#i need my generation to stop being 22 and start being old enough to have influence in the film industry so i can have movies i like again.

[livvyofthelake]

i wish there were gay people in the fantasy genre and by this i mean i wish we could bring back early 2000s high fantasy and add gay people. and until this happens i guess i just have to keep pretending heath ledger a knights tale is a lesbian.

[gch1995]

I just turned 28 years old last month, and it really is gross, overrated, and stupid just how much the US glorifies the 18-25 year old crowd. It’s really sad how the media starts treating you as “early middle-aged” as soon as you turn 26, especially those of us who are women.

As if the majority of us were really all that developed, fun, fulfilled, happy, self-confident, and emotionally mature in our late-teens to early twenties as the media often portrayed us in movies…In reality many of us had barely finished puberty, or were still finishing it, didn’t know what the future held, felt deeply insecure, felt deeply lonely, feared commitment, got offended too easily, had our heads in books for school, and didn’t put too much effort into being physically healthy with shitty food options…

As if the majority of us who are relatively healthy, well-adjusted, and practical Millennials aren’t going to live another 40-60 something years before we die of aging related illnesses or natural causes somewhere between our 80s-90s…That actually means 40-45 years old is when the “middle” technically starts, but the media so often encourages for those of us in our late twenties to thirties to start viewing ourselves as “middle aged.” Just because we’re no longer “baby” adult Zoomers, it doesn’t mean we’re past our physical prime. I’d argue we’re even more in it than we were in our early twenties, but the US media will never admit that because it’s too shallow and creepily youth obsessed.

As if we still haven’t spent more years as a legal minor than a legal adult by the time we reach our 30th birthdays…

As if many of us between our late twenties to mid-thirties (sometimes, even late thirties-early forties) still don’t often get asked to see IDs by bartenders at bars and restaurants when we ask for a drink, and often look physically interchangeable with people between their late-teens to mid-twenties, anyway…

As if many of us between our late 20s-30s still don’t get viewed as “kids” by our Gen X and Boomer coworkers at our jobs, anyway…

As if the average woman of 35+ isn’t still far more likely to naturally and safely carry a perfectly healthy baby to full term with minimal to nonexistent complications up until we reach our late 40s. No, the media encourages those of us who are young women to have a complete meltdown over such a low increase in risks for that usually only start to outweigh the positives a whole decade after our 35th birthday as soon as we turn 30.

I could go on and on, but yeah, you’re not even at the halfway point in life until you reach your 40s. Those of us who are younger Millennials/Zillennials in our late 20s-early 30s still have between another 6-18 years before we get there, and elder Millennials have just barely started “middle age.” In a way, you could argue that they are technically still a part of the young adulthood cohort, too. They are still in their early 40s, perimenopause usually doesn’t start in women until the late forties, and a number of sociologists and psychologists don’t even begin referring to people as “middle age” until they reach 45.

I think it's really funny when tumblr posts are like we need characters that are old pathetic washed up elderly losers with their entire lives behind them lamenting the fact that they wasted their time on earth and have no future as the end draws near. Like 28 years olds or something.

[brandyllyn]

Silk from their soul (22)

The Ghoul / Cooper Howard x f!reader [no use of y/n]

Rated: E (Dirty talk, PIV) Words: 1.6k Summary: Make me immortal

Series Masterlist My Masterlist

They ain’t watching him near as close as they oughta.

It’s been four days of cross-country trekking, and by his count they couldn’t be more than another day or two from the Stateline. Any moment now they were liable to run into some patrol and while this bunch were treating him like a colleague it was anyone’s guess what Nero’s own crew might do.

His time was running out.

Unfortunately, they were keeping double watch now - one person always watching her and the other keeping a more general eye on things. It made taking them by surprise difficult, and they weren’t quite stupid enough to arm him.

Tonight was the first exception. They’d made camp in an old building that happened to have working doors. After a pretty thorough check they’d locked her inside, tied to some piece of the structure.

“I hear fellas like you can live a long time,” Sancho says after some time passes. His name weren’t Sancho but Cooper hadn’t been arsed to learn his name the first time around and he wasn’t starting now.

“Depends on what you think is long.”

“I heard of a guy who’s been alive since before the bombs fell,” Panza chimes in. Panza isn’t his favorite, he’s the one who hit her. He’s going to die soon - he just doesn’t know it yet.

“Ain’t no one been around that long,” Sancho scoffs.

Cooper barely pays them any attention, staring into the small fire. Well, past it actually, where the youngest of the three had disappeared not ten minutes ago.

It’s been dead silent since. He’s not sure he’d even be able to hear them talking, but he’s pretty sure he could hear her if she screamed. That door wouldn’t do jack shit to stop him if she did.

“You know we ain’t sharing the bounty, right?” Panza asks with a small frown. “Ain’t nothing against you, ghoul. Just that three’s two too many already if you ask me.”

Cooper cuts his eyes the man’s direction. “I ain’t looking for the bounty - hoping I might be able to find more work. Something to do. Getting bored out here with you shitheads.”

The man laughs just as Cooper intended. “Well that’ll be-”

The door slams open and the Kid stomps out, clutching the water and the small bag of rations. “She says she don’t want nothin’.”

“What do you mean… tell her she ain’t got a choice. She ain’t eaten since she tried to run off.”

“I tried that, but you said-”

Cooper’s on his feet already, seeing the opportunity and taking it. “I’ll do it.” The trio eye him skeptically and he cocks his head at them. “She trusts me. ‘Sides, this way you only got one thing to guard.”

None of them trusted him, which was fair, and he’d slept like a baby even as he listened to the racing heartbeat of whoever had been assigned watch the last few nights. He was counting on lack of sleep being a helluva persuader.

“Nah, you’re right. We’ll unlock you in the morning.”

Perfect.

Cooper waits for the door to close, adjusting his eyes to the dim light from above. The room is solid walls with a dirt floor, the only point of entrance the gaping hole in the ceiling and the woman tied to a post in its center.

“Brought you some vittles.”

“I said I wasn’t hungry.”

“You need to put some food in your system or you won’t make it to the Stateline.”

She looks up at him, eyes wide and sad and it’s a kick to the gut. “When will we get there?”

“Tomorrow, I reckon. Maybe the day after.”

She nods thoughtfully and rests her head on her folded arms once more. The ropes around her ankles shift slightly as she moves and he maneuvers carefully to sit beside her, leaning back against the same rock.

“If you plan to starve yourself to death you’re going to need more time.”

She laughs softly, “Not sure I even could. With how I heal and all.”

He considers that for a moment and passes her the water. After a long moment she takes it, gulping it down before handing it back. “Reckon tonight is our best chance to get free.”

“I don’t think-” she starts and he turns on her sharply. When he doesn’t say anything she continues, “I think I have to go, actually.”

“Are you fucking kidding me? After all this fuss you’re just going to give in?”

If looks could kill he’d be a pile of ash. “I have to put a stop to this - to more people like me and assholes like him buying them.”

“Ah,” he says softly. “So this is a vengeance mission.”

“You got a problem with that?”

“Not a bit, I’ve been on a fair few in my time.” He passes her some food and she eyes it before nibbling on the edge. “The problem is those kinds of journeys tend to be one way.” She shrugs and it makes something in his chest hurt. “Now darlin’, you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“I’ll do what I have to,” she pauses, then gives him a sidelong glance, “anything I have to.” Suddenly she turns to him fully, those gorgeous eyes of hers shining in the moonlight. “You think we’ll get there tomorrow?”

“Or the next day, it ain’t far now.”

She nods, biting her lip. And then she’s in motion. Before he can think. Before he can block her. Before he can do anything - she’s in his lap, throwing her arms over his head, and she’s kissing him.

She’s kissing him.

Whatever the danger is, it’s too late now. He sinks into it, wrapping an arm around her waist and reaching one hand up to clutch at her shoulder. Her tongue is everywhere, licking along his lips and teeth and he meets her with equal fervor. It lasts so long he runs out of breath, breaking away with a gasp and staring into her eyes.

He waits.

Nothing happens.

