuous house along the boulevard somewhere. I stopped, too. “We grieve for all Palestinians” my friend read, “We grieve for all Israelis” then underneath, “End the war in Gaza”. My friend nodded. “I like this poster,” said my friend. I agreed. We are all humans looking to live lives free from violence and terror. We are all cast into stereotypes judged on the actions of extremists who happen to share some identities with us. You are Israeli, people say. You want to murder Palestinian children, you want to steal people’s homes. You are Palestinian, people say. You want all Jews to die, you torture Jews and strap bombs to your hospitals.

I wonder what would happen if we in America could see places like Palestine and Israel the way we see our own twisted and beautiful country. Our leaders want us in constant conflict. They make money that way. Our leaders are extremists. They are elected over and over again, no matter how hard we as individuals try to fight against that current. Our fellow citizens are tricked by hateful rhetoric and vote and act against their own interests to feel a sense of belonging. We are Americans and we do not agree with our government’s actions. We are humans.

It is shameful how my community is acting. Ithaca is against collective punishment until they hear that there are some Jews, somewhere, who are hurting people. Ithaca is opposed to terrorism until there is an opportunity to throw stones at a place of worship.

People look for excuses to hurt Jews.

When I look around and see the numerous examples of Jewish lack of safety that surround me on every side, I’m reminded of that afterschool teacher. A safe place for Jews, as she said. A place Jews can defend themselves and be together. Somewhere to go when it gets ugly elsewhere. When Jews are under threat, once again.

She did not agree with Israel’s actions, and she also believed that Israel was necessary. And now when I look at Ithaca New York, my hometown, where I have lived my whole life, a place with more Jews than most others in this country, a place of education and learning, a liberal stronghold, after just a year of intensified American interest in Middle Eastern politics I have to agree with her.

I don’t know what I’m saying, really. Unconnected anecdotes that I’ve been meaning to share but I don’t have a thread to string them all together. I don’t know if they’re even relevant. I am a seventeen year old goy in Ithaca New York.

I'm feeling fucking sweary today. I just found out that some of our local pro-Hamas anti-Israel "Christians" have put up a Christmas "creche" with the baby Jesus wrapped in a kaffiyeh under a sign saying "stop the genocide."

Jesus was a Jew, not a Palestinian. It's quite possible to denounce Israel's destruction of Gaza without resorting to the ancient antisemitic charge that the Jews killed Jesus.

This is what was posted to Facebook today:

[azelsdoormat]

Azel Radwan Main Story

► Chapter 0

This translation is fanmade and strictly for entertainment purposes only. All media and original content belong to Cybird. Do not use, claim as your own, repost or reupload onto other platforms, reblogs are welcome.

Content Warning: mentions of child abuse, graphic descriptions of violence, gore?, generally disturbing content.

True love — to me, is the most evil of curses that must never befall me.

…

Azel: High Priest… please… stop

The whip tore into human flesh, and the blood-curdling screams of my beloved brothers rang through the air.

The cold, hard floor was stained bright red with the blood dripping from their torn fingernails. It was an image burned into those so-called “divine eyes” that would never fade. 

The grotesque sight, as horrifying as every nightmare in the world combined, unfolded before my eyes.

And I, this powerless god, could do nothing but scream and cry until my voice went hoarse. 

Azel: I beg of you. I’ll do anything you say. 

Azel: It’s all my fault for being a bad boy, it’s my fault for not behaving well. 

Azel: Please stop. I promise I won’t run away again. 

Azel: Please, I beg of you, please, please, I beg… 

I clung pathetically to the High Priest’s robes, desperately repeating my pleas.

While people revere me as a god, the reality was far from that. 

High Priest: Your Holiness… I sincerely apologise. I have no desire to cause you harm. 

The High Priest stroked my head with pity, smiling tenderly. 

In the middle of that nightmarish scene, he was the only source of kindness. 

High Priest: This, too, is love.

Azel: … Love?

High Priest: You are an extraordinary being, Your Holiness. If anything were to happen to you, it would be too late.

High Priest: To ensure that no mishaps occur to your sacred body, I must mete out severe disciplinary actions as such. 

High Priest: This is all for your sake. Please understand. 

The whip was swung once more.

My brothers, hung from the ceiling, gradually lost the light in their eyes and were reduced to nothing but mere empty shells. 

