#yuletide terror

[marypickfords]

The Stalls of Barchester (Lawrence Gordon Clark, 1971) A Warning to the Curious (Lawrence Gordon Clark, 1972) Lost Hearts (Lawrence Gordon Clark, 1973) The Treasure of Abbot Thomas (Lawrence Gordon Clark, 1974) The Ash Tree (Lawrence Gordon Clark, 1975)

“For all five of these adaptations, Gordon Clark worked with cinematographer John McGlashan and sound recordist Dick Manton, who he credits with establishing the gloomy look that would be the hallmark of the series (as well as editor Roger Waugh who edited all the original series’ James adaptations save 1973’s ‘Lost Hearts’). Central to that aesthetic were the authentic East Anglian locations that have been the inspiration for many a terror tale, even aside from those of M.R. James.

‘James lived in East Anglia—the region that encompasses Norfolk and Suffolk—for most of his life,’ explains Helen Wheatley, citing this as one reason James set many of his stories there. ‘However, there is also a broader sense of the region as being rather out on a limb, a relative hinterland, which lends itself to ghost story telling,’ she continues. ‘In James’ stories, and their television adaptations, the geography and landscape of the region—expanses of flat land, the whispering grasses of the East Anglian coast line, sparsely populated agricultural land—has a particularly haunting quality.’

This landscape is key to the series’ hauntological appeal. Scholar Derek Johnston has an extensive catalogue of writing that examines nostalgia in relation to the Christmas ghost story—and the A Ghost Story for Christmas series in particular—and notes that the Victorian middle class idealization of rural life was subverted by James’ stories, which presented the country as peaceful on the surface but a place of dark, tumultuous secrets. He also points out that East Anglia is a land of invaders and colonizers, writing in his essay ‘Season, Landscape and Identity in the BBC Ghost Story for Christmas’ that ‘The connection to the local soil and landscape runs generations deep, but it has also been built upon the remains of earlier populations, with earlier connections to that landscape, overrun by the incomers...the landscape may encourage identification with the nation, but it also emphasises how the landscape is interpreted through the history of human action upon it.’” — Kier-La Janisse, from Yuletide Terror: Christmas Horror on Film and Television (2017).

[spockvarietyhour]

[harmonyhealinghub]

Krampus - Unveiling the Dark Companion of Christmas Shaina Tranquilino December 28, 2023

During the holiday season, we often find ourselves immersed in the joy and cheer associated with Santa Claus, Rudolph, and all things merry. However, there is one mysterious figure lurking in the shadows of our festive celebrations – Krampus. Originating from European folklore, this legendary creature serves as a dark counterpart to Santa Claus, embodying everything naughty and terrifying. In this blog post, we delve into the origins and cultural significance of Krampus.

Who is Krampus?

Krampus is a horned anthropomorphic figure with roots dating back to pre-Christian Alpine traditions. Known as the "Christmas Devil" or "Anti-Santa," he represents punishment for misbehaving children during the holiday season. Contrasting sharply with Santa's benevolent nature, Krampus embodies fear and discipline.

Historical Origins:

The exact origins of Krampus remain elusive due to its deep connection with ancient pagan rituals and folklore. However, it is widely believed that this mythical beast hails from Central European countries like Austria, Germany, Hungary, Slovenia, and Czech Republic. The legend of Krampus gained prominence during the 17th century when Christians began incorporating elements of folklore into their Christmas celebrations.

Appearance and Characteristics:

Depicted as a towering demonic creature with cloven hooves and long horns sprouting from his head, Krampus strikes fear into the hearts of mischievous children. His menacing appearance is complemented by sharp fangs, red eyes, and a long pointed tongue that evokes nightmares. Often portrayed carrying chains or birch branches used for swatting naughty kids, he also carries a basket on his back to transport particularly ill-behaved youngsters to an unknown fate.

Cultural Significance:

Despite his ominous reputation, Krampus plays an important role in European Christmas traditions. On December 5th each year (known as Krampusnacht), people gather to celebrate the Krampuslauf, a parade where participants dress up as the fearsome creature. This event showcases the duality of Christmas, reminding us that good and evil coexist in our lives.

Krampus also serves as a cautionary figure, encouraging children to behave throughout the year. The threat of being captured by Krampus encourages them to be on their best behaviour, ensuring they make it onto Santa's nice list instead.

Modern Popularity:

In recent years, Krampus has gained popularity beyond European borders. His unique blend of fright and fascination has found its way into mainstream media, inspiring movies, books, and even an annual Krampus-themed run in various cities worldwide. Additionally, numerous merchandise items featuring his image have become highly sought-after collectibles during the holiday season.

During the festive season filled with joy and warmth, let us not forget the presence of Krampus lurking in the shadows – a reminder that while Christmas brings happiness and gifts, it also holds lessons in discipline and responsibility. As this legendary figure continues to captivate our imaginations with his dark allure, we must remember that every legend carries profound cultural significance and adds depth to our traditional celebrations. So next time you hear a faint jingle of bells or glimpse a shadowy figure out of the corner of your eye during Christmas time, don't dismiss it too quickly - it might just be Krampus paying a visit!

[elizabethminkel]

My latest fandom column for Atlas Obscura is live! I talked to the wonderful Daniel Cavicchi, who's researching pre-20th century terms/names for fans:

Cavicchi is particularly interested in the naming of fans and fan-like groups—the way a label suggests a fannish identity, and puts a boundary around its members. “I use words to think about the history of fandom, because it’s another entry point,” he says. “It’s something that’s visible, that left a trace, and we can kind of use them as doorways into cultures.”

It was super interesting to see the parallels with modern fandom history—the way some names are chosen by fans and others are bestowed upon them, and the way a name puts a boundary around a group and suggests a particular ~way to fan~.

(PS for this column so far, I've also written about 18/19th century sentiment albums, the Yuletide fic exchange, academia + fandom at Terror Camp, and fanbinders from the Renegade Bindery.)

[assortedseaglass]

🌟Advent | Yuletide🌟

Billy Washington x fem!Reader

Summary: Billy Washington knocks on his neighbour's door with a case of the wobbles.

Content Warnings: Language, mentions of panic attacks, mild Trigger Point Spoiler, fluff, hurt, comfort.

🎄 Yuletide Masterlist 🎄

Billy hesitated outside the door. He stared at the small wreath attached to the knocker and glanced down the hallway. No-one else had one up.

With a shaking hand and shuddering breath, Billy wiped his eyes. His counsellor was encouraging him to reach out when he had what his mother called “a case of the wobbles”.

It had taken a while. The first time Billy felt his panic creeping in, his terror at picking up the phone and calling his sister had induced another attack. Once, while doing his weekly shop, someone dropped a large box from a top shelf of the supermarket and the noise made him dissolve into violent sobs. A kindly and plump woman in a Tesco uniform took him to the staff room, gave him a cuppa and a long cuddle.

“See,” the counsellor said when Billy told her of this episode. “I know it’s hard after everything that happened, but most people really are good people.”

So here he stood, in the corridor of his new block of flats, hand raised to knock on his neighbour’s door. He cleared his throat a few times, shook out his arms and shuffled his feet.

“Come on, Wash,” he murmured to himself, feeling another knot of nerves tighten in his stomach. Not giving his brain time to betray him, he rapped his knuckle of the door.

“Coming,” the voice on the other side of the door called brightly. The longer he waited, the quicker his heart hammered. Keeping down his lunch was becoming harder with every second that ticked by.

A door to his left opened. A little old lady stuck her head out her front door.

“Hiya,” Billy barely looked at her, focussing on his shoes instead. He didn’t want any more people than necessary to see his tears. “Merry Christmas.”

“Thought you was knocking for me,” she retreated inside with a muffled Merry Christmas of her own.

The door before him opened. Warm light bathed the cold corridor. So too, did the smell of freshly cooked food.

Billy took a step back and rubbed his neck. Still, he looked at the floor, eyes flicking up only when he said hello. You were smiling at him, waiting for to hear whatever he had knocked for.