No light-headedness. No burning. No neurotoxin or chemical or anything at all in fact. Hell, other than a raging hard-on he feels exactly the same.

She looks dazed, blinking up at him before pulling him back for another kiss.

He ain’t ever been one to tell a lady no.

He guides her legs over his hips, settling her in his lap while she tries to suck his soul out of his mouth. Everything is hot and wet and he can feel her through his pants, soaking the fabric.

“Ah sweetheart,” he groans, slipping his hand under her panties to cup her ass. She grinds down in return, rocking on top of him in a mimicry of exactly what he wants as well.

“Lift up,” he tells her, “let me get these off of you.”

She does as he says, coming to her knees and letting him pull her panties down til they hang on one ankle.

“Tell me you want this,” he growls, licking into her mouth. “Tell me to fuck you, just like this.”

“I want it,” she nearly sobs, fingers digging into the back of his neck, “Fuck me, fuck me just like this.”

They moan together when he slides inside. It’s just as he remembers, tight and hot and so unbelievably good his eyes roll back in his head. Her mouth is everywhere, sucking on his neck, licking up to his ear, teeth biting at his lips. He tries to slow her down, to guide her with a hand on the nape of her neck, but she digs her fingernails into the back of his head and he lets her take the lead.

Lets her take him.

Everything is gasping softness, breaths mingling as they pant into each other’s mouths. He brings his hand around to cup her jaw, urging her to take his tongue. To give hers in return. And the entire time she’s moving on top of him, clutching him inside her.

“Ah fuck darlin’,” he groans. “I ain’t gonna last. Can you come like this?”

“Maybe,” she gasps in return. “I don’t know.”

He moves his hands to her waist, guiding her body into slow undulating rolls. “What do you need?”

“Make me,” she moans, pulling him in for another kiss, “tell me what to do. Make me yours.”

A low growl rumbles from his chest and he shifts so he can get his knees under him. Now he has power behind his thrusts, fucking up into her and touching something so deep it makes her whimper. 

“That’s it, fuck yourself on me,” he tells her. “And when I tell you to you’re going to come. Ain’t that right?” She nods, mouth open on his cheek and he grins. “That’s a good girl.”

One hand claws at the front of her dress and she helps him, moving her arms so he can shove it down and watch her breasts bounce with every roll of his hips. He covers one with his hand, catching the nipple between two fingers and pinching it hard.

“Come for me, come all over my cock.”

She does. Oh how she does. She screams and he cuts her off with his mouth, swallowing it down and feeling her pussy milking him so hard he comes too. Spilling inside and filling her up just like he’d been thinking of doing since the first moment he saw her on that damned radio tower.

Only he had never imagined that she would kiss him so sweetly afterwards. That she would pull bound wrists from behind his neck and cup his face in her hands and fucking make love to his mouth with the gentlest of nibbles and sweeps of her tongue.

“Again?” she asks once she catches her breath. Her mouth covers his and he can barely think straight as she licks inside.

Yeah. Sure. Again. Anything she wants. Always.

☢ ☢ ☢

For updates follow and turn on notifications for @brandyllyn-writes

[delta-pavonis]

Ooh, from the wip game: former mafia hob :D

I know I have posted bits and pieces of this in various places on Tumblr and Discord, but below is probably the largest segment of the WIP I have ever posted at once. And this is maybe about a quarter of it? It features an OC that I made up and then it turned out I was prescient because in my head Sandro looks pretty much exactly like Ethan from Maneskin. Also, to no one's surprise, this gets NSFW at the end. (WHAT?!? SMUT?!?!?! FROM MEEEE?!?!?!)

"And this guy, this Burgess, just had him locked in a giant glass sphere in his basement!"

"A human? Wouldn't he need air?"

Hob was in an ex-pat bar on the south end of Okinawa, doing a very good job of continuing to live completely off the grid just as he had for the past eight years.

The old man started up again and Hob strained to hear him across the length of the bar. "He just looked like a human. I worked there sixteen years and he didn't age a minute, hell he barely moved. I heard Burgess bragging once about how it was the God of Dreams that he caught! All I know for sure is what I heard directly, which is that Burgess kept asking him for things – magic, money, immortality – and the pale fucker just kept glaring at him. Never spoke a word. Just stared daggers with those unearthly blue eyes. I am telling you, if looks could kill, that old bastard would be dead thirty times over. Whenever that fairy King or whatever the fuck that shaved panther of a human-looking thing is gets out…" The guy whistled, leaning back from the bar and shaking his head. "The entire Burgess family tree is going to burn."

This man had Hob’s full attention now. He grabbed his drink and moved around to sit on the barstool next to him. 

"I am sorry, where did you say you are from?" Hob asked, trying for casual, sizing up the ex-military guy. He had a muddled accent, but with a heavy dose of south London. His salt-and-pepper hair had been kept buzzed even though he had clearly been out of the service for a long time. 

"What's it to you?" The man was immediately bristly, crossed his arms over his chest. He was defensive and closed off and Hob was going to need to work to get more information. Hob sighed. Or take the easy way out… just pay him for the information.

The Okinawan summer was too hot for this. Hob would give it one shot, try to explain, but if that didn't work it was Plan E for Easy. "I have an interest in the supernatural. And you certainly seem to have seen something. Could I ask you a few more questions?" The old-timer just stared at him, completely deadpan, unblinking. It made Hob take a sip of his whisky with its melted ice and then press the glass to his temple. "I can pay you for your time."

He perked up immediately after that.

> > > > > | | < < < < <

Two days later – and after an exchange of enough money to set that old-timer’s family up for generational wealth �� Hob was settling into his Business Class seat on the long haul from Tokyo Haneda to Rome Fiumicino. He tapped out an email telling Gio his flight to Palermo was going to get in at 08:20 and would he be so kind as to send around a car? He needed to stop and see il Barone first (because his knee was bad enough as it was without getting kneecapped for failing to pay his respects) and then straight to the grotta. And make sure the shovel is in the car? Grazii.

It was his Stranger. It had to be. The description was uncanny. And the quick sketch Hob had drawn on a bar napkin had resulted in a rather emphatic positive identification.

And even if it wasn’t his Stranger, there was something being kept in that basement that probably needed rescue. There were paltry few things in the world, as Hob had learned over the centuries, that deserved to have their freedom completely taken from them.

Almost 22 hours after sending that email to Gio, Hob stepped out into the salty Mediterranean air of Palermo and sighed. His white linen three-piece suit with light blue shirt fit the aesthetic of the region as much as the weather. The smells, the breeze, the sounds – yeah, okay, Hob had missed it. But this was no time to linger. Focus, Hob! First, he had to give his regards to Salvatore and then he could go dig up his stash from his time in the Family Business. He put on his hat and dark sunglasses and walked out into the sunlight.

In the aftermath of 1889 Hob had, unsurprisingly, a lot of anger and frustration to work out. He ended up falling back on a reliable skill set he hadn't tapped in awhile: violence. 

It was bare knuckle boxing first, which earned him enough money to leave for the States without disturbing his securities in the UK. He continued with underground boxing for a bit, because he was fucking good at it, until he got noticed. 

Hob got picked up by Giuseppe “the Clutch Hand” Morello and Ignazio “the Wolf” Lupo and the rest was history. 

First they took him in as a base-level associate, just another meatheaded guy who could fuck people up for them. And he made it to the Castellammarese War, which was as good a time as any to fake his own death. 

But, by pure happenstance and a whole lot of luck, Salvatore D’Aquila caught him in the act, pig's blood everywhere, mutilated body that clearly wasn't Hob at his feet and well. That had required a bit of explaining. Explaining lead to talking, talking lead to negotiating, and suddenly Hob was heading upstate to train with the best.

And so it was, with some excellent mentorship on handling firearms and his innate knack for getting himself out of trouble, Hob became one of the most feared associates in Cosa Nostra. 

In fact, he became The Associate. 

See, he was never going to be a made man; he didn't have the proof of a Sicilian, or even Italian, heritage that he needed to be a ranking Family member. But any capo worth his salt wasn't going to turn away this level of skill and finesse. 