If this is what people call “love”— then I despise this monstrosity with every fiber of my being. 

Azel: … I… understand…

Azel: I understand, so… stop it already.

Azel: I’ll listen to everything you say.

Azel: I’ll work hard, I’ll become a proper god.

Azel: … Please… 

…

<< Fast Forward Many Years Later >>

Matias: Have you two heard about the romance novel that's become popular in Rhodolite lately?

The princes of three countries held regular meetings in different locations, and they would occasionally stray into idle chatter. 

The topics varied, but today, of all things we could possibly talk about, it had to be the one topic I didn't want to hear about the most. 

Kagari: Don't know.

Azel: I have no interest in such items. 

Matias: I can lend you my copy of the book. 

Azel: Please only offer it to Kagari. 

Kagari: No way. Matias is impossible to handle when it comes to these topics. 

Azel: Unfortunately, I am deathly allergic to anything related to romance. 

Matias: Is there such a thing?

Azel: Yes, and therefore—

Matias: Then I’ll read it aloud for you. 

(... This hell just became even hotter. Someone spare me.) 

Matias didn't look like he was about to back down any time soon and placed the book on the table.

The book’s design was boring and unremarkable. 

Matias: This book is so detailed in depicting the process of love developing, it’s known as a bible for beginners to romance.

Matias: I’ve read through it myself, and it’s truly a treasure trove of information.

Matias: Take the first date scene on page 32 for instance. According to this bible—...

Ignoring Matias’ rambling, I pulled the book toward me and haphazardly flipped through the pages. 

(Ugh… what is this nonsense?)

As expected of something that received such high praise from Matias, the contents of the book were revoltingly vivid portrayals of romance. 

Most of the story was filled with unnecessary trivial chattering between lovestruck men and women. 

Kagari: So you lied about being allergic.

Azel: It was not a lie. Please have a look at these goosebumps on my skin. 

Kagari: Looks like the real deal.

Azel: While Matias yearns for romance, I am the complete opposite.

Azel: Merely hearing the words “love” and “romance” gives me the chills. 

I recalled the day “love” was defined to me with a merciful smile. 

Even now, seeing that word made me sick to the stomach. The very thought fills me with so much disgust, I felt dizzy. 

(Apart from that hag, there were plenty of other people who preached about love with equally ridiculous reasoning.) 

(I can never understand how Matias can so purely believe in love…)

Matias: You’re weird. Is there really anyone who hates being loved?

Azel: Perhaps it is because I am a god and different from ordinary mortals. 

Azel: … At the very least, I neither want to love nor be loved.

Azel: I’ve learned firsthand that love is nothing but misery.

I shut the book and shoved it back at Matias.

I knew without a doubt that I never wanted to open a book of that genre ever again.

Matias: No need to return it. This book is my gift to you.

Azel: No, thank you. I refuse.

Matias: Don’t say that. While you may despise love and romance now, your thinking could change someday.

Matias: You could meet your ideal queen in the middle of a scorching desert where she’s on the verge of collapsing, and after you nurse her back to health— 

Azel: Matias, back to reality, please. 

Matias: Ahem. Anyway, it won't hurt to have the beginner’s bible with you. 

Matias: It covers everything from how to invite someone on a date to spending the night together. Study it well. 

I glared at the book Matias pushed back at me.

(Arguing any further is too much of a hassle.)

(Whatever. I’ll simply not open it ever.) 

(Or maybe… I could sell it to Akatsuki instead.)

(I’ve had more than enough of being loved.)

…

(... Hm?)

I suddenly regained consciousness and found myself in an unfamiliar setting.

(Is this a rose garden? It looks rather neglected, though.)

The feeling of entering “another person’s dream” was one I had experienced countless times before.

While I didn't remember every instance clearly, I was certain I had never experienced entering the dreams of someone who owned a rose garden. 

(This isn’t a dream someone who lives in the desert would have.) 

At the junction where several paths intersected, was an oak table with a single book on it. 

I casually picked it up and read through the contents, the owner of the dream’s life story started flowing through my mind.

The story was incomplete, but the owner’s “wish” was clear.

Azel: I see, I see…

Azel: How utterly laughable. 

(A strong yearning for love… they belong to the same category of people as Matias.) 

Someone approached me.

I shifted my gaze to the side and saw an unfamiliar woman standing there. 