“Merry Christmas,” you said. Catching sight of his watery eyes you stepped towards him slowly. “Everything ok?”

Billy swallowed hard. His wobbles always made it so hard to breathe, and as though reliving the memory, it felt like he could taste petrol fumes. “Yeah, um. I, erm-” A small, watery sob left him. “Fuck, sorry.”

“It’s ok,” you opened the door wider. “Do you want to come in?”

“Yes please.” He said quickly. Billy’s relief was instantaneous as he shuffled past you into the flat. Golden fairy lights were strung around the small lounge, and a Christmas tree that was far too large took up most of the space. Beside it, an old sofa was covered in blankets and on the telly, Jimmy Stewart’s face was paused. It’s a Wonderful Life, his mum’s favourite.

“Sit yourself down, kettle’s just boiled.”

“Ta, thanks.” He perched awkwardly on the sofa and grabbed a tissue from the box on the table. An undrunk cup of tea was sat beside a pile of books and abandoned Christmas wrapping.

“Milk and sugar?”

“Please, ta.”

Billy’s leg bobbed as he waited for his cup of tea, thinking over what to tell you.

“You don’t need to tell anyone why, Billy, just that you are having a panic attack and don’t want to be alone.”

The sofa dipped beside him. Silently, you handed him a cup of tea and placed a small bowl of steaming pasta on the table beside you both.

“Just made it, help yourself.” You nodded to the bowl. “Not very Christmassy but comforting, eh?”

“Yeah, cheers.”

Without saying anything else, you picked up the tv remote and pressed play.

“Oh, whadda ya mean? Nobody’s trying to steal anybody’s girl. Here, here’s, here’s Mary.”

Jimmy Stewart’s voice filled the little flat and Billy felt liked he’d stepped into another world. Had he had a panic attack? Here was a girl, opening her door to a stranger, giving him food and then pretending he didn’t exist. Frankly, his panic made way for worry about her survival instincts.

As if reading his mind, you spoke. “I get them too. Panic attacks.” Billy didn’t say anything, only looked at you over his cup of tea. You’d tucked your feet up on the sofa and snuggled down beneath the roll neck of your enormous, grey jumper. “Shit, aren’t they?”

Billy laughed awkwardly. “Yeah,”

“Don’t worry, though.” You tore your eyes away from the telly then. “We can just sit here.”

And sit there the two of you did. Right until George Bailey saw Clarence’s copy of Tom Sawyer and little Zuzu said, “each time a bell rings, an angel gets its wings.”

Billy smiled as you whispered it in unison with the film.

“Thanks,” he said tentatively, finally broaching the subject of his panic attack himself. “That was just what I needed.”

“Anytime, Billy,” you said, placing your hand on his comfortingly. Billy stilled.

“H-how do you know my name?” Christ. He’d knocked on the door of the high-rise lunatic.

You smiled gently and raised your eyebrows at him, as though saying don’t be thick. “You were on the news, Billy.”

He mentally slapped himself. Of course she knew who he was.

CAR BOMB CALAMTIY: LOCAL MAN ESCAPES AFTER FAR-RIGHT RECRUITMENT

“I won’t ask about it, and you don’t have to say anything, not if you don’t want to. But you can always knock on the door.”

“Thanks mate,” Billy said with a watery smile. He hastily rubbed his eyes.

“Really,” you said with sincerity. “Anytime.”

With another gentle smile, Billy stood up from the sofa. He loomed over you, and so you stood too.

“I best be off,” he indicated to the door. “I’ve taken up enough of your evening-”

“Anytime, remember.”

“Likewise,” he said, remembering you were also prone to cases of the wobbles.

He bade you goodnight, smiling to himself when you waited in the doorway to see him off, even though it was only too steps across the hall.

“Oooh!” you exclaimed. “Hang on!”

You disappeared from the door, leaving it slightly ajar. Billy stood awkwardly with his hand on the doorhandle. When you reappeared, a little out of breath from dashing around the small flat, you handed him a little chocolate covered in golden foil.

“Mum sends me an Advent calendar every year, but I’ve pigged out enough today.”

Something in this tiny gesture on top of an evening that meant so much bowled Billy over. His worry at anyone seeing his panic dissolved as he did too, slumping onto your shoulder and bursting into tears.

“Ah, mate,” you rubbed his shoulder as this giant man clung onto you. “It’ll be a better year next year, yeah?”

“Myeah,” Billy sniffled, standing straight and rubbing his nose. He laughed in spite of himself and you giggled to. “Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas, Billy.”

The usual suspects: @arcielee @targaryenrealnessdarling @theoneeyedprince @ewanmitchellcrumbs @ellrond @cyeco13 @babyblue711 @exitpursuedbyavulcan @humanpurposes @myfandomprompts @barbieaemond @anjelicawrites

[riksie94]

Goddammit, now I have all these Rolan x Tav writing prompt ideas and my writing is certainly not the best because I don’t describe things as detailed and artistically as other people do. 😭 Whatever. Here are some ideas up for grabs because everyone’s interpretations are different:

• Rolan comforting Tav after a night terror (you can’t tell me Tav doesn’t have any sort of trauma after this whole ordeal)

• Tav seeking comfort from Rolan after everyone goes their separate ways once the Netherbrain is defeated

• How the whole baby comforts Rolan ordeal starts from my previous headcanons

• Tav and their jealousy issues when someone flirts with Rolan at one of his soirees

• Tav trying to forcibly heal him after Lorroaken is killed

• Tav and Rolan wedding 👀

• Tav and Rolan going to a Yuletide celebration with friends

• Rolan taking care of Tav when they’re sick

• 4 times Tav kisses Rolan first and 1 time Rolan kisses them first

I also know I procrastinate and write whenever ideas seldom pop up so haha… yeah. I’ll be surprised if I complete writing ALL of these.

[lotties-ashwagandha]

yellowjackets masterlist!

get added to my taglist

❈ = fluff,,,, ★ = angst

lottie matthews x reader

our own kings and gods (nsfw) ★❈

remedy ❈

new arrivals ❈ ★ part 2 (nsfw)

paper cut ❈

color of jealousy ❈

melodic hum of the universe ❈

terrors of winter, gone ❈ ★

painted in pink and gold ❈

in myth, you are mine ❈ ★

nothing left to give ❈ ★

polaroids ❈

high priestess ❈

christmas cookies ❈

rapture (nsfw)

salvation (nsfw)

il veut du sang (nsfw)

dreams (nsfw, kinktober)

give it what it wants (nsfw)

worth it (vampire lottie) (nsfw)

yuletide reflections (nsfw)

random blurb?? (nsfw)

lottie with a partner who celebrates midsummer (headcanons) ❈

lottie with an autistic partner (headcanons) ❈

shauna sadecki x reader

when the world becomes small ❈

getaway

van palmer x reader

love’s embrace ❈

natalie x reader

mystery brownies ❈

tai x van

lottie x nat

POLY FICS:

lottie x van x reader

abundance ❈

lottie x nat x reader

Ivy set aflame (nsfw)

stoner santa

being in a throuple w lottie and nat would include… (headcanon) ❈

shauna x nat x reader

babysitting bruce ❈

tai x van x reader

pretty when you cry ★ part 2 ★

christmas tree waltz ❈

misty x nat x lottie x reader

caligula’s dreamhouse ❈

flames of frozen fire (nsfw)

headcanons for all characters:

the yellowjackets as pet owners

getting high with the yellowjackets

christmas with the yellowjackets

being stuck in a snowstorm with the yellowjackets

how they would take care of you while youre sick

yellowjackets + summer themed dates

[ofermod]

Can we talk about Tom Bombadil and Pony Capitalism?