And in return they had kept his secret. Mostly because they knew they had given him the means to kill them all if it was otherwise.

Well, it wasn’t like the entire Family knew. Just Salvatore and his immediate blood relations. Who he needed to stop and say hello to first, then to business.

Once the meeting was done, he headed to the coast. 

When Hob left the Family Business he had literally put all of his gear into an air-tight oak box and buried it. One of the things Hob had learned over the centuries was that, more often than not, symbolism mattered. So it wasn't a surprise to find that when Hob opened the wooden box with a crowbar it was like seeing good friends come back from the dead. His shotgun. His sabre. His pistols. 

He buried these along with his career in Cosa Nostra in 1998. It should have been earlier, but the six or so years after 1989 were a bit of an alcohol and cocaine tinted haze and it took him another three years after getting sober to work on his exit strategy. But once he was out he had abandoned it all and never looked back.

In fact, it was only in the past few months that Hob had let himself pick up a gun again to do some target shooting. Suddenly he was very glad of that coincidence.

After filling his duffle Hob stared down into the empty casket of his former life. He had never, ever expected to be in this position again, most certainly not less than a decade after abandoning it. 

Crouched amongst the sand and the rocks of the beachfront cave, he ran a hand through his sweaty hair and sighed. "The things I do for you, Stranger." He closed the lid. 

"Ti Umbra?" Sandro had been watching Hob silently up until now. Even as a little kid, Alessandro had called the thing that haunted Hob his Shadow. He was an eerily perceptive child, often ostracized from his peers because of it – which of course meant that when Hob had arrived in Sicily in the early 1980s they had become easy friends. Now in his early 30s, Sandro was mostly a driver, but knew his way around a weapon, as any son of a Don should. Hob had hoped he would leave, go to college, get out, but Hob never did convince him to. He was a good kid, he didn't deserve this kind of life. 

"Si." Hob put his hands on his knees and levered himself up. "I think that he needs my help." A sigh as he kept staring at the box. "Am I that obvious?"

"Only to me, Bettino." The nickname had come from the diminutive of the diminutive of Roberto, which Sandro’s family knew Hob as. It was an endearment used only between them. "Only He could bring you back to this, to the Family." Hob felt the other man's hand on his shoulder and laid his own over it. The feel of those fingers was achingly familiar. "Let me come with you. You should not go on the rampage you are about to embark on alone, my friend."

Hob picked up Sandro's hand, placed a kiss on the knuckles. "Not a chance. I won't put you in such danger. And I won't let you see me like that." Alessandro hadn’t even been born yet when the Associate was working hardest, in the heydays of Murder, Inc., and all that entailed, when Hob rarely had a night when he wasn’t washing the gunpowder from his hands.

Sandro laughed. "I have seen you every other way, why not this one?" His arms went around Hob's shoulders from behind and he moved his lips to the shell of Hob's ear before dropping into Sicilian. "One more go at it? For old time's sake? Last chance to use me as His stand-in." He laughed even more at Hob's sharp inhale. "You think I didn't know? Oh, Bettino." He nuzzled into the hair at Hob’s nape. "That's how I was able to pretend you really loved me."

"Sandro!" Hob pushed away and whirled around, looking over his former lover’s dark hair and olive-bronze skin, high cheekbones and pouting pink lips, wiry build and black-brown eyes. Not wanting to misspeak, he answered back in English. "I did – and still do – really love you, you know that."

"Yes, but not as you love Him." Sandro shook his head as he moved in to press their foreheads together, arms back around Hob's shoulders. "You would not come back to the Family for me. You would not go to war for me. And that is okay. I know my place. I made my peace with that years ago, when you left." He leaned in to speak against Hob's lips. "But I would ask if you would have me one last time." 

Hob let Sandro pull him to the ground amongst the rocks inside the small cave. Hob's shirt and vest were already discarded, his sleeves rolled up and his collar unbuttoned. He unbuttoned Sandro's shirt and pulled it down so it caught in his elbows, draped down his back low enough for Hob to run his lips over the huge tattoo of Santa Rusulia – Patron Saint of Palermo, invoked for protection in times of plague – wearing a crown of roses and standing amidst a copse of lilies outside a cave not so different from the one they are currently in, looking out to the sun setting over the sea, that covered his entire back. Hob drew that image, originally charcoal on paper, while they were sitting on the beach watching the sun set on Sandro's 19th birthday in the early ‘90s. He didn't know that Sandro had even saved the picture until a shootout a year later had Hob ripping off the young man’s shirt to stop the bleeding and found the image permanently inked into his skin. 

Sandro knew more about Hob than anyone living. They had spent four years as lovers in the mid-'90s. Hob had gotten sober for Sandro. He had left Cosa Nostra for Sandro, had begged for Sandro to come with him. But he was too scared of his father, Salvatore “the Baron,” to leave. He was worried about the fate of his mother, his sisters. Hob couldn’t begrudge him that. It still stung.

Hob shucked Sandro's pants down his thighs and moved his hand around to his ass, thinking that he would tease him dry before trying to find something slick back in the car. Instead, Hob's fingers found warm, flat silicone. He slumped forward with a moan and his forehead hit between Sandro's shoulder blades. "Oh fuck, Sandro. You have been full with this the entire time?"

"Ready for you, Bettino." He sighed, soft and sweet as candy. He let out a high-pitched cry as Hob slowly pulled the plug out and Christ it was huge Hob would be able to just…

There was a thmpt as the silicone object hit the dense sand a few feet away, flung aside as Hob frantically tried to get his slacks down as quickly as possible. As soon as his cock was free Sandro's hands were reaching back to grab it, lubricant that the horny little weasel must have been carrying in his bloody pocket smeared all over his fingers, readying Hob to just…

Sandro sat back and Hob slid into him to the hilt, all in one stroke, easy as breathing, smooth and perfect. 

They stayed that way for a long moment, readjusting to each other. The first movement was Hob's hands stroking from Sandro's thighs up to his chest then pressing them together. When they started rocking Sandro let his head fall back with a sob. 

"Did you keep your hair long for me, too?" Hob wrapped the waist-length ponytail around his fist and tugged. It made Sandro moan just as sweetly as it had all those years ago. "That's it, sing for me, bell'uccellino." He snapped his hips up and Sandro wailed; he always was such a vocal lover, his pretty bird.

[archivalofsins]

But on a serious note.

Shidou spent trial two basically telling Es and the audience he was indispensable. Because there were lives that needed saving, and he was the only one who could help. So, he had to be innocent. Yet to the other prisoners that entire time, he highlighted that anyone else could do what he's doing.

From the start of trial two,

22/10/24 (Shidou’s Birthday)

Amane: ……Kirisaki Shidou. How long do you plan on continuing this foolish behaviour?

Shidou: I wonder what you might be referring to there. I’m just doing what I need to do. If anything, I’d be happy if you would lend me a hand.

Amane: I warned you. I can no longer turn a blind eye to this wickedness taking place right in front of us. You’re bringing ruin unto yourself. Do you understand?

Shidou: No, I don’t understand. It’s my job as an adult to teach you that throwing a temper tantrum isn’t going to make everything go your way. If it’s a test of endurance you want, I’m happy to oblige, Amane.

Shidou stated that Amane could habe been assisting him just as Yuno has. Then, in the timeline from today, he states that Yuno not only saved Mahiru but himself as well.

Implying that Shidou wasn't looking for anyone to assist him but for someone to be there with him while he was giving care to Mahiru generally. Possibly, in order to make sure he didn't fall into the same old habits. This is why Shidou gets so angry in that previous timeline with Amane.

Something he only seems to get after she states that what he's doing will only lead him to ruin. Something that is more than likely due to the fact he knows that already as it has led him to ruin once before. He's well aware he's repeating a cycle right now. It's why he wanted to be found guilty to being with.

Yet there's nothing he can do. Once again, because there's lives that need saving and if he doesn't have someone to assist him even if they aren't particularly good at it and need to be taught. Then what's stopping him from just repeating his failures? If he has someone bear him who he feels the need to teach how to do these things the right way, then that may just be enough to stop him from doing these things the wrong way.