???: What’s… laughable?

Azel: I have some unfortunate news for you, who yearns for love and thirsts for knowledge of what it is.

Azel: Love is not the grand blessing it is often proclaimed to be. 

Azel: Sometimes, it would serve you well to remain ignorant and pure for your entire life. You would find far greater happiness that way.

(Not that I intend to force my beliefs onto others…) 

The woman looked like a personification of virtue, and someone who would fall prey to the first con artist she encountered.

It was because of that first impression that, for once, God chose to be merciful.

Azel: I have witnessed many examples of “love”. Not in fiction… but rather the raw, unvarnished love that exists in reality.

Azel: Far too often, people use “love” as a means to justify their otherwise unjustifiable actions.

Azel: It is truly tragic to see people driven mad by love.

Azel: Even the most rational people become unable to live without it.

Azel: Like a curse. 

(There's a chance that this woman, who knows nothing about love now, will become a changed person once she experiences it.) 

(... I can only hope that doesn't happen to her.)

May that ugly curse called “love” never turn her into a beast—

This powerless god could do nothing else but pray for her, just like I did on that one fateful day. 

[iwtv-theories]

The more I think about it… the more I believe Marius wiped Daniel’s memories & messed with Armand’s childhood memories .

Marius messing with Daniel’s memories would be a parallel to how in the books: Marius (for a while) was a barrier between Daniel and Armand eventually getting back together. And we see in the first episode , Daniel’s memoir (about his faulty memories) was published under Roman Weiss (a possible Romanus easteregg since Marius was prideful about being a Roman). Not to mention the shot where Daniel stares at Marius’ painting and says “never heard of him” while Armand is blurred in the background . This could be another hint that Marius blurred his memories of Armand .

Plus, when Daniel has archives of Armand and Louis he first types into the search bar “Marius de Romanus” . It could indicate his subconscious may remember something about Marius. Which is why he seems to have such an interest in him.

Marius forever altering Armand’s loving relationships because he thinks he knows what’s best best for Armand is why he turned Sybil and Benji against Armand’s wishes , and behind his back. So it wouldn’t be that out of character to mess with Daniel’s memories (behind Armand’s back). And I do wonder if he messed with Amadeo’s memories too.

In the books Armand’s dad loved him and was attacked when chasing down the slavers . So , the show change of his parents selling him is interesting. Maybe it’s just an adaption change but maybe it’s more sinister than that . And in the show adaption Marius altered that memory (cause he wanted Amadeo to believe he was the only loving ‘father figure’ in Amadeo’s life/ the first person to ever love him). If that’s the case that opens a lot of other horrifying possibilities . To be fair, it wouldn’t surprise me at all that Armand doesn’t remember certain things because of tra*ma .I believe some of his amnesia is from that.

But, also in the books there were lines that could be recontextualized in the show as foreshadowing that he altered Armand’s memories. where Marius says he wanted to mold Amadeo into his perfect companion. “ to make a blood drinker for my own companionship, indeed to educate a mortal youth for this very purpose, and to GROOM him expertly that he might be the finest choice.”/ “A helpless child. I could mold you and change you, all of which I've done.”

The lines made me recall how Armand in the show mentions “tabula rasa” ( which in Latin means “blank slate”) . In philosophy tabula rasa is a theory that says : at birth the mind is hypothetically a blank or empty slate before receiving memories that shape them into who they are. '

‘Tabula rasa' originates from ancient ROMAN civilization. The term comes from the Roman tabula, a wax-covered tablet used for notes, which was blanked (rasa) by heating the wax and then smoothing it.  In the books Armand said Marius saw his as a " wax doll". And maybe Armand and his tablet obsession is a word pun. Hm?

Would Marius be interested in testing the theory of 'tabula rasa' in order to make the “perfect companion” ? Amadeo essentially was a blank slate for Marius to shape . He was mute and barely remembered anything of his past before Marius - a blank slate that Marius would have benefitted from. Was this just a coincidence? Did he chose him for this reason? Or did Marius have something to do with it? In the books he wanted to help Armand recall his forgotten memories but the show may go in another direction entirely . There must be some significant reason to introduce this new power to the canon?