Bill Ferny’s price was twelve silver pennies; and that was indeed at least three times the pony’s value in those parts. It proved to be a bony, underfed, and dispirited animal; but it did not look like dying just yet. Mr. Butterbur paid for it himself, and offered Merry another eighteen pence as some compensation for the lost animals. He was an honest man, and well-off as things were reckoned in Bree; but thirty silver pennies was a sore blow to him, and being cheated by Bill Ferny made it harder to bear. As a matter of fact he came out on the right side in the end. It turned out later that only one horse had been actually stolen. The others had been driven off, or had bolted in terror, and were found wandering in different corners of the Bree-land. Merry’s ponies had escaped altogether, and eventually (having a good deal of sense) they made their way to the Downs in search of Fatty Lumpkin. So they came under the care of Tom Bombadil for a while, and were well-off. But when news of the events at Bree came to Tom’s ears, he sent them to Mr. Butterbur, who thus got five good beasts at a very fair price. They had to work harder in Bree, but Bob treated them well; so on the whole they were lucky: they missed a dark and dangerous journey. But they never came to Rivendell.

So listen. There's a few things going on here, and they're all confusing. Did Tom sell the ponies back to Butterbur? If so, what did he do with the cold hard cash? Use it to buy Yuletide presents for Farmer Maggot? Does Santa Claus come from Farmer Maggot's stories of Tom Bombadil, but he changed the jacket colour? Alternately: Does "send" mean just that--and the "fair price" refers to what Butterbur had already paid--and that a string of ponies just showed up one day at the Inn, possibly with a handwritten note saying "FREE TO A GOOD HOME" or "REJOICE PONIES BE UPON YE"?

And what kind of work do they do? "They had to work harder in Bree"--Butterbur RUNS AN INN. What kind of manual labour do ponies do AT AN INN? These aren't Beorn's horses, who set tables. These are just generic ponies! Are they kept just for taking drunk hobbit guests (who have not arranged for rooms) back to their homes?

Also the part where "Yes, missing a dangerous journey is a good thing, but man did those Ponies miss out on visiting an elf-house." What goes on at Rivendell that it's such a high-profile Pony destination?

Listen, these are all very important questions.

[film-in-my-soul]

the shoulders of a gentleman | 789 | finkpishnets / @madroxed

Summary: Billy’s perfectly aware that the only reason he keeps dragging himself out of bed at six in the morning on the weekends is because of Teddy Altman.

Simple Transactions | 1,250 | abp / @ferretrade

Summary: You can meet people anywhere--even at the bank.

Like the Change of Season | 1,521 | riko

Summary: Winter is particularly harsh this year. A scene from a hypothetical AU.

Magnetism | 1,839 | heartslogos / @heartslogos

Summary: They're like magnets pushing against each other. A pair of invisible forces colliding and holding each other up.

(See more recommendations below!)

In Sickness | 1,984 | Solarcat / @solarcat

Summary: Billy Kaplan frowned as his fingertips hit the cardboard bottom of the tissue box. That was not good. It could, in fact, constitute an emergency of epic proportions.

I Don't Care What You Think (As Long as it's About Me) | 2,436 | ambitiousbutrubbish / @unclebabybilly

Summary: “Why don’t you think Tommy’s hot?” Billy sort of shouts, and judging by the look on Teddy’s face, that had come out a bit more accusatory and hurt than Billy had intended. Also, he’s pretty sure he leapt over the line from ‘flirty self-deprecation to get your boyfriend to tell you you’re cute’ straight into just plain ‘creepy’. Fortunately - or unfortunately, as has been the case in the past - Billy is a pretty devoted practitioner of the principle of ‘go big or go home’, and he sets his jaw firm.

Enchanted | 2,829 | akaparalian / @floralegia

Summary: Billy wouldn’t be here, because Billy hates school dances, but his mom had chastised and nagged and chased him out the door with threats to call teachers to make sure he actually went, after giving him some psychologist-babble about how participating in social events, such as school dances, was crucial to emotional development in teenagers, but you know, it was fine, because he’d sit in whatever his new school’s version of the Nerd Corner was and he’d be okay.

Let Us Too Yield | 6,576 | takadainmate / @takadainmate

Summary: Trapped and hurt, all Billy wants is to protect Teddy. And maybe come out of this alive.

J. Haydn - Hob I:96 - Symphony No. 96 in D major (The Miracle) | 8,598 | ambitiousbutrubbish / @unclebabybilly

Summary: Really, Teddy's only orchestral goal is to stay well away from all that String DramaTM. Falling for their harpist literally at first sight was probably not conductive to the plan.

All Who Are Hungry | 8,943 | Ardatli / @ardatli

Summary: Teddy and Tommy are staying at the Kaplans' place for now, but they haven't really considered the meaning of being adopted into a large Jewish family. ~A seder teaches them the true meaning of Pesach~ (Insert holiday cliche of your choice here). Shenanigans, horseradish, matzah and fluff ensue.

Look Where We Land | 11,742 | riko

Summary: Teddy has always privately thought they had something special. Something worth listening to.

For the Love of Dog | 11,750 | ApolloAttraction / @apolloattraction

Summary: Billy’s depression has been getting the better of him lately, so Tommy gives him a dog to foster. Billy doesn’t really know how a dog is supposed to help, but things do start looking up right around the time he takes her to the pet store and meets the cute cashier.

Genesis / In the Beginning | 23,182 | Ardatli / @ardatli

Summary: The realization was as awful as it had been slow-building, loud enough now that he couldn’t force himself to ignore it any longer. Maybe it wasn’t Teddy who was the asshole.

Lazy Sunday | 1,016 | Lady_Ganesh

Summary: Billy and Teddy hang out. Pre-series. Written for mixe for Yuletide 2007.

bombs over manhattan | 1,230 | constellatory

Summary: Post-Civil War, pre-Children's Crusade. There's a special kind of terror reserved only for that moment when you see someone you love go down, and you're not sure they're getting back up.

Making Up Is Hard To Do | 1,299 | lilpocketninja (Banah) / @banahbanah

Summary: Sometimes, Teddy is an idiot. This is one of those times. (For the prompt "first fight -- making up.")

Tonight | 1,617 | minumi / @minumi-chan

Summary: Tonight something is different. Although, it’s very hard to identify why exactly that is when your boyfriend is intent on kissing all sense out of you.

peace on distant stars | 2,009 | sister_wolf

Summary: Billy isn't sure what the Young Avengers are even doing here, in the middle of a superhero civil war.

can we get a drumroll, please | 2,227 | hulklinging

Summary: You can take the nerds out of band class, but you can't take the band out of the nerds. You can, however, take them on a crazy ride to rock star status. Teddy's still feeling a little winded.

These Are Your Shoes | 2,369 | atti (attilatehbun) / @recursivities

Summary: Billy and Teddy live in each other's pockets, basically.

The Final Move | 2,455 | fontech / @akaikit

Summary: Fic request: Cris asked for Teddy's thoughts on discovering that he's an alien. A Teddy introspective on the death of his mother, and the questions of his identity left unanswered.

Definitely Not Good | 2,648 | Sheeana

Summary: Billy hurts himself. Teddy is not (very) amused. A couple days in the lives of a couple superheroes.

Sketch Me A Text | 2,764 | aconitemare / @aconitemare

Summary: Billy made a strangled noise and grabbed his pencil, drawing some random lines in his sketchbook while he gathered his composure. Cassie leaned toward Billy’s ear. “I think he heard you.” “Don’t worry, that has definitely been noted and filed under Reasons I’m Never Leaving My House Again Ever,” Billy assured.

Four Eyes | 2,939 | Xander_The_Undead / @xandertheundead

Summary: Billy wore glasses, and Teddy had no idea why this new discovery made him so excited.

International Diplomacy | 2,984 | DangerousCommieSubversive / @dangerouscommiesubversive

Summary: The delegation from the Kree and Skrull Empires has arrived, and Prince William is ordered by his aunt to keep the visiting Prince Dorrek entertained. Somehow.

We Don't Put Our Hands Over Our Mouths | 3,324 | atti (attilatehbun) / @recursivities

Summary: Billy has never had good impulse control. Something pops into his head and he generally just says it, or does it - joining a super-team, anyone? - before he actually thinks about whatever he's doing might mean. So far he's managed to mostly avoid making a complete idiot of himself through some crazy combination of snarkiness and luck. But this time he's not so sure.