This is why he says Yuno saved him and that she could have a future in this.

Because she was diligent and more committed to Mahiru's recovery than he perceived himself to be. Though I'm mostly pointing this out to go. Shidou, Mu, Kotoko parallels. Telling or trying to convince others that they are more necessary, trustworthy, and special than they actually are. Yet on the inside, realizing they may be worse than the people they disparage all the time.

Even down to the endurance thing,

"If it's a test of endurance you want, I'm happy to oblige." - "If it’s endurance, I’m used to it."

[officialromaniantranslatiuni]

happened to stumble upon a sociopath who thinks she invented ecology and neo-feminism and i need to vent a bit

coming from someone (yeah same old story) who had struggled with infertility for years and who is very set on adopting and has been since I was a teenager: someone being a horrible parent and birthing an army of children just to use them for financial benefits (children for whom others fought to keep them afloat and to be taken away by the system) doesn't have to automatically deny someone else's reproductive rights

"why pay money and struggle so much to have a biological baby when there are so many children in the system?"

BECAUSE

JUST BECAUSE

"it's selfish to go through 4 years (or more) of treatments with 0 painful results when you could have used that money to adopt a child"

that's not your fking problem!

marilu started this journey when she was 21-22 and the process of adopting a child is a nightmare here (tho I've heard that it got a bit better I the past years? Not 100% sure) and maybe her financial status would have helped, but the work/travelling thing and marital status... not much (again maybe things have changed but I do know someone who died of breast cancer before the adoption was finalised and her husband was no longer allowed to get the child)

an example: 2 girls (the eldest between 9-12 and the youngest 7-8) from my school were finally taken by a foster family from their mom because they were forced to beg and steal, they were malnourished, abused and the eldest had just been sold to a 28 year old man as a "wife" and all the efforts from the school regarding their protection and well-being were in vain (the clothes were destroyed by their mom because she needed them to look raggedy for begging, the house gifted by the mayor with furniture from the parents of classmates and everything else paid by the townhall was destroyed and turned into a brothel, etc)

anyway long story short - the woman had over 10 kids in total and she did this to ALL of them until they were old enough to say that they want to be taken away (only one baby was taken with the other siblings and I've met her before meeting the youngest siblings and mother and she's doing amazing - now she's about 16)

not once did anyone dare to disrespect or deny her reproductive rights and TRUST ME she is a vile woman and this goes far behind any trauma or upbringing

she was suggested means to stop making babies she despises and uses anyway but she denied and no one dared to force her to have her tubes tied or anything else

ALSO she has close family who are middle class and had kids in the same class as her kids (some even keep in contact with the 16 year old girl) and they didn't do anything for her or her children (technically, they have the money and everything to take in the girls but they refused because they were not their concern)

this fine apparently

but a 21 year old girl struggling with fertility issues for 4 years and deciding at 25 to give up for her own physical and mental wellbeing is a monstrosity

middle aged sabrina (the embodiment of uwu feminist uwu on threads who hates kids and doesn't want to adopt anyway) can judge and laugh at a young woman and call her one of the reasons why orphans become "delinquents" (thanks for assuming that orphans become delinquents by default)

fk this shit

you can judge marilu for being out of touch with reality or selfish or bratty or whatever

but her body and women's bodies in general are none of your business even if you are a woman yourself

[currentlyfckingurmom]

Her Song part 4

"Do you think I should've kept her home from school?" I nervously ask Ash as we're seated behind the cafe counter, waiting for any customers.

"No, Y/N. The kid had a migraine, not an aneurysm. She felt fine last night and this morning, right?"

"Yeah."

"Well, there you go. You can't protect her from everything. Just relax and enjoy Blondie singing about being 22 and getting hammered," Ash concludes.

"The song means so much more than that, you know. I thought I taught you better than this," I scold her.

"I know, but that's not the point. When's the last time you even went out?"

"I 'went out' plenty when I was dancing in a thong to afford the mountain of bills that comes with a newborn baby," I remind her bitterly.

"Right, sorry. But, c'mon, it can be fun if you're with the right people. Or person. As in a single woman, maybe blonde...British..." she trails off with a suggestive smirk.

"Stop. Literally stop, Ash. You're freakin' weird. I've met her like twice. Besides, she's like a totally amazing, famous actress and I'm...well, I'm me."

"Shut the fuck up. Stop acting like you aren't amazing," she snaps.

"I'm twenty-one and I have a kid, Ash. Not many people are gonna wanna take that on. Especially not people my age."

"So go for a MILF. Simple. Hey, maybe the Brit will introduce you to Scarlett Johansson," she suggests with a proud smile as if she just unmasked Jack the Ripper and provided a solution to everything.

"Oh god. Please stop."

"Never. You need to have some fun."

"According to my hometown, I've already have plenty of fun," I joke.

"That's not funny, Y/N. Those fuckers are dumb for ever believing him over you," Ash states seriously.

Whatever smart remark I was about to make was cut off by the door opening, and in walked the very woman that had plagued my mind ever since she walked in that rainy day. She quickly catches my eye and begins to walk toward us with a sweet, handsomely crooked smile.

"Good morning, Florence. How are you today?" I greet her.

"I'm doing well. How are you?"

"Oh, she's doing a lot better now," Ash butts in from beside me. I deliver a swift kick to her lower leg in retaliation and confusion blossoms across Florence's face at Ash's wince.

"Sorry, she's, um, I'm- tea?" I stammer, feeling my face heat up to my ears.

Laughing, she nods and says, "Yes, please. That would be lovely."

"For here?" I ask, to which she nods. "Coming right up, then."

I work silently, ducking my head to avoid eye contact as Ash and Florence make small talk. I hear Florence ask, "You all seem pretty young to be working here alone. Is this shop locally owned?"

"Um yeah, actually, I own it," I interject timidly.

"Oh, no way! That's so cool! How old are you lot, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Ash and I are both 21, and David is 24," I tell her as I set her tea down in front of her.

"That's amazing. There aren't enough young entrepreneurs in the world. I mean, everybody just thinks they have to take this set-in-stone path and I love how our generation just decided that societal norms needed a change-up," she gushes adorably.

"I couldn't agree more," I chuckle. "Do you work around here?"

"I live in apartment a few blocks up the road and I work a few blocks further down. Which is why I'm always walking by and stopping in. I promise I'm not a stalker or anything."

"Hm, are you sure you're not a stalker? I could totally see you being a stalker. Maybe even add a sprinkle of psychopathy in the mix," I tease with faux seriousness.

"Oh, is that what you think of me?" she kids with a smirk.

"Wow, I'm really starting to feel like a third wheel. Bosslady, if you're gonna keep flirting, can I take my break?" Ash interjects.

Just like that, the vibrant blush returns to my cheeks. "Sure, go ahead."

She wiggles her eyebrows at me as she makes her escape, and I'm very tempted to throw a bag of coffee grounds at her head.

Florence's phone dings and she checks the message before saying, "That's my work. I've got to go. Thank you for the tea, Y/N."

"Anytime, Florence."

She stands up and just before she reaches the door, I get the feeling that I forgot something. "Hey, wait!" I call. "Have you listened to Red (Taylor's Version)? It just dropped," I ask, gesturing to the speakers currently playing "Holy Ground" in the shop.

"Yes, I have. One of my friends is obsessed with Taylor Swift," she replies, laughing.

"Oh, well, have you heard "Enchanted" off of Speak Now?"

"No, I don't believe I have."

"Well, uh, I think you should. Listen to it, I mean. I really like it," I tell her as I fiddle with the corner of a napkin. And I was enchanted to meet you, I think to myself.

"I will definitely give it a listen. I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N."

"See you tomorrow, Florence," I say as she leaves the shop. "Wait, tomorrow? Does that mean she's coming back tomorrow?" I ask myself out loud.

"Yes, you clueless idiot," Ash says as she emerges from the backroom, scaring the shit out of me.

Recovering from my mini heart attack, I glare at her. "People really need to stop scaring me like that. At this rate, my heart's not gonna make it to 25."