Would he try to mess with Armand’s memories even in the 70s/80s???! I don’t necessarily believe he’d go that far to be honest. Unless Armand had such a negative reaction to him wiping Daniel’s memories that Marius decided to just cover his tracks and brain wipe Armand too .In the books , Lestat could ‘mind -read / speak’ to his fledglings cause he drank from Akasha . So since Marius also drank from her - he may (theoretically) be able to mess with Armand’s mind in the 80s. if so, the biggest “telenovela “ twist would be that Armand doesn’t remember devil’s minion either . 😅

[queer-ragnelle]

hi I was wondering what your opinion is on how to deal with anachronisms in arthurian legend. so many stories include jousting—which didn't exist in early medieval wales. which historic kingdoms do you chose to include, and from which period, and what if two kingdoms sound really cool and you really want to mention them both but one existed in england circa 500ad and one existed around the norman conquest? thank you!

Hey!

I could've sworn I answered this before but I must've been thinking of a conversation in my writing group. Anyway the short answer is:

Do whatever you want! Anachronism is a feature not a bug! Harness it!

The fact is, all of Arthurian Legend is anachronistic and it's great. We don't even have concrete proof that Arthur, as we understand him, existed. We don't have written sources from the era Arthur supposedly lived in, only artifacts. There are some sporadic texts throughout the early Medieval period which mention Arthur, then the majority of what we understand as part of the Legend began with the work of 12th century authors. When Chrétien de Troyes was writing his stories, he depicted the world he lived in. The same goes for Marie of France and Wirnt von Grafenburg and Sir Thomas Malory and of course the many many Anonymous authors throughout the entire Middle Ages. They wrote about knights as they, personally, perceived them, as if the Saxon conflict took place in the 12th, 13th, 14th, 15th, etc centuries. After that, modern authors did similarly, while keeping the setting Medieval.

I have found that reading the forewords, author's notes, and letters of modern writers tackling this same dilemma has helped me tremendously. I have a deep respect and admiration for John Steinbeck, both his The Acts of King Arthur and His Noble Knights and his other novels captivated me, so I cherish his philosophy regarding the creative process. In letter to his editor, he wrote:

He gets it!! Everyone is writing for their audience. Themselves, too, but with special attention to the current era and what that looks like.

When it comes to the nitty gritty stuff, you'll drive yourself crazy if you focus too much on what's "possible." Now Persia Woolley and I have our creative differences, but in her author's note at the start of book 1, Child of the Northern Spring, she wrote:

This makes a lot of sense to me. She has adopted a similar method as J. R. R. Tolkien did regarding the stories "coming out of Middle Earth." No, a Hobbit may not have called the circular green thing covering the entrance/exit to his home "a door," but that is the name of the object as the reader understands it, so that is what the author or "translator" has decided to call it.

In the end, you'll just have to sit down and make decisions. If you intend to use the names as they were in the era Arthur lived, it'll be more historically accurate, but unless you also provide a map and name key as Edward Frankland did in Arthur The Bear of Britain, you risk confusing your readers who only comprehend these locations in their Modern form. On the other hand, if you use exclusively Modern names, there's a chance it could break the immersion of your readers who perceive the story as Medieval.

I personally like to have of Medieval and Modern terms as well as technologies and cultural aspects. The fact is that we simply don't know enough about history to ever be 100% accurate about anything, so breath easier and offer yourself some allowances. I haven't scanned this book yet, but in the author's note of Phyllis Ann Karr's The Follies of Sir Harald, she wrote:

This is especially funny considering I don't recall any mention of a specific year to which the "historical accuracies" could be compared, but I assume she means the 12th century, when Chrétien de Troyes lived.

It comes down to what sort of story you want to write. Is it going to be Historical Fiction as Edward Frankland, Persia Woolley, and Bernard Cornwell wrote? Or will it be more loosely "Medieval" such as Cherith Baldry, John Steinbeck, and Phyllis Ann Karr wrote?

It really comes down to your own point of interest which kingdoms you include. I generally tried to stay accurate to the 4th-6th century, a huge 2 century window, which gave me enough wiggle room to pick and choose some names that made clear what I was talking about. Most if not all ports and islands retained modern names for ease of comprehension: Beirut, Isle of Wight, Mainland Orkney, and even Drake's Island, which is named for Sir Francis Drake, who wasn't born until the 16th Century, simply because its older name, St. Michael from the 12th Century, was not only too recent to be "accurate" anyway, but may have caused confusion with the giant of Mont St. Michael, which was of more importance to me than the impossible accuracy of landmasses in the Plymouth Sound. I did away with wooden longhouses in favor of stone castles; some I "built" on top of abandoned Roman forts that can still be visited today, others I invented completely from scratch, each brick and syllable original to my work. Many aspects called for improvision, so I did the best I could to make it all appear cohesive, even if historically those names or practices or fashions or whatever weren't actually as synchronized as my writing would have you believe.