Love is Like Falling | 3,487 | Khirsah / @khirsahle

Summary: Teddy reached down and took Billy’s hand, threading their fingers together. The warm, gentle grip immediately derailed his words, his brain. “Sure,” Teddy said, squeezing Billy’s hand. “That sounds cool.” “Cool,” Billy breathed. “Cool.” “Cool.” Teddy squinted at him. “Are you secretly a Buffybot stuck on some kind of programming loop?” Billy snorted, turning his face to press his forehead against Teddy’s arm. When he breathed, his lungs were filled with the incredible scent of him. “No,” he said. “Shut up, I’m just having a spaz.” “Oh, well, in that case.”

Redefining Normal | 3,510 | Tangerine / @atangeriner

Summary: Normal is overrated.

A Little Like Mutant Manifestation | 3,886 | howlikeagod / @eternalgirlscout

Summary: Billy pulls back a little (normal), and grins down at Teddy. His face is flushed (normal), his hair is a godawful mess (completely normal), and Teddy wants him to take his clothes off (not normal at all). That desire slams into him like a semi-truck and leaves him gasping. He’s lived his whole life a little too aware of where his eyes catch, on the lips and hands of other boys, where his thoughts wander to kissing and holding in the darkest corners he can find. It’s never been more than that.

On Responsibility | 4,501 | natcat5 / @natcat5

Summary: It’s about responsibility, and being held accountable for your actions. He doesn’t have to tell Teddy, doesn’t have to tell anyone because- Because- It wasn’t like a suicide suicide attempt. He wasn’t- it wasn’t because- He was just trying to fix what he had broken. Clean up the mess that he had made. Take responsibility.

The Common Issue | 4,833 | riko

Summary: Billy has feelings about civil procedure, the firm's new junior associate, and the fact that his co-workers are all nuts, and he isn't thinking about any of them.

Scenes From A Teen Life | 5,252 | Etharei / @etharei

Summary: He's never been in this space before: broad daylight, his cheek throbbing, clothing dirty from the street, and at the same time floating, skin thrumming like he's using magic; hopelessly, helplessly happy. In which Billy Kaplan, against all expectations and documented statistics, has a boyfriend.

One More Bad Excuse | 5,323 | Ardatli / @ardatli

Summary: Life is full of changes. Losing his mother was one, losing his home was another. Teddy can't begin to cope with the idea that he might be losing Billy, too.

Who Can Retell (the things that befell us) | 6,297 | Ardatli / @ardatli

Summary: Or, one Christmas that Billy and Teddy didn’t spend together, and five that they did.

Monsters of Men | 8,873 | takadainmate / @takadainmate

Summary: "Get up," he said, and his voice sounded muffled and distant and for a long time Teddy stared at him, trying to work out what he meant. They had nowhere to go. There was no point in going anywhere. They were alone here and no one was going to save them. No one could save them.

Our Lives Lead Other Lives | 10,045 | riko

Summary: "Those things Billy's learned to bundle up tightly, keep compact and hidden so far down that even he forgets they're there sometimes. The gay thing is one. The being bullied at school is another. Now the spellcasting, shooting lightning from his fingertips, and fighting evil are rounding out the roster."

The Shelter Rule | 10,890 | orphan_account

Summary: Teddy’s life consists of a couple bags of clothes, a bed at the youth shelter, a therapy group run by his case manager, and two very dead parents. At least, until he switches schools. Then, Teddy’s life grows exponentially.

All Grown Up and Still Don't Know What (or; Billy Kaplan's Terrible, Horrible, No-Good, Very Bad Life) | 14,233 | atti (attilatehbun) / @recursivities

Summary: Everything cycles back around into powers, his new powers. Powers that, by the feel of it, Billy’s really only scratched the surface of. But powers that he thinks could really do some actual good, on the right team. Assuming he doesn’t blow anything up with his mind by then.

Mine | 1,415 | isengard / @goulets

Summary: You are the best thing That’s ever been mine.

The Things I Am Doing (Instead of The Things That Should Be Done) | 1,541 | atti (attilatehbun) / @recursivities

Summary: Normally there's classes, work, citizens to be saved from dimension-ripping monsters with tentacles bursting from their eyes and venom dripping from several sets of extra ears. That, or Kate's endless charity functions, in both official and unofficial capacity. But not this morning. This morning there's just them; them, a bed cozy and warm with body heat, and time.

The Problem with Planning | 2,238 | atti (attilatehbun) / @recursivities

Summary: Billy really doesn't want to hate his friends, he loves his friends, but he wishes that for once, just once when he and Teddy shut Teddy's door it wasn't banging open again before they'd even crossed to Teddy's narrow bed. He'd love them a whole lot more easily if they could understand the concept of 'personal time'.

Birthday Boy is King | 3,203 | tekowrites

Summary: Teddy/Billy, for Teddy’s birthday Billy decides on a little body modification present, the problem though is not letting anyone find out about it.

Fire in the Blood | 3,385 | youngavengersbigbang

Summary: Teddy was so close he was practically whispering in the shell of the man’s ear. Billy watched, transfixed, as one big hand slid into the neat fold of his pewter gray suit and pulled out a straight razor. The handle was mother of pearl. The little blade shown like a mirror, giving a whispered shhht as Teddy opened it into a wide, gleaming smile.

Maybe Everything Returns | 7,321 | riko

Summary: There are 3058 miles between them, and Teddy can feel every one.

whatever's living will yourself become | 7,816 | atti (attilatehbun) / @recursivities

Summary: The trouble with shape-shifting is that so often the shape seems to shift more than you do. It changes day to day, moment to moment, and every time you shift to fit it you're one step behind.

Alms in Autumn | 13,861 | aud_k

Summary: In which a fairy reluctantly dons the mantle of “prey,” a golden-haired prince leads a ritual hunt, and a November dawn chases away more than just the night’s shadows. There are many ways to die, and some of them, William discovers, are smaller—and luckier—than others.

Work In Progress | 20,912 | Ardatli / @ardatli

Summary: Wherein Billy is a Steve/Tony fanfic writer, Teddy is a fanartist, online relationships are confusing, and NYCC is coming.

*True Colors | 34,093 | Khirsah / @khirsahle

Summary: Growing up queer can be tough, even in New York. Lucky for them, there's a place upstate they can go every summer to meet new friends, let loose, and know they are not alone. Welcome to Camp True Colors.

*this fic also heavily includes the Steve/Bucky ship

2024 Reclists · INBOX · Blog Updates

[marypickfords]

Lost Hearts (Lawrence Gordon Clark, 1973)

"On the night of which I am speaking, Stephen Elliott found himself, as he thought, looking through the glazed door. The moon was shining through the window, and he was gazing at a figure which lay in the bath. His description of what he saw reminds me of what I once beheld myself in the famous vaults of St. Michan's Church in Dublin, which possess the horrid property of preserving corpses from decay for centuries. A figure inexpressibly thin and pathetic, of a dusty leaden colour, enveloped in a shroud-like garment, the thin lips crooked into a faint and dreadful smile, the hands pressed tightly over the region of the heart. As he looked upon it, a distant, almost inaudible moan seemed to issue from its lips, and the arms began to stir. The terror of the sight forced Stephen backwards, and he awoke to the fact that he was indeed standing on the cold boarded floor of the passage in the full light of the moon. With a courage which I do not think can be common among boys of his age, he went to the door of the bathroom to ascertain if the figure of his dream were really there. It was not, and he went back to bed.” — MR James, Lost Hearts, from Ghost Stories of an Antiquary (1904).