"Then stop being such an easy target."

"You're very annoying today, Ashlynn."

"Mhm, sure, whatever. That whole situation with Florence, by the way, kinda gay. Just sayin'."

"Don't you have some jackass of a dude to call or something?"

"Jeez, no need for the attitude."

[laslow]

deep dive character sheet

stolen from: ree + all of toa! tagging: the lovely lass reading this, of course!

NAME: Laslow

BODY

height: 170.18 cm / 5'7

strength ★★★☆☆ (he's lean instead of built yfm)

dexterity ★★★★★ (a dancer after all!!)

health ★★★☆☆ (i like to think he's more susceptible to things like allergies/colds bc of growing up in a literal wasteland rip)

energy ★★★★☆ (fluctuates depending on circumstances like if he's gotten enough sleep/if he's sick)

beauty ★★★★★ (i mean look at him bro roguish good looks isn't just a line and no i'm not biased on this at allllll)

style ★★★☆☆ (he tries!)

hygiene ★★★★★ 

SKILLS

perception ★★★★☆ (he's not half as stupid as he appears, especially when the situation calls for it. he knows when to shut up and be serious.)

communication ★★★★☆ (heart on his sleeve and all that)

persuasion ★★☆☆☆ (technically two and a half stars bc while he can't get beyond a first date, he does get one and he can generally coax a smile out of those he's close to)

mediation ★★★☆☆ (he tries he really really does but sometimes the nonchalant attitude has the opposite effect)

literacy ★★★☆☆ (def not a regular at the library but he'll occasionally stop by. also, he does enjoy reading about both famous dancers + swordmasters)

creativity ★★★★★

cooking ★☆☆☆☆ (dirt soup a la inigo, anyone?)

tech savvy ★★☆☆☆ (he can learn but it's a huge learning curve)

combat ★★★★☆ (explained this before once but basically: incredibly talented swordsman made even more so after his arrival in Fatesland. The magic wore off once he left but his base talent remained.)

survival ★★★☆☆

stealth ★★★☆☆ (moves lightly on his feet in general but can be stealthy when needed)

street smarts ★★★★☆ (he's managed to keep his pretty face intact so far!)

seduction ★★★☆☆ (HE SUCCEEDS OCCASIONALLY [thank u for the quote Sain] plus Laslow does get a paired ending)

luck ★★★★☆ (now I'm no stat expert but his base luck at the start of Fates is 14 and can grow up to 60%. Plus, he relies on a healthy amount of luck to get him out of dates gone awry.)

handling animals ★★★☆☆ (dogs are his favorite animal of all time ever)

pacifying children ★★★★★ (my personal hc is that inigo/laslow always wanted a little sibling so he therefore has a soft spot for kids and is a pro at making them giggle)

MIND

intelligence ★★★☆☆ (again, not as stupid as he has everyone believe and his emotional intelligence grows the older he gets)

happiness ★★★☆☆ (docking off one star because he does canonically fall into depressive episodes when he gets rejected + there's the whole childhood trauma thing oops)

spirituality ★★☆☆☆ (he believes in Lady Fate more than Naga or even Nohr's Dusk Dragon; having met both of them, he's not the biggest fan of either tbqh)

confidence ★★★★★ (full 5 stars for what he projects but like a three for how he actually feels)

humor ★★★★★ (does not matter if they are laughing at him or with him--point is they are laughing)

anxiety ★★★☆☆(gets better as he's older but it never fully goes away)

patience ★★★☆☆

passion ★★★★★ (one of his crit lines is literally "i'm a man of passion!")

nice         ☆★☆☆☆ mean (only truly sarcastic to owain. sorry pal. fully capable of being a snide little jerk but that's VERY rare)

brave       ☆★☆☆☆ cowardly (has to fight against his fear quite a lot but he will always say he's brave first and foremost)

pacifist   ☆☆☆★☆ violent (i have mANY thoughts about this but shall leave this here for now)

thoughtful ☆☆★☆☆ impulsive (finds a good middle ground at the ripe old age of 22)

agreeable ☆☆★☆☆ contrary (depends on the situation really!)

idealistic   ★☆☆☆☆ pragmatic (head full of rainbows and sunshine etc etc)

frugal        ☆☆☆☆★ big spender (lazzy needs money saving courses fr)

extrovert   ☆☆★☆☆ introvert (i say ambivert solely because he does require time to recharge. [read: sneaking off to go dance])

collected   ☆☆☆★☆ wild (i lean more towards wild because he does like going to a tavern/enjoying a good party but he's not boisterous by any means)

ambitious / possessive / stubborn / jealous / decisive / perfectionist

SOCIAL

charisma ★★★★★ (he wormed his way into his friends [and eventual beloved's] heart SOMEHOW)

empathy ★★★★☆ (another one of those things that grows with age)

generosity ★★★★☆ (when it really comes down to it, if you needed the shirt off his back, he'd hand it over)

wealth ★☆☆☆☆ (if he'd stop buying tea and flowers and trinkets and sweets all the time--)

honest  ☆☆★☆☆ deceptive (he had to be deceptive during his days in Nohr though he leans towards honesty)

leader   ☆☆☆★☆ follower (followed lucina's orders without question and became a retainer in Nohr. Now, how well he listens to some orders....)

polite    ☆☆★☆☆  rude (errs towards manners but he's fairly casual in how he refers to others due to how he grew up)

political ☆☆☆★☆ indifferent (he has a pretty good sense of right and wrong and isn't afraid to stand up to those who are wrong. doesn't matter his own political beliefs [and politicking in general gives him a headache.])

BELIEFS

higher power ★★☆☆☆ (same as spirituality above!)

fate/destiny ★★★★★ (Lady Fate this, Lady Fate that, listened to ex-girlfriend constantly saying "I challenge my fate!" So Fate is something he believes in wholeheartedly, as well as it being something you can change.)

magic ★★★★★ (he has no talent for it but he works alongside it constantly)

soulmates ★★★★★ (yeah.)

good and evil ★★★★☆ (i'd say without a doubt but he does have a conversation with Owain about the merits of killing others without stopping to think about it once in awhile.)

luck ★★★★☆ (again, see above)

PRIORITIES

family ★★★★★ (either blood related or found, he knows he would not survive one day without them)

friends ★★★★★ (again, he'd never survive a day without them)

love ★★★★★ (his entire reason for living)

home ★★★☆☆ (he broke time to fight for some version of his home to exist; he has accepted the home he knew no longer exists)

health ★★★☆☆ (takes care of himself best he can! will run into the rain/snow without enough warm clothing if given the chance. idiot.)

praise ★★★★★ (the validation eases his anxiety)

justice ★★★★☆ (docking off one star because he was a mercenary upon going back in time to a non-apocalyptic Ylisse. Having money for food meant more than always being just though he did have lines he would not cross.)

truth ★★★☆☆ (again, will lie for necessity or intentionally be vague but prefers the truth)

power ★☆☆☆☆ (physically he likes being strong but in terms of holding power he holds no desire)

fame ★★★☆☆ ("I won't rest until every woman in the realm swoons upon hearing my name!" [i'm paraphrasing there but. again. idiot.])

wealth ★★☆☆☆ (he's used to not owning much at ALL though he would absolutely want to provide for his family.)

others' opinions ★★☆☆☆ (his friends have no qualms telling him exactly how himself he is and he's fairly self aware but really he wants to make others happy and if his antics provide that, then so be it.)

[i-might-die-today]

No one will ever see this probably apart from you...

But since the past few days all i feel is an empty void inside me, like i am a shell of a person i once was, like a cheap replacement when the original stopped working, like a mockery of my old self..

I am achieving nothing. Frankly, i am going to be 22 soon and i have absolutely no achievements to show.. i have accomplished nothing during these two decades everything and anything i have can be credited to the charity of my parents and peers.

The past and the future push my consciousness with so much pressure that there's no space left for the present.

I am lucky enough to have found love. She's all i can ask for and more, but i am too superficial and shallow for her. She will make someone very happy someday.. Hopefully she realises that, i am a mistake, soon. She just needs some love.