This applies to characters too.

I refer to the main character as Gawain, although he claims it derives from the older name Gwalchmai. Other Mabinogion characters retain their Welsh names, such as Owain, Morfydd, and Bedwyr. Yet others take after their French names, such as Kay, Perceval, and Mordred. I even sometimes use both names, such as with Welsh Cynon/French Calogrenant, who was named the former at birth and referred to as such by Morfydd, but then Christened as the latter, which is what the majority of the cast call him. The Vulgate gives Yvain, son of Urien and Morgan le Fay, a bastard half brother called Yvain the Bastard. Because I had already changed the first character's name to Owain, so too has his brother's name been changed to Owain, as well as introducing a moniker of his own to more clearly identify him as a separate character without constantly referring to him as a bastard. They are from Rheged, but Owain the Bastard is known as FitzEden, as he was born in his mother's house near the Eden River. If you look it up, Rheged/Cumbria are the same general area, so I've linked the character to it through a name I made up for him. Owain FitzEden he now is. Did people use the term "Fitz" in the 5th century? No, they didn't have surnames. Was the river called Eden at the time? Probably not. But I did it anyway because I'm not writing in the 5th century, I'm writing now, for you, for me! And because I like the character enough to "bend the rules." It's not like historical Owain mab Urien had a pet lion, anyway!

It doesn't matter if these characters have "era appropriate" names or come from locations which didn't exist until recently. Say Lancelot is from Brittany or Less Britain or Gaul or France or Benwick or the Lake Kingdom, who cares! I've seen them all in one book or movie or another and they all register the same to me: Across the channel. Foreign. A new guy.

I had to do all of this twice, once for Medieval Britain and again for Medieval Persia. So trust me when I say it's time consuming. You're going to take a lot of notes for your own reference that your readers will never see but will help you keep an internal consistency once you decide what kingdoms and names to keep and what to avoid. The key is to stay accurate within your own world. Even if two kingdoms didn't exist at the same time, if you want to include them, do so, but then you have to follow through with that. Your readers will figure it out so long as you avoid giving the same area too many different names or accidentally changing a location's name between scenes. Locals may call their village something the outsiders don't, that's cool for worldbuilding, but every time you do it, you're making a bid on your reader's ability to hold all that information. So do so sparingly and with good reason.

Reading helps a lot. All the books I've mentioned do a good job of this and would be useful tools for understanding what your preferences are and what the vibe of your story will be. I hope that answers your question and gives you a bunch to think about! Take care. :^)

[flaggermuser]

The First Christmas

1,238 words || Fluff, Christmas, GN Reader, Doctor Reader, Parent & Child Relationship, Parent & Child Attachment, Not Beta Read, Tawny is used to mean parent as reader is GN ||

I originally planned to do three Christmas fics but didn't get the time.

Previous Tawny fics: When You Loved Me, Home Is Where His Heart Is, They Took My Sunshine Away & Take Me Out To The Ball Game

This is also unbeta'd so we are dying like kings

It has been a long time since you celebrated Christmas.

Sure, you’ve been to friendly gatherings, invited in by neighbours to celebrate, even bringing homemade pies but it never felt as good as a family Christmas. Your parents had died years ago and you didn’t have any other family, so often you spent the day alone with a prepackaged dinner, watching the various Christmas specials; you always record the Vought ones.

But this year's Christmas is different.

You've had a busy morning, waking up early to start the preparations for lunch and you've pulled out all the stops to make sure that it's perfect.

There's turkey with all the trimmings, roast beef, a rack of lamb and smoked salmon. Then there's a range of desserts accompanied by home baked gingerbread people and a gingerbread house, as well as cookies in Christmas shapes topped with icing.

Your dining room table and your kitchen counters are overflowing with food, enough to feed around ten people instead of you and the two very special guests joining you. It seems extravagant but then again, they're used to the much finer things in life. You hope you've done enough, that they'll enjoy spending Christmas with you.