[strixludica]

A little christmas episode I wrote for my Lancer x Mass Effect fic

Farlight Blue - Spegeldal - Sparr​

In the streets of Spegeldal, the celebrations of Yuletide were in full swing: little children dressed as the Yule Lads went from door to door, threatening tricks and curses if they didn't get some eggnog; while their older siblings competed in teams to topple the others' snowman with snowballs. In every plaza scaled down statues of hunted Vast, in straw and timber, burned bright and warm against the cold gleam of the aurora. From a window in Clan Blåman's meadhall, Farlight watched their merriment with mixed yearning and exhaustion. It really did look like a lot of fun playing in the snow, but they'd needed to put on four layers of coats and socks just not to have their body go numb in the harsh sparri winter, and if it hadn't been for those weird nets called tennis rackets, their limbs would have sunk to the joints at every step. Despite the rigors of the weather, visiting Sigurd's home was a welcome relief after the tour to Cradle. Aside from everything else - and there had been a lot of else - this foray into human society had tested Farlight's proficiency in speech: they'd thought they were quite used to speaking with humans; they'd done it their whole lives. But once they'd had to do it with complete aliens for months, Farlight had truly realised how convoluted it could be, how exhausting it was to have to think in loops to figure out what conclusion someone expected you to take from their words, what assumptions they were based on, instead of simply exchanging information. Here on Sparr though, despite the many differences, Farlight almost felt as if they were witnessing again. When they'd first seen him wandering Hivehome, Farlight had thought Sigurd was especially extroverted and blunt; but it turned out that was just how his people were: they wore their feelings on their faces. The Union leaders and bureaucrats they'd spoken to had been courteous and polite, and many others even friendly; but always guardedly, afraid to cause offence and careful of what they were implying. The Blåman's excitement and warmth radiated off them like heat from a fire: it was clear without ever being said that being Sigurd's friend made Farlight everyone's friend. For hours, they and the people of the clan had exchanged stories: a saga of the harrowing march from the Yuga Pocket for one of the war against the Machine, a tale of a hunting expedition for one of recovering ancient artefacts, a recounting of the great caverns under the ice where the Vast dwelled for a canticle of doomed Hivehome and its vast undersea. Finally, however, they'd had to take a rest, and so the children were ushered out to play, their parents had taken to drinking and mingling among themselves, and Farlight had been left free to wander on their own. The hall was crowded with mementos, relics and trophies: on stones etched with Sagas, weapons sized for mech and human alike menaced and gleamed - Tallgrass and William would die of envy when Farlight returned to Mycol Fields - from the walls and ceiling were hung the heads of frightful beasts, some the size of a Warform, and one horned, three-eyed skull between whose fangs Endeavor themselves could have sat with room to spare. But just as Sigurd had declared almost three years ago, the place of honour was reserved for what the two of them had brought all the way from Hercynia: an assault hardsuit made with carapace Farlight themselves had gifted, and The Sword. Divested of the augmentations which Sigurd had installed on it so he could always take it into battle, the metre-and-a-half long scythe of gleaming, steely black bone sat upon an inscribed pillar, whose runes read:

BROOD-SIBLING'S MOLT GIFTED UNTO SIGURD FREYSON BY SUPREME COMMANDER TERROR OF HIVEHOME ON THE THIRD OF AUGUST 5014U SLAYER OF OVERLAND/KINGWATCHER AND ITS SPAWN IN THE LANGUAGE OF OF THE EGREGORIAN KIND IS ETCHED UPON ITS SIDES THE LIVING SAGA OF ITS GIFTING​

So that's what Sigurd and his Lance had been pestering Memory about the evening after they'd recovered the eggs. The sides of the sword were etched from tip to handle with osteomemetics - it was a complex memory indeed. On the left side, Farlight witnessed Sigurd's memory of [Surprise/Joy/Pride], his kneeling down in [Awe/Amazement], taking the blade with [Reverence/Love/Care]. The greatest warrior of the Egregorian people, who had so much reason to distrust him, had just entrusted him with a blade of their very flesh, an incomparable [Trophy/Relic]. There was only one way the [Memory/Legend] of his battles could go now. Sigurd would defend Terror and their kin with deeds [Worthy/Equal] of that blade, or die trying. On the right side, Farlight witnessed Terror's [Surprise/Doubt] at the sight of Sigurd swearing his loyalty unto his last breath, a moment of [Suspicion] that this was an attempt at [Flattery/Manipulation], and then the sight of that wide smile erupting across Sigurd's face, those eyes bright like a child's, and the [Realisation/Shift/Understanding] that the human in front of them meant every word he was saying. [Joy/Laugh/Relief/Hope] Maybe better times were coming. Farlight realised Sigurd had been standing next to them for some time. "Is the display adequate for the gift?", he asked, "I'd hate to think we weren't doing it justice" "It's perfect", Farlight replied. And they meant it.

[sailtomarina]

Let It Out

Hermione x Neville | @hp-yuletide-bliss Day 11: Warmth | “Are you cold?” | WC 1536 | Rating: G

Hermione shivered in the dappled light of the greenhouse. Even though sunlight streamed through to where she stood, she still felt the winter chill deep in her bones. It seemed like no matter what she did, no matter how many layers she wore or the number of times she refreshed her charms, she couldn’t get warm.

Healers said it was one of the many possible side effects from long exposure to the Cruciatus curse. In addition to the unbearable cold, she also exhibited occasional tremors and night terrors. She could only stand waking Ron up so many times before the stress wore them both down. Their decision to remain only friends had been the right one, even if it left her feeling lonely in the evening hours when darkness closed in.

That was even more true now that she’d returned to Hogwarts for her Eighth Year, the only one of the three to do so. Harry and Ron had taken up Minister Shaklebolt on his offer to enroll in the Auror program as recruits, while Hermione had opted to finish her N.E.W.T.s and seek a different path.

One she wasn’t so sure on, anymore.

Before, she’d been set to apply to the Ministry’s Creature division. She supposed she should feel even more fired up now that Voldemort was gone and public attention was the highest it had ever been on Muggleborn rights. She used to dream about tackling house-elf, centaur, and werewolf injustices…but now?

She winced at the ache in her fingers, and tucked them into her armpits to try and warm them up enough to handle her shears. The Holly bushes weren't going to prune themselves, and they had the entirety of Hogwarts to decorate.

“Are you cold?”

It took Hermione a moment to register the question. She looked up to find Neville looking straight at her, lips turned down in concern. He stood just close enough for her to pick out the moss green flecks in his light brown eyes.

“How could you tell?” she replied with a wry smile, doubling down on her stance and stamping her feet for good measure.

“Your lips are nearly blue," he said with a teasing smile.

Even though it was Neville and she knew he hadn’t meant to draw any attention her way, Hermione still felt an embarrassed flush rise up her neck.

At least some parts of her still had some life’s blood left.

“I’ll be fine; I just need to warm up my hands a bit.” She held them up in demonstration and wiggled her fingers. “See? All good now.”

Neville, however, knew Hermione. All too often, she forgot just how observant he could be.

He tutted and picked up her gardening shears before she could make a move for them. “How about you let me do the pruning, and you take notes?”

If it had been anyone else, she would have protested. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust others to do as good of a job as she; Hermione just couldn’t stomach the thought of being a burden. Every single one of them had their own weights to bear; who was she to be exempt of the same expectations?

There was something about Neville that bade her to accept his offer. She let herself pick up the odd feeling and examine it, paying just enough attention to his work and their conversation to take the necessary course notes.

Neville had grown into a fine wizard, and not just physically. Yes, he towered above her now, vying for height with Ron, and had the broad shoulders to balance it out after years lifting soil in the greenhouses. It was more than that. Everything she’d heard about him and the previous year was a testament to his kindness and bravery. He’e fought the reign of the Carrows in every way he knew how, helping and leading the many students left behind to survive and face another day.

She saw the truth of his courage for herself the day they’d returned to Hogwarts on that final day. She saw it in the Courtyard when he’d marched forward, then again when he’d pulled out the sword of Gryffindor. She saw it in the comfort he’d given his fellow students and teachers in the aftermath amidst the rubble.

“There we go. They look right as rain now.” He stepped away from the bushes to admire his work. As usual, Hermione had to agree with him. 

He’d accomplished in one sitting what would have taken her twice as long. The Holly bushes looked perky despite the removal of many of their branches and berries, which would both be used in the holiday decor. Hermione had a tendency of over-pruning in a quest for symmetry.

“And you? How are you doing?” he now said to her, stepping close enough for her to pick up a faint earth-like scent.

“I’m almost done. See for yourself.” She angled the parchment towards him, intending for Neville to read over her shoulder. He shook his head instead.