Life seems hopeless and bleek. I am going to fail again this year.. and i won't even have an excuse this time, maybe i have been running from the truth and should realise now that, i am not special and i am not intelligent and definitely not talented.

In this stillness, in the bottomless pit of my failures, I have found myself alone.

And this loneliness is what's killing me.

Every day is a repetitive cycle, sending a good morning text and then being enveloped by silence. I lay in bed, consumed by thoughts of what life is going to be and what it could have been. I've fallen back into my bad habits, allowing myself to waste entire days for no reason at all. No sense of purpose or time. Not working at all even if i make it as easy as possible for me to start. Not taking care. Not eating. Not sleeping.

I feel full of hatred. Towards those i consider friends, towards the system, and towards life in general but mostly towards myself. I cannot stand being myself.

I don't want to die a nobody but i wouldn't mind dying today.

More often when we feel like 'we want to die', its a way of saying that we are tired and frustrated at the way life events have been unfolding recently. Its more of, as saying, i want my current circumstances to change, i hope i am dealt a better pair of cards tomorrow, because even in wishing to die, we just seek an escape, we don't wish for life to stop, we just wish for it to change..

I have no choice but to keep going. Even if it means another repetitive cycle of misery and mistakes, i have to accomplish something and i cannot stop.

And maybe, if i walk far enough, I'll find my escape.. from this nothingness to another.

Today, i wish to live

[ohsonowyouwantahazel]

welcome to the family madrigal!

"i think your gift is being in denial" DJDBDJFN shut up OMFG

2. if my power was shapeshifting i would literally do the same thing as camilo

3. mirabel miracle woah

4. "married in a hurricane" the songs are genuinely magnificent & i will give credit where it's due even if lin manuel miranda is stinky

5. bruno fixing the cracks from behind the literal walls the metaphors oh god because he's the burnt out prodigy but no one listens to him because his prophecy (pattern recognition) isn't the happy stuff

6. mirabel "causing" the cracks because she leads the family to be weak & let them be vulnerable oh

7. bro bruno is the funniest and CUTIEST PATOOTIEST hush

8. at the isabela solo, is it just me or is mirabel a little annoying? rhdhhff like i understand how much she finds isabela irritating and is so really um? hurt & insecure but something about her mannerisms is kinda off? it's more of an animation problem than mirabel herself (it's the disney quirky girl problem)

9. oh

10. tearing down the old house before you start afresh. oh you have to move on breakdown what was built w pain and pressure if you want to start again oh oh.

11. abuela being an ass but also having her reasons and growing out of it (after destruction ofc and after everything going to shit) is really respectfully done with more than needed humanity and that's just oh man. oh. abuela didn't have anyone to lean on and when she did she didn't remember she could. oh :(

12. oh it's about... settler colonialism survival. oh. how colonialism causes generational trauma by ruining lives and oh god what the fuck

13. disney trying to stop this film and then trying to capitalize on it is so fucking sick i swear

14. the climax is uh a little rushed but I think it's supposed to be symbolic of how if someone heard out abuela & abuela is given a chance to be vulnerable and honest, then the pain can be fixed a little TOGETHER.

15. ohana! ohana means family! it means no one should be left behind!

16. but...... hfhdhfhff..... the way idk abuela should have apologized more >:( but realistic family ig?

17. camilo: not if we don't have house 😑

18. bruno & camilo are comedy gold. luisa may i please serve YOU ma'am you have served ENOUGH! dolores is such a cutie patootie muah muah

19. yk what the whole their gift defines them thing reminds me of? white capitalist culture where you have to bank on your "skill" and it is very, very resident to the foundation of settler colonialism culture because yk capitalising on resources or skills. so when the family learns to not be so tight it literally means they are going back to their routes. woah.

20. BRO I AM GOING TO SOB. THE WHOLE VILLAGE COMES TO HELP THEM BECAUSE THEY HAVE BEEN HELPING THE VILLAGE FOR SO LONG? OH THIS IS SO OH. OH. WE LIVE TOGETHER WE ARE FAMILY WE ARE A CULTURE OH. OH MY GOD. I AM SOBBING?

21. they. they make the doorknob for her because mirabel madrigal the m is for her but the family but her bc she's family im fuck im crying they love her so much and they care about her and it's not just because they got her help but because they finally all broke down their own walls and they could see each other because mirabel saw them you know? oh they love her and my god luisa is so pretty but oh my god im crying

22. you know how she didn't get a door but then at the end she gets the whole house oh 😭😭😭😭

23. i literally love spanish songs omg

24. OMG THAT LIL DETAIL OF LUISA GETTING TO REST

25. THEIR FAMILY PORTRAIT IS SO REALISTIC DJBDHDHF ADORABLE

26. ALSO!!!! MADRIGAL IS A FORM OF SINGING IN WHICH PEOPLE JOIN AFTER EACH VERSE (note to self: learn what it actually means) IT IS SO CLEVER

[luchives]

Twenty-Two

📎: Oikawa Tooru x gn!reader

📎: Timeskip, fluff, 628 words

📎: warnings; none

6:16 a.m.

Though you would never admit it, he always looked stunning in the morning; his usually perfectly-styled hair being all over the place, the “beautifully-toned” muscles he loves to brag about basking in warm early morning sunlight seeping through your windows, and occasional drooling— a sight reserved only for you to see.

“Good Morning, Grandpa” watching as his eyes flutter open, you try to hold back a laugh when he looks at you offended.

“Excuse me?? What happened to ‘Good morning Tooru, my beautiful youthful boyfriend’ ??” God knows only you can make him that energized ballistic at six in the morning.

“Well you are officially a year older today but apparently not old enough to not be mistaken for a minor in Argentinian clubs”

“IT WAS ONE TIME!” He argues, pulling you back to bed and *attempt* to tickle an apology out of you.

———

July 20, 2000

Age: 6

“I’m only giving you this because my mom told me to” you say, clearly annoyed at the tiny brunette.

“Well, I’M only saying sorry because my mom said little kids like you are dramatic and I need to be a bigger person” he still smugly accepts the gift, but not before giving you a look that he probably considered threatening.

“You’re the one who drew aliens on my pretty paper!”

“The decoration wasn’t pretty! And it’s my birthday so you have to be nice to me>:(“

“Whatever, nerd” you whisper under your breath, though he still heard of course.

“You’re just mad because nobody likes you for that one time you told the teacher we were selling candy at the back of the classroom” he retorted

And someway, somehow, believe it or not; that was the start of your friendship.

———

July 20, 2022

10:24 p.m.

It had already been a few hours after you had dinner; lovely restaurant, great food, and your ever-extravagant boyfriend to top it all off; but what kind of romantic date with it be without the walk through the park under a sea full of stars?

“You’re welcome by the way” you whisper to him as you walked through the paved path.

“For what?” He asked, looking at you with a disgusting lovestruck grin— like always.

“For staying with your pathetic ass for 22 years and what was it, like- 5 ex-girlfriends??” It can be so difficult pining for this man istg

“It was two! And stop mentioning that like you didn’t steal my first kiss in middle school” He pouts; yeah sure as if that’ll win ya’ over (it does).

“And if it’s not too much trouble..” stopping in his tracks, he pulls you closer by the waist before continuing “There’s one more gift I want to ask of you”

“Hmm, I am feeling a little generous today; what is it you wish for, oh great king Tooru?” You ask jokingly, pulling away from his grasp to let out a few giggles.

Contrary to popular belief; Oikawa Tooru was not a materialistic person, he’s a hopeless romantic with a weirdly inspiring volleyball obsession— plus he is already pretty wealthy so there isn’t really anything you could give him that he couldn’t already get for himself.

You kept pondering on what he could possibly want from you, not even noticing him taking out something that seemed to be a small velvet box from his coat and getting down on one knee…

Wait.

“Tooru...”

“Darling, I’m so sorry for making you wait twenty-two years for this but I could exactly ask you in 3rd grade so I’m just going to do it now; Y/n, will you marry me?”

Okay so maybe there was one thing you could offer him— your heart, if you haven’t already after all these years.