There's not just an abundance of food either, you've gone all out decorating your home. A real fir tree sits in one corner of your modestly sized living room, decorated with lights, baubles and tinsel, with a pleura of gifts underneath. You've spent a great deal of money on those presents and you pray that they'll like them.

If only you knew that your existence was more than enough, that you were the greatest gift he'd ever received in his whole life.

The doorbell goes and slight panic sets in, so you do a last minute check on the way to the door, taking off your apron and hanging it on the back of the kitchen door. You make a brief stop at the hallway mirror, straightening out your clothes so you look presentable before opening the door with a smile.

Ryan isn't really sure what to make of you.

Naturally he knows about the lab, Dad had been sure to tell him all about it. And despite his repetitive reassurances, Ryan is still reluctant to meet you.

After all, you were part of that team once, the one that tortured Dad in the lab, that turned a blind eye to him when he screamed and cried, begging for some form of human interaction.

“They’re not like the others,” Dad says. “Just trust me champ.”

Ryan nervously stands a few feet from the front door, breathing hard, doing his best not to panic but it’s getting difficult. He’s not prepared to meet the human-shaped monster on the other side. He sees the door open but from where he's standing, you're obscured so he only hears your voice

"Merry Christmas John."

Your voice is soothing and he watches as Dad falls into your arms, your hold on him tight. You're showing a great deal of affection towards Dad, something that Ryan knows Dad hasn't received from anyone else. When the hug ends, Dad looks back at Ryan and motions for him to come over.

Ryan slowly approaches, getting more anxious the closer he comes to the door. By the time he reaches you, he's not sure how to react. Who he had expected is the complete opposite of who he sees.

Instead of a monster, it's just you.

"Merry Christmas Tawny," Dad says before looking at Ryan. "This is Ryan."

“Hello Ryan,” your smile is humane, your hand stretched out to greet him.

Your handshake is warm, your grip isn’t tight, it’s almost as if you’re treating him like he’s made of glass or a delicate item that needs to be handled with care.

"Come on, let's get you inside."

Ryan’s eyes are glued to the festively decorated mantelpiece.

Pictures of Dad through the years, all in those fancy frames, accompanied with newspaper clippings. Then the one in the middle, the one of Dad when he was young, sitting on your lap with a smile on his face.

He can see why Dad is so attached to you - you were… you are nice to him.

You love him.

“A glass of milk for John, a glass of lemonade for Ryan and a plate of cookies to share."

Before you can return to the kitchen to continue cooking what smells like a feast, Dad takes your hand and squeezes gently, prompting a parental smile.

Now Ryan is far less intimidated than he was when he first arrived, reassured by the way Dad reacts to you and your affection practically beaming, how happy Dad is for you to call him by his actual name instead of his title.

Half an hour later, you return to the living room to announce that lunch is ready so him and Dad follow you into the dinning room, Ryan's eyes widening at the way the table is arranged and decorated. There's so much food, that Ryan isn't sure how the three of you are going to finish it all.

But it's clear that it's all made with love.

Ryan doesn't remember the last time he was so full, or the last time he had a proper home cooked meal.

There's still some food left over that you started to plate up as leftovers, and he can hear you telling Dad to take quite a lot with him. When you both emerge from the kitchen, Ryan is drawn to the bags that Dad holds, clearly overfilled but Dad doesn't seem to want to argue.

Dad is more than willing to do what he's told by you, his parent.

His Tawny.

Ryan spends the rest of the afternoon with you and Dad, watching the Christmas specials. He feels at peace, enjoying the familiar domestic simplicity that he can never experience at the Tower. It reminds him of Christmases at home with his mom.

Right down to the iced festive cookies on the plate on the coffee table.

There has been an abundance of gifts for Ryan all day and you've added to the pile, yet there seems to be more for Dad. These gifts are thoughtful, not just things that Dad probably won't use or doesn't want. You gone to a great deal of effort to make sure that you give Dad the best Christmas possible.

And that makes Ryan happier.

Eventually, it comes time for you to have your gift.

"Sorry about the wrapping," Dad says, handing it over. "I've never been very good but I wanted to do it myself."

Ryan watches you open the present with care, not just ripping the paper off as many usually do. The atmosphere changes and Ryan sits up straighter, filled with concern at your reaction.