“No, I mean, how are you doing? Are you still cold?”

She blinked at the direct question. “Oh! That’s sweet of you to ask. Yes, I am, but we’ll be in the castle soon enough.” Not that she’d feel any warmer there.

It was to her utmost surprise that he began unbuttoning his jumper.

“Here, allow me.” He shrugged off the wool and, without any hesitation, laid the heavy material over her shoulders. It was several sizes too large, and she swam in the extra fabric. The wool retained his body heat and smelled what she now identified as petrichor. She tried to surreptitiously bend her head down in examination of the buttons, but really she was breathing in the soothing scent as deeply as she could.

“Oh, Neville, you really don’t have to–”

He cut her off as assuredly as he’d snipped the branches off the Holly bush by picking up both of her hands to cup them in his own. She watched in fascination as he lifted them to his face and breathed warm air into the hollow. A resulting bloom of heat zipped up her arms, and she shuddered at the delicious comfort it afforded her.

“Better?” he murmured, eyes intent on her.

Wordlessly, she nodded, too overwhelmed by his nearness to speak. This was Neville, for Godric’s sake, her dear friend. Her first friend at Hogwarts, if she was being precise.

She realized with blazing clarity that she felt more at peace now than she had in several months.

“You’re doing great, you know,” he continued to say, and she cocked her head at the unexpected comment. He smiled softly in acknowledgement. “What I mean to say is that it’s okay to still feel cold, to heal at your own pace. We all are.”

The cold was a distant memory now. In its place stood Neville. To her horror, she felt her eyes water. She attempted to duck her head, but he wasn’t having any of that. WIth a quick pull, she was in his arms, her face pressed against the firm contours of his chest and his chin resting atop her curls. He hugged her close, wrapping her in an embrace that strengthened her as much as it freed what she’d tried to hold back.

She cried for the pain of wounds both physical and psychological. She cried out of loneliness. She cried in relief. She cried in gratitude for the friend holding her now.

“Let it all out, love.” His voice was low, and Hermione recalled that class was still in session and they were not alone. Still, she listened and cried, anyway, accepting what Neville offered.

It wasn’t the first display of its kind within the school boundaries, and it wouldn’t be the last.

“Nev, I, I–” she sucked in a ragged breath to try and finish her thought.

“I know.”

Neville stayed with her long after class had ended and they were alone in the silence. She didn’t see the nod he sent Professor Sprout, nor did she see his eyes close as he leaned into her, absorbing her warmth just as much as she did him. 

She didn’t know he, too, suffered nightmares of a sword missing its mark and of a cackling Bellatrix standing over him, her wand extended and flashing green. Ever since he’d learned of Hermione’s torture at Malfoy Manor, he’d imagined what it would be like to see her in the same sterile room as his parents. She didn’t know the thought filled him with an equal amount of terror that revealed the depth of his feelings for her.

What Hermione knew was that she didn’t want to let go. She wanted to hold the warmth in and let it grow and fill her until it spilled outward, soaking the ground and calling forth its very own spring.

She didn’t have to worry. Neville wasn’t going anywhere. Gone were his hesitations and self-doubt. He tended to her and their friendship like he did to everything else that mattered most to him in life, and, when love finally poked its verdant shoots out of the well-tended soil, it found purchase and bloomed.

Cross-posted on Tumblr and AO3

I know I don’t write it often, but I am actually such a sucker for a well-written Nevmione. Something about those green thumbs and his early friendship with Hermione is just nnnnnnnnnnnnn, catnip to me.

[grimandgrimmer]

'Krampus: Krampus is a terrifying figure from folklore who prowls during Yuletide. He snatches misbehaving souls and drags them into an abyss of agony, delighting in their abysmal sorrow.'

In the darkest nights where Yule bells chime, Creeping through the shadows, comes a sublime terror.

Krampus, the figure of folklore and dread, With horns upon his head and shadowed eyes blood red. A tormented soul, he prowls in the night, Seeking misbehaving hearts, his eyes filled with spite. Into the abyss of agony, he drags them away, Delighting in their sorrow, where darkness holds sway.

His presence instils fear in every mischievous breath For those who've strayed from goodness, tempting a dance with death. Lured by their actions, the wicked will descend Into the depths of despair; their torment knows no end.

Krampus is the judge of morality, the punisher of sin, His wrath knows no bounds, it pierces from within. Yet hidden amidst the chilling darkness, he claims, Lies a warning, a reminder, to amend our wicked aims.

Though he delights in sorrow, in suffering untold, Krampus is a reflection of the darkness in our souls. He teaches us to repent and seek light from within So we may escape the clutches of eternal damnation.

So beware, miscreants, in the Yuletide's embrace, For Krampus awaits, ready to strike with ruthless grace. Behave with kindness, let compassion be your guide, Or fall victim to Krampus's wrathful stride.

[kipscorner]

-- Anything in parentheses (abc) feel free to delete! -- Anything in square brackets [abc] feel free to change! -- This is a long post, so please remember to tag “long post tw” or some kind of varient of the sort so you don’t clog mobile users dashes/people who don’t have “shorten posts.” turned on! :D

“Doesn't this seem like a bit much?”

“This is what Christmas is all about! Can't you feel it?”

“You guys, where are we? I think we should go back.”

“Serves them right, those Yuletide-loving sickly-sweet, nog-sucking cheer mongers!”

“I really don't like them. No, I don't.”

“I've been much too tolerant of these (Whovenile) delinquents and their innocent, victimless pranks.”

“So, they want to get to know me, do they?”

“I guess I could use a little social interaction.”

“Yeah, you bet. Ho, ho, ho, and stuff…”

“You see, [name]? The city is a dangerous place.”

“Now, please, don't ask why. No one quite knows the reason.”

“Well, it's just, I look around at you and [Mom] and everyone getting all kerbobbled. Doesn't this seem...superfluous?”

“I think they were up on the mountain playing with matches, or defacing public property, or....”

“Take a look at his mailbox, (sweetie). Not a single Christmas card, in or out… Ever!”

“And for the rest of you: Jury duty! Jury duty! Jury duty! Blackmail. Pink slip. Chain letter. Eviction notice. Jury duty!”

“Well, that worked out nicely.”

“[Max], let's go. Our work here is finished.”

“Don't you know you shouldn't take things that don't belong to you? What's your problem? Are you a wild animal?”

“Saving you? Is that what you think I was doing? Wrong-o.”

“You've been practicing your Christmas wrapping! I am so proud of you.”

“My, I've never seen so many beautiful Christmas lights, [Betty Lou!]”

“It's handcrafted and almost 100 years old.”

“Come on, hurry up, Slowpoke.”

“What's that stench? It's fantastic!”

“One man's toxic sludge is another man's potpourri.”

“Did Christmas change or just me?"

“First floor, factory rejects.”

“But we did our worst. And that's all that matters.”

“At least I scared the bejeebles out of that little [girl] at the post office. [She]'ll be scarred for life, if we're lucky.”

“Funny she didn't rat on us, though. Must be afraid of reprisals.”

“If you utter so much as one syllable I'll hunt you down and gut you like a fish!”

“I've got all the company I need right here.”

“I'm an idiot!”

“You're an idiot!”

“Am I just eating because I'm bored?”

“In your own words, please tell me everything you know about [the Grinch.]”

“Hey, honey, our baby is here! He looks just like your boss.”

“It was Christmas Eve, and a strange wind blew that night.”

“Do you want a Christmas cookie?”

“Don't forget, tomorrow is our big Christmas gift exchange.Everyone bring a special gift for a special someone.”

“You don't have a chance with [her].”

“It was a horrible day when they were so cruel to [him]. And I could hardly bear it.”

“And that was the last time we ever saw [him]. The very last time.”

“I hate you.Hate, hate, hate. Hate, hate, hate. Double hate. Loathe entirely!”

“Tomorrow is Christmas! It's practically here!”

“I may do something drastic.”

“You made that up! It doesn't say that.”

“But the book does say: The cheer-meister is the one who deserves a back slap or a toast. And it goes to the soul at Christmas who needs it most."