[phoenixyfriend]

OKAY so on the topic of Star Wars takes wrt “character ends up in an A/B/O universe where they’re an omega, but they were previously a cis male in their canon”

@atagotiak and I had some Thoughts on discord

So, obviously, Anakin would make a good omega and he’s also incredibly murdery. Foregone conclusion that we're using him for this.

There is no preexisting Anakin in the Omegaverse. He shows up JUST as the war is starting. Canon timeline is in the third year of the war (he’s 22), but whatever dumped him into omegaverse also tossed him back a few years. No de-aging, just a bit of mismatched timeline stuff.

He's... really good at war, and clearly a Jedi, so the Temple just kind of goes "WELL OKAY THEN, SURE, YOU'RE IN, EVERYONE PRETEND HE'S BEEN HERE THE WHOLE TIME." The Jedi, by and large, don't care about omegaverse dynamics beyond 'what do you need, medically, to be happy and healthy' and 'what do you need to be aware of so you can be prepared for biases you encounter in the field?’

None of the civilian natborns (mainly politicians) want to put him on the field because of those biases. Anakin, being Anakin, is VERY blatantly an omega in scent, has never been on suppressants (because it wasn't a thing he fucking NEEDED), is incredibly emotional as a person, loves kids, etc.

Like, nobody wants an omega fighting a war anyway, but THIS one is like PINNACLE omega, and those awful Jedi are making him FIGHT just because he's good at stab!

The Jedi: Actually, it's because he's got several years of war experience that we don't, and he's a good tactician that works well with the clones-- Coruscant: You MONSTERS The Jedi: Look, we gave him the option to not stab and he looked absolutely devastated. Anakin, several days earlier: You don’t want me? I’m not good enough??? Jedi: Also he can beat up at least half the temple.

He doesn't know a damn thing about dynamics, but he DOES know that sometimes he's so horny he wants to stab HARDER. The clones are largely disinterested in their generals' dynamics because between mostly-Mando* trainers and no-dynamic Kaminoans, they only really care if a person can shoot.

* Mandalore approves of Fighty Omegas. As far as (traditional) Mandalore is concerned, you want an omega that will kill the threats to your children as well as you do.

Anakin: You know more about being an omega than I do. Rex: ...I'm an alpha. Anakin: Yeah. Let that one sink in a bit.

We have two options for Obi-Wan!

Omegaverse local Obi-Wan (beta) has never met this man before, and is very unnerved that the immediate default reaction Anakin has to his presence is releasing Family pheromones as if Obi-Wan is his DAD and like. This strange, too-tall man from another dimension has got absolutely NO control over what he projects in the Force OR in his dynamic.

Obi-Wan was ALSO transplanted from canon to omegaverse, and is also an omega, for contrast reasons. He is nice and friendly and and likes poetry and that sort of thing... but also he has the highest dismemberment count in the movies. Also he doesn’t prioritize romance.

We went with the second one because it's hilarious.

Someone watching them spar: Wow, omegas from that universe are terrifying.

As previously mentioned, now with some tweaking to account for both: Obi-Wan and Anakin just straight up don't exist until they drop headfirst into the council room, already covered in blood. (It's mostly not theirs.)

Nobody realizes either one is an omega until they "naturalize" to this dimension and Anakin goes into heat... and doesn't realize it, actually, because his primary symptom is heightened protectiveness and aggression. Everyone else with the right nose realizes, because the man has no control over his pheromone production, but Anakin? No. He just stabs. He’s angry and horny and he will cut someone.

Ahsoka has no reaction to human pheromones but basically everyone smells Anakin's "my child!" reaction to her, so... Cool. Have a padawan, we guess.

Anakin ends up sparring a lot with Aayla and Ahsoka, because only humans and near humans have dynamics, so these two don't REACT to the pheromones situation.

(Palpatine is a Kindly Old Beta who tries to treat Anakin the way he EXPECTS Anakin wants to be treated, which is. Not. Accurate.)

(Anakin hates it.)

I'm just so in love with "An omega can't fight." "You wanna fuckin' bet?"

There are plenty of omega Jedi, by the way, it's just... most of them can keep it relatively low-key instead of Anakin's jet-engine broadcast. Some, if they're known to be omega, probably take advantage of being underestimated, like Obi-Wan probably (and especially a version of Obi-Wan that was always an omega, unlike this version). They have a very different way of presenting themselves than Anakin, who's not subtle about being an omega and also not subtle about being all aggressive and stabby.

At one point, Anakin has to protect some Very Traditional Individuals who get all "Stay back, Omega, it's not safe!" and he's just... so tired of this shit. “You are squishy civilians and I'm a trained Jedi Knight and accomplished GAR General who's killed more people in one sitting than there are in this entire palace. Sit the fuck down and let me do my job.”

It starts making the rounds that Anakin insisted on fighting in person, and the rumors shift from "how dare the Jedi force an omega to fight" and over into things that are deeply hurtful in-universe in the vein of "broken omega" and some people try to say it to his face but like...

He didn't grow up here.

He doesn't care.

Say that to one of his friends and he's going to rip out your spleen, probably, but say it to him and he's just staring at you flatly and asking if that's a negative on getting away from the encroaching battle droids, sir?

"You're rather unpleasant for an omega, aren't you?" [deeply offensive] "I literally could not give less of a fuck about your opinion. Move."

It's not that there aren't omegas that act like Anakin, either, it's just that most of them aren't, you know, Jedi who regularly interact with the upper crust, or capable of his level of destruction. Unbeknownst to Anakin, everyone clocks him as Outer Rim based on his behavior, well before his accent gives him away, and certainly before he mentions he's from Tatooine, because Core Omegas Don't Act Like That.

Someone they meet in a more diplomatic setting says something decently passive-aggressive about how at least Obi-Wan acts more like how an Omega should. Then a battle breaks out for some reason, and... well. Anakin and Obi-Wan cause such a scandal by keeping score of kills in a battle, don’t you know?

Turns out sending Anakin to fight Ventress is great because she keeps expecting him to react a certain way but NO he's here to STAB.

I like the idea that Obi-Wan's favorite opponent these days is Grievous because the cyborg doesn't have a nose, and thus gives zero fucks about dynamics or heats. Dooku is a rich old man who has opinions heavily influenced by Sith Juice Making Him More of a Dick, and the Dathomiri can smell dynamics even if they don't have them, and so they have biases about those things. Meanwhile, Grievous is just there to Kill, and Obi-Wan genuinely appreciates the lack of commentary on his dynamic.

Dooku’s probably an alpha, or a beta who's used the whole "we are more level-headed" thing as one of several angles to keep himself the public face and supreme commander of the CIS.

On to more fluffy things that have less to do with political biases.

There's a lot of "I'm upset that my loved ones don't know me," but also please understand the appeal of Obi-Wan marching up to Quinlan like "Yes, hello, I understand you've been read in on the full situation behind myself and my former padawan. I was close friends with your alternate universe self, which I feel is necessary disclosure before I propose the following: Would you like to join me for my upcoming heat, as I have minimal experience with the dynamics situation and even fewer people I actually trust, and I believe I can put my faith in you to treat it as casually as necessary while still having control and respect for my person."

(The Team is in a fairly safe place to process stuff, but having sudden unexpected changes to your biology has gotta be a little traumatizing, on top of ending up in a universe where none of your friends know you and people have a whole host of unfamiliar forms of sexism to point at you.)

Obi-Wan, who wasn't quite touch-averse but was much more easily overwhelmed by physical contact than Anakin (who craved it), suddenly finds his body switching gears and insisting on cuddles with Trusted Loved Ones, which is.... mostly Anakin, on account of nobody else really knowing him yet. Also Ahsoka, who is aware that she's something of a replacement for her alt-universe self, but Anakin explained it as "I love you so much no matter which dimension I'm in or what you're like, and I'd like to get to know you the way I got know her."

(It's rather eloquent for Anakin. He got Obi-Wan to help him draft up the script for when he pitched taking on omegaverse Ahsoka as a padawan.)