You stare at the photo frame in your hands, shedding tears of what he hopes is happiness. Getting up from your seat, you head over to the mantle, moving some of the other frames out of the way to place this one down pride of place next to the one of you and Dad from the lab.

"We need to take just one more, just the two of us. It's important."

It's a photo of Dad and Ryan, immortalised in an ornate frame.

A picture of your son and grandson, the only family that you have.

And one that deeply loves you.

[therollingriceball]

Of Cartoons and Cuddles [ Aventurine x Fem!Reader]

A/N: I recently got hold of the Anan Japanese magazine with interview of Aventurine and it have an interesting tidbits I don't know if available in English or not-- one including that he mentioned that he used to enjoy Clockie cartoons as a kid. So I tried to write something based on that.

---

You knew Aventurine had been tired and overworking himself for a while now, even if he didn't express it clearly. While he had been suggesting a date out for you two for a breather, you're afraid of his perfectionist side that would've just made him busy in other side of the idea of a 'perfect date'.

So you very much insisted on a house date. With cartoon marathons. Clockie cartoons for exact.

Nothing could go wrong with Clockie cartoons-- they're a classic for a reason. You initially thought of watching mindless romcom movies with him, but right now nothing really strikes your fancy. And suddenly, you remembered that time Aventurine casually mentioned that he used to watch Clockie cartoons as a child.

While he might meant nothing much by it--- given you two's age range, Clockie cartoons are the thing most people around the same age have in common about their childhood-- you also knew of how he kept dear of all the happier things on his childhood, like his love for his family.

And so, under numerous blankets-- season being winter, after all, with popcorns and hot chocolate ready, on his cozy sofa in front of his television that seemed too grand for the choice of old cartoons, you two begin your watch-along marathon.

One thing though, you forgot telling him of your choice of movie as opening reels plays along.

"I thought we're going to watch Christmas romcoms." "Huh. Didn't I tell you? We're going to watch Clockie cartoons... or do you prefer romcoms instead? Sorry." "No, it's fine. It's just... a pleasant surprise."

Aventurine chuckled. It may be just be the body's cold weather measure, but his face is reddened. He didn't have the timing to say so, but he's really happy you remembered something he mentioned rather offhandedly.

In between little giggles and laughter the cartoons bring along your watch, he held you close to a cuddle. Too close, even, you could feel his breath on your neck. It caused your cheeks to be the redder one now.

"Heeey. I can't focus. This was my favorite episode as a kid!" "What a coincidence. It was mine too!" "Then let's focus on the show, shouldn't we?" "Nah. I already memorized this episode for a while. I have a good memory when it's about the happier sides of my childhood, you know." "Huh. Fine then."

To those words of yours, Aventurine just giggled-- his giggle made you felt vibration on your neck. He's too close, and his held on you felt quite tight.

"Hey." "Hmm? What is it, Aventurine?" "Nothing. Just... I'm happy you're here to spend time with me. It feels like a reward for working hard recently, if you don't mind me thinking so."

It might not be in the spirit of the comedic, child-friendly cartoon, but now you wanted a kiss after seeing his genuine smile and hearing his whisper-y voice saying those words. But you're a little too shy to say that. So instead--

"Of course I don't mind. Just treat it as a reward if you want to--" "Then, I'll take it."

---of course he could just read through your expression. You two have dated for a while, after all.

And in between you two's shared childhood favorite, you two kissed gently, sharing another memories just for the two of you...

[liciatalks]

Jod Na Nawood is Force sensitive but not a Jedi/Sith ...

and I based this solely on one line.

"Looks a lot like my home planet, actually."

If he was a Jedi Padawan he wouldn't remember his home planet. Children are picked up pretty early during the Republic Era (the time right before the Empire) and the ones that could remember their home planets are too old to be trained.

It's obvious that Jod knows enough of his home to compare it to At Achrann but also enough about his home life to tell Wim to forget his family.

Reading between the lines it's clear he's projecting his own past onto Wim. At some point he had to forget his family

Now with his speech about attachments being close to how Jedi think, there's some possibilities.

• Picked up by a rogue Jedi. There is The Lost/Lost Twenty It's possible he got picked up by one of them.

• Dark Side user but not Sith, but this is less likely because they wouldn't teach that way thinking. Holding on to the lost family would help push him closer to the dark side.