“Blast this Christmas music. It's joyful and triumphant.”

“The impudence! The audacity! The unmitigated gall!”

“You called down the thunder now, get ready for the boom!”

“Gaze into the face of fear!”

“You see? Even now the terror is welling up inside you.”

“Run for your life before I kill again!”

“Maybe you need a time-out.”

“Kids today. So desensitized by movies and television.”

“"Holiday Whobie-what-y"?”

“I know you hate Christmas, but what if it's all just a misunderstanding?”

“I myself am having some Yuletide doubts.”

“Award? You never mentioned an award!”

“Was anyone emotionally shattered?”

“Come on, a minute ago I couldn't shut you up! Details, details!”

“I don't know if it's that adorable twinkle in your eye or that nonconformist streak that reminds me of a younger, less hairy me.”

“Who knows? This Whobilation could change my entire outlook on life!”

“You can make snow angels later.”

“The nerve of those (Whos). Inviting me down there on such short notice. Even if I wanted to go, my schedule wouldn't allow it.”

“4:00, wallow in self-pity. 4:30, stare into the abyss. 5:00, solve world hunger tell no one. 5:30, jazzercise. 6:30, dinner with me… I can't cancel that again. 7:00, wrestle with my self-loathing… I'm booked! If I bumped the loathing to 9:00, I'd have time to lay in bed stare at the ceiling and slip slowly into madness.”

“It's not a dress, it's a kilt! Sicko!”

“This is ridiculous. If I can't find something nice to wear, I'm not going! That's it, I'm not going.”

“Ohh, ahh, mmm… That's it, I'm not going.”

“[He] isn't here. What? [He] didn't show? Who could have predicted this?

“All right. I'll swing by for a minute, allow them to envy me grab a handful of popcorn shrimp, and blow out of there.”

“But what if it's a cruel prank? What if it's a cash bar? How dare they!”

“All right, I'll go. But I'll be fashionably late.”

“All right. I've made my decision! I'm going, and that's that!”

“Come on, while I'm young!”

“But first, a little family reunion.”

“Are you two still living?”

“Sweater? What are you talkin' about? No, I can't! I can't do that!”

“No. I can't do it, honestly. I'm not ready. It's too much, too soon!”

“I've got a lawyer. There'll be hell to pay!”

“Look at the time. I really should be getting back.”

“Bring it on! Is that all you got? Is that all you got? Come on!”

“That's what it's all about, isn't it? That's what it's always been about!”

“Look, I don't want to make waves, but this whole Christmas season is stupid, stupid, stupid!”

“There is, however one teeny-tiny Christmas tradition I find quite meaningful. Mistletoe.”

“Burn, baby! Burn!”

“Evening, folks. Mind if I ride along? You might want to scooch over.”

“You fellas all right? How about a nice hat?”

“I'm hurt, [Lou]. I'm hurt, and I don't hurt easily.”

“But you and your family.... I'm so disappointed.”

“I just wanted everybody to be together for Christmas.”

“Suffering snorkelblatz! They're relentless!”

“Oh, no. I'm speaking in rhyme!”

“I must stop this whole thing. Why for year after year I've put up with it now.”

“Are you having a holly, jolly Christmas? Wrong-o!”

“If you're not going to help me then you might as well…”

“You're as cuddly as a cactus and as charming as an eel.”

“Just face the music, you're a monster.”

“Your heart's an empty hole.”

“I asked for three-quarters, not five-eighths. Stay focused!”

“Air bag is a little slow. But that's what these tests are for!”

“Talk about a recluse. He only comes out once a year, and he never catches any flak for it!”

“Probably lives up there to avoid the taxes.”

“No, forget that part. We'll improvise.”

“Saving Christmas was a lousy ending. Way too commercial.”

“We're gonna die! We're gonna die! I'm going to throw up, and then I'm gonna die!”

“[Mommy], tell it to stop!”

“Almost lost my cool there.”

“It's Santa! Go right back to sleep.”

“[He]'s planning a double-twisting interrupted forward-flying 2-and-a-half with a combo tuck and pike. High degree of difficulty.”

“Blasted water weight! Goes right to my hips.”

“Okay, fellas. Show time.”

“[Mr. Santa], what are you doing with our tree?”

“[Santa], what's Christmas really about?”

“I know [he]'s mean and hairy and smelly. [His] hands might be cold and clammy. But I think [he]'s actually kind of sweet.”

“Nice kid. Bad judge of character.”

“Clearance sale. Everything must go.”

“That wasn't so bad, was it, [Max]?”

“What an embarrassment! I've been robbed!”

“I wonder who could have done this.”

“But did anyone listen to me? No.”

“[Cindy], I hope you're very proud of what you've done.”

“You're glad. You're glad everything is gone. You're glad that [the Grinch] virtually wrecked.... No, not wrecked, pulverized Christmas. Is that what I'm hearing?”

“You can't hurt Christmas, [Mr. Mayor], because it isn't about the gifts or the contests or the fancy lights. That's what [Cindy]'s been trying to tell everyone! And me. [She]'s been trying to tell me.”

“What's wrong with you? This is a child!”

“[She]'s my child. And she happens to be right, by the way.”

“I don't need anything more for Christmas than this right here, my family!”

“Now for the final note in my symphony of downright nasty not-niceness! The crescendo of my odious opus! The wailing and the gnashing of teeth. The bellowing of the bitterly bummed out! It'll be like music to my ears!”

“Somehow or other, it came Just the same!”

“How could it be so? It came without ribbons! It came without tags! It came without packages, boxes or bags!”

“Maybe Christmas doesn't come from a store. Maybe Christmas, perhaps, means a little bit more.”

“Help me! I'm feeling!”

“What's happening to me? I'm all toasty inside. And I'm leaking?”

“All right, that's enough! Knock it off! beat it! Get out of here! One step at a time!

“Wait! This can't happen! It shouldn't! It couldn't! It mustn't! It wouldn't! Not now, not then, not ever again!”

“What are you doing up there!?”

“I came to see you. No one should be alone on Christmas.”

“I got you, [Cindy Lou]!”

“Are you kiddin'? The sun is bright and the powder's bitchin'!”

“Now scoot over! It's my turn to drive!”

“Now you listen to me, [young] [lady]! Even if we're horribly mangled there'll be no sad faces on Christmas.”

“By the way, these lights match your outfit perfectly.”

“This could be more difficult to negotiate.”

“Out of the way! I have no insurance!”

“Run for your lives! Watch out, I can't stop!”

“Aren't you gonna cuff me? Put me in a choke hold? Blind me with pepper spray?”

“Sorry but my heart belongs to someone else.”

“Cheer up, dude. It's Christmas.”

“There's nothin' like the holidays.”

“Too late! That'll be mine.”

[themousefromfantasyland]

The Creatures of Yuletide: The Lost Christmas Goddess

This is my last Creatures of Yuletide of the year, so I decided to finish with something huge, an ancient winter goddess that had her feast day exactly on Christmas day and whose influence can still be felt to this day. This goddess has many names and many forms across the Alpine Region, but for sake of clarity, I will refer to her as Holda.

Holda is a figure associated with motherhood, winter, and spinning and weaving. Stories and myths about her spread across Germany, Austria, and Switzerland, usually involving her being both an angelic presence and a demonic force, rewarding the good and punishing the wicked. The anthropologist and archaeologist Marija Gimbutas believes she was the Germanic supreme goddess and is older than the Germanic pantheon, including deities like Odin, Thor, and Loki. She also says:

"[Holda] holds dominion over death, the cold darkness of winter, caves, graves and tombs in the earth….but also receives the fertile seed, the light of midwinter, the fertilized egg, which transforms the tomb into a womb for the gestation of new life."

With the Christianization of Europe, myths and stories about her survived in the countryside and as folk stories.