• He's like Wim and grew up reading/listening to tales of Jedi. By the time of the Republic it was already evident that most people really didn't see Jedi's due to them staying closer to Core worlds or only doing Republic jobs. This lead to them quickly becoming legends during the Empire.

If we go by the theory he's a child of one of the Jewel worlds like the kids, he could have grown up with the exact same tales as Wim

Him not being a former Jedi or Sith would be great. There very few of any instances of force users, if any, that isn't one or the other. Him just being force sensitive and self taught would be so interesting and could open the SW universe.

This would also explain the distorted 🎶 Force 🎶 theme that plays when we first see him float something. It's the force, but not what we are used to.

[janeiscompletelyfine]

Merry Christmas!

I don't actually know what I'm doing, but as a Christmas present to anybody who wants it, here's some Christmas fluff. Very PG.

It's almost midnight.... two minutes and forty seconds 'til, actually, if you happened to be at the Potter's House and happen upon one James Potter, who was holding a comically large pocket watch about two inches from his nose. Regulus was going cross-eyed just looking at him try to stare down that silly ticking piece of brass (why would you use that when you could just look at the planets? Fucking stupid.) Although. To be fair. The hair sticking in every direction wasn't helping matters.

"It doesn't count, you know," whispered Regulus into the lowlight. James looked up, moving his head in that clumsy, half-asleep way.

"Mmmm?"

"You were sleeping on my lap for two hours, Jamie. You didn't stay up till midnight."

"Reg!" James put on his classic affronted face, but he was so dazed that he just looked sort of confused. "I'm offended!"

"Go go to bed, Prongs!" shouted Sirius across the room, not looking up from the man sleeping in his lap, sprawled out across the couch in a mess of gangly legs and curly hair.

"No!" James sounded like a child; he even jutted his lip out. "I'm staying awake!"

"You've just been halfway around the world, Jam," began Lily, looking up from the game of cards she was playing with Mary , Peter, and Pandora on the big armchair by the window. "Your brain literally thinks it's four in the morning right now. There's no shame in it."

"Two minutes!" croaked James. Then he yawned, mouth open so wide that Regulus felt Barty's attention turn to his teeth.

"No." Got to nip that in the bud.

"Aw, Reggie. They're just so beautiful!" Barty's head lolled over the side of the couch, where his partner Evan was lying spooned by his side reading a ridiculously heavy book.

"James wants his teeth to stay in his mouth. Don't you, Jamie?"

"Uh-huh." James eyes seemed to be drooping. "I like my teeth."

"Bet Reg likes his teeth, too," snickered Sirius. On his lap, Remus stirred and muttered something that sounded like stop making sex jokes about your brother and James. Which was useless, anyway.

"One minute now," hissed Marlene, swooping across the room and drooping herself over James' shoulder. Her Queen t-shirt was covered in lipstick kisses. "Should we do a countdown?"

"Come back here," came the response from a disgruntled Dorcas sitting on yet another armchair. The low lamplight shone bright shadows on her face. "I'm cold."

"Don't leave her now, Marls. Not after all this," laughed Lily, tossing one red ponytail over her shoulder.

"Same goes for you." Mary poked her best friend in the side. Lily did another one of her signature laughs, and grabbed Mary's hand in hers. She smiled. Regulus only knew one person who could light up a room with just a grin-- his Jamie, of course-- but Lily was pretty close. At least lit up the corner.

"Fifteen, fourteen," came the muffled countdown from Remus. "You have to kiss me when it's Christmas, Pads."

"Kiss you? Scandal," came Sirius' reply, a grin spreading uncontrollably across his face. "I'll get ready."

"Thirteen, twelve, eleven, ten, nine," counted Barty, much faster than nessecary. Slow down, came Evan's squashed response.

"Eight, seven, six," counted Marlene and Dorcas in unison, Dorcas's head on top of Marlene's, fingers wrapped together like a braid.

"Five, four, three, two," chirped Pandora and Peter, dropping their cards, faces alight with excitement.

"One," whispered Regulus. He couldn't help but smile. Then--

"James? James?"

James had passed out cold. Regulus laughed and pressed a kiss to his forehead-- he could hear about the Christmas kiss in the morning.

Yeah so I actually have never written pure fluff before but here it is, hope you enjoyed! 🎄 Merry Christmas Tumblr, thanks for a great year and here's to many more!

❤️Jane