Jacob Grimm, of the Brothers Grimm fame, in his seminal work 'Teutonic Mythology', described her basic characteristics:

“In popular legends and nursery tales, frau Holda (Hulda, Holle, Hulle, frau Holl) appears as a superior being, who manifests a kind and helpful disposition towards men, and is never cross except when she notices disorder in household affairs. […]

From what traditions has still preserved for us, we gather the following characteristics. Frau Holle is represented as a being of the sky, begirdling the earth: when it snows, she is making her bed, and the feathers of it fly. She stirs up snow, as Donar does rain: the Greeks ascribe the production of snow and rain to their Zeus: so that Holda comes before us a goddess of no mean rank. [...]

Another point of resemblance is, that she drives about in a waggon. She has a linchpin put in it by a peasant whom she met; when he picked up the chips, they were gold. Her annual progress, which like those of Herke and Berhta, is made to fall between Christmas and Twelfth-day, when the supernatural has sway, and wild beasts like the wolf are not mentioned by their names, brings fertility to the land. Not otherwise does 'Derk with the boar,' that Freyr of the Netherlands (p. 214), appear to go his rounds and look after the ploughs. At the same time Holda, like Wuotan, can also ride on the winds, clothed in terror, and she, like the god, belongs to the 'wutende heer.''

The Brothers Grimm also collected a tale about her in which she appears as Frau Holle, and it can be found here. Resuming, an abused stepchild loses a spindle in the well and jumps there to get it back, only to find herself in the magical realm of a kind woman named Frau Holle that has the power of making snow in the real world when she shakes her featherbed pillows.

The girl does the household chores for the old woman and is rewarded by returning to the real world with a shower of gold and the spindle which had fallen into the well.

Jealous, the stepmother sends her biological daughter to try the same, but the girl is so unhelpful that Frau Holle sends her back with a shower of pitch.

Basically, Frau Holle is the female version of Morozko.

Holda is associated with many of the evergreen plants that appear during the Yule season, especially mistletoe and holly, and she had her feast day on December 25, Christmas day.

An early-13th-century text listing superstitions states that "In nocte nativitatis Christi ponunt regina celi quam dominam Holdam vulgus appelat, ut eas ipsa adiuvet.” This text, an Aberglaubenverzeichnis (a common late-medieval and early modern genre), was compiled in the years 1236–1250 by Rudolph, a Cistercian monk. Translating, it states the following:

"In the night of Christ's Nativity they set the table for the Queen of Heaven, whom the people call Frau Holda, that she might help them".

Hulda was known as a goddess of women, which eventually tied her to magic and witchcraft, and she is specifically called out in the Canon Episcopi, written around the fourth century. Those who honored her were required, as faithful Catholics, to do penance. The treatise reads, in part:

"Have you believed there is some female, whom the stupid vulgar call Holda ... who is able to do a certain thing, such that those deceived by the devil affirm themselves by necessity and by command to be required to do, that is, with a crowd of demons transformed into the likeness of women, on fixed nights to be required to ride upon certain beasts, and to themselves be numbered in their company? If you have performed participation in this unbelief, you are required to do penance for one year on designated fast-days.”

Holda was widely mentioned in catalogs of superstitions and sermons during the 15th century, and in the 16th, being equated with other female figures like Diana, and Herodias, the princess that asked for John Baptist’s head.

Her motherhood aspect also is used to link her with the Virgin Mary, and she is the goddess to whom children who died as infants go.

Holiday figures like the witch Frau Perchta from the Alpine Region, and the witch La Befana from Italian folklore, both associated with Epiphany, the feast that celebrates the visit of the Three Wise men, are sometimes linked back to her.

This holiday season, I hope this ancient winter goddess blesses you all and brings a reward for all the good you put out to the world this year. Happy holidays my friends.

@ariel-seagull-wings @thealmightyemprex @tamisdava2 @princesssarisa

[zipegs]

twenty questions for fic writers!

tagged by @cedarbranch thank you so much!!

tagging: @valentinsylve @wastrelwoods @shachaai @chaotic-plotter @thedarkmongoose

@luvbef @abstracteeveewrites @det395 no pressure though!!

1. how many works do you have on ao3?

28! back in the good old days (especially when i was mostly writing oneshots) i used to be able to do one work a month but now i'm a lot slower and much more sporadic. definitely think i can break the 30 mark this year though!

2. what's your total ao3 word count?

212,146!

3. what fandoms do you write for?

right now it's hannibal and the heu. i have also written for star trek aos, the terror s1, and supernatural, and will probably revisit some or all of them at some point in the future

4. top five fics by kudos

A Treatise on Touch (or Lack Thereof) (Star Trek AOS) - 883 Murphy's Law of Cohabitation (Supernatural) - 594 to the victor go the spoils (Hannibal) - 578 of all acts for which you must atone (Hannibal) - 554 kalos kagathos (Hannibal) - 522 my two crack fics coming in first! lmao. just goes to show that being silly and self-indulgent can pay off 😂 especially considering that top kudos'd fic is rated T! also was a surprise to see my terror yuletide fic coming in the number six spot, since that's a much smaller fandom compared to the others i've written for (or it was, at least. i know it's grown a bit since i started there)

5. do you respond to comments?

yes, all of them! unfortunately i'm an even slower comment responded than i am a writer but i do respond to each and every single one eventually. i appreciate people leaving the time to let me know they enjoyed my work so much and i definitely want to show that. plus i just enjoy the conversation!

6. what is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

well! the book of jonah (hannibal) is definitely high up there, as are some of the oneshots in take the longing and give it a name (the terror). oh also ad finitum (the terror) and maybe elegy (the terror)? some of those (and a few i mentioned) are more bleak horror endings but the hartnell death oneshot in take the longing and give it a name and ad finitum are definitely just straight angst

7. what's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

a lot of them have happy endings, and some are just fluff oneshots! but i'm gonna say A Treatise on Touch (or Lack Thereof) for its very slight angst and eventual supremely happy ending.

8. do you get hate on fics?

i do not! i've found a nice little niche i suppose lol

9. do you write smut?

yes! i used to hate it but since joining the hannibal fandom i've started enjoying writing smut and dabbling in pwps. actually most of my recent work has been pwps dkfhdgh

10. craziest crossover?

i haven't done anything crazy i fear! my only crossovers have been heu.

11. have you ever had a fic stolen?

not that i've noticed! i've had one suspicious incident of concept-ripping BUT it could have very well been a coincidence, so overall i've made out well!

12. have you ever had a fic translated?

yes i have!! Stacy_likegravity translated A Treatise on Touch (or Lack Thereof) to Chinese and Jane_Ka translated i am my beloved's (and my beloved is mine) to Belarusian.

13. have you ever co-written a fic before?

i have not. i used to be too much of a control freak to consider it—the thought alone was off-putting. now, though, it's something i'd love to try with a writer i'm comfortable and have a rapport with.

14. all time favorite ship?

you can't ask me that because my current ship always is my all-time favorite!!! so, yeah, gotta say hannigram.

15. what's a wip you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

mmmm i have a bunch! there's an old supernatural horror fic i had about anna milton being a terrifying and off-putting child (thanks to, you know, once being an angel) that i'd love to finish and spruce up bc i felt really good about it at the time. that's five years ago now though so who knows if i'd feel like the writing held up!

16. what are your writing strengths?

i think i'm pretty good at setting and description—establishing a place and/or feel/tone for a piece. i like to think i'm pretty decent at capturing speech patterns but i do find dialogue a lot harder than narration personally.

17. what are your writing weaknesses?

i tend to get rambly and overexplain when it's unnecessary (and sometimes gloss over what i should space out a bit)! pacing isn't always the easiest for me and i'm not great at story structure.

18. thoughts on dialogue in another language?

i don't mind it, as long as it's easily navigable! i used to be all for the hover-translations people would do but now i love linked footnotes. scrolling up and down for translations can be a little taxing for me personally.

19. first fandom you wrote in?

phantom of the opera. i tried my hand at writing a phantom/christine sex scene way back when and got about as far as "her corset 'magically' became undone". needless to say that never saw the light of day! first published fandom was a galadriel lotr oneshot i posted on ff.net (completely forgot about that until right now, actually lol)

20. favorite fic you've written?

i think i have to say the book of jonah, because i'm really proud of that one!