Anakin gets a more intensely sexual heat than 'usual' at one point for Reasons (IDK it could be as innocuous as 'we got better food than the usual rations and my body is reacting to the higher fat content with the belief that it's safer to have a baby now'), which nobody takes a whole lot of notice of because they're in a WAR, and also this is only his fourth one so it's not like he's got a lot to compare it to... except then the predominantly alpha clones can't stop themselves from reacting to the pheromones, mostly by wandering past his door and asking if he needs anything, offering up alpha-scented blankets and stuff for the nest to soothe the hormones, bringing snacks and electrolyte drinks, and like, Anakin is flattered, really, but fuck off please.

(He got a warning from medical a few hours before it hit that it would be different, so he actually does have alpha-scented fabrics to help him out. Apparently that's a thing you can just ask friends for, so he asked Rex if he had anything on hand that he could spare. He now has one of Rex’s recently-used sheets and a bodyglove in the nest.)

(Anakin has no idea how to feel about the nesting instinct, but at least it’s warm.)

Tia asked "Oh hey, who has the scared and horny reaction to his carnage?" and like.

Listen. I'm not saying I've been low-key imagining this as Rex being a very subby alpha who's really into Anakin's whole Thing but...

At one point Anakin gets injured in a way that requires painkillers and he ends up whining to the point of almost crying about the fact that nobody is cuddling him right now in medbay and Kix just gives up and comms Ahsoka to come hug her weird older brother.

And Then There Is Purring.

That’s a Thing Now.

Rex ends up in the pile somehow. He came over to check on Things and ended up yanked in by half-asleep, half-high Anakin, who has a grip like an octopus and no impulse control and is purring like a pod motor while NUZZLING HIM.

There’s a lot of blackmail photos featuring Rex’s very intense blush as he’s cuddled by his commander (giggling at him) and general (clinging like a tooka and rubbing himself all over).

Anakin is deeply offended that ANYONE thinks he'd want to get pregnant by just any old person, NO he needs to fall in LOVE there needs to be EMOTIONAL DRAMA and if Padme won't have him (apparently she's in a relationship and no he's not BITTER) then he'll find someone else to have a whirlwind romance with!

People think Anakin's a slut because he can't control his pheromone production (he has NO practice and for health reasons he can't go on suppressants) so he always smells open and ready for flirtations, which Obi-Wan also has to a somewhat lesser degree (he's older so his body just naturally produces less), and then someone tries to cross a boundary and grabs his ass and ANYWAY Anakin has to now fill out an incident report for breaking a civilian's arm.

Again.

[feanorianethicsdepartment]

Alright, I read your recent post and need to know - what is your interpretation of Maglor’s relationship with the twins?

askjdhslkjag my biggest self-inflicted problem in this fandom is that my take on maglor, elrond, and elros' relationship is so intensely detailed and specific i am forever tormented by none of the fic i read ever quite getting it right (from my perspective; i’ve read plenty of fic that presents a good interpretation on their own terms, it’s just never mine.) it’s simultaneously way darker than the fluffy kidnap dads stuff and nowhere near as black-and-white awful as the anti-fëanorian crowd likes to paint it, it’s messy and complicated and surrounded by darkness, and yet there’s also a sincere connection within it which mostly serves to make all those complications worse. angry teenage elrond is angry for a great many reasons, and the circumstances around him being raised by kinslayers account for at least half of them. there’s lots of complexity here, and i don’t see it in fic nearly as often as i’d like

(warning: the post... feathers? i already have an internet friend called faeiri this could be awkward - anyway, the post she’s talking about includes the line ‘everyone is wrong about kidnap dads except me.’ this post follows on from that in being as much a commentary about why various popular interpretations of both how the kidnapdoption went and the way people subsequently characterise the twins just don’t work for me as it is a setting out of my own ideas. i’m not really interested in getting into discourse here, i’m just trying to get my thoughts down. i’ve read fic with these interpretations before that i’ve liked, even, don’t take this as a Condemnation, aight? also this turned out long as hell, so i’m putting it under a cut)

i can never buy entirely fluffy depictions of kidnap dads

which isn’t to say i don’t read them! sometimes all i want is something sweet, for these kids to get to be happy for once. it’s not like i think their time with the fëanorians was completely devoid of laughter

it’s just. the pet names, the special days out, the home-cooked meals, it can get so treacly it stops feeling like the characters they are in the situation they’re in and turns into Generic Found Family #272

it soaks out all the complexity - which is the thing i am here for - and acts like oh, these kids were never in any danger, they were perfectly happy being abducted by the people who murdered everyone they knew, there’s nothing possibly questionable about this relationship at all

and... yeah. that’s not the characters i know. that’s not the context i know they belong to

i just can’t forget the circumstances that led them to meet

rivers of blood, the air filled with screams, a town ablaze, a woman choosing to die. every interaction the three of them have is going to proceed from that nightmare

(sidenote: i tend to hold it was maglor that raised the twins, with maedhros looming ominously in the background not really getting involved. it’s mostly personal preference, i’ve been in and out of the fandom since before this kidnap dads thing blew up and when i joined that was a perfectly standard reading)

(also the cave thing was a dumb idea, old man, if only because it implies beleriand had streams safe enough for children to play in at that point. the way it separates the twins from the third kinslaying is also something i don’t particularly vibe with)

probably my least favourite angle i’ve seen on the situation (edged out only by ‘maglor was actively abusive towards the twins’ which no no no no no no no no NO) is the idea that maglor (and/or maedhros, append as necessary) took the twins specifically to raise them

like, i get where it’s coming from, but it makes maglor come off as really creepy

(i have read fics where it is indeed played off as really creepy, but that’s not a maglor i have any interest in reading about)

(’mags 100% bad’ is just as facile a take to me as ‘mags 100% good’)

even if you’re saying maglor took them in because they had no one left to take care of them - i highly doubt they were the only children the fëanorians orphaned at sirion. idk, it always makes maglor seem much less sympathetic than i think it’s meant to

i prefer to think of it as more... organic? something that evolved, not something that was preordained. them growing closer gradually, the twins finding an adult who might maybe be on their side, maglor becoming invested in them almost by accident

and then the twins are so comfortable with the second scariest monster in amon ereb they frequently sass him off and maglor’s gotten so used to not hurting them he’s not even thinking about it any more. no one’s quite sure how it happened, but they’ve made a Connection

‘wait aren’t they a murderous warlord of questionable mental stability and a pair of terrified small children who’ve lost everyone they ever knew? isn’t that kinda fucked up?’ yup! that’s the point! complexity!

another idea i don’t like is the idea that maglor was an objectively better parent to the twins than eärendil or elwing

other people have talked about this already, i won’t rehash the whole thing. i will say that while i don’t think elwing was a perfect parent - someone so young, in such a horrible situation, i wouldn’t blame her for screwing up - i do think she (and eärendil) did the best by them they possibly could

this is one of the few things they have in common with maglor

something i come across now and again is the idea that sure, elwing and eärendil weren’t abusive or horrible or anything, but they were a couple of basically-teenagers with so many other responsibilities, there was only so much they could do. maglor, on the other hand, is an experienced adult who could take much better care of the twins

and...

first off, it’s not like mags doesn’t have a job. he’s a warlord, he has a fortress to help run, military shit to handle, lots of other stuff that needs to get done to stop everyone from starving or getting eaten by orcs. i feel like sirion had enough of a government there was plenty of opportunity for elwing to take days off and play with her kids, but in the fëanorian camp nobody really has the time to chase after a couple of toddlers, least of all one of the last points on the command network. they just don’t have the people any more

(seriously, the twins getting a formal education with tutors and classes and shit is a weirdly specific pet peeve of mine. this is a band of renegades, not a royal household; if there’s anyone left with those kinds of skills they almost certainly have more important things to do)

more than that, though - well, a quick glance through my late stage fëanorians tag should tell you a lot about what i think maglor’s mental state is like at this point. he is so accustomed to violence death means nothing to him, he’s lost most of his capacity for genuinely positive emotion to an endless century of defeat and despair, he hates everything in the universe, especially himself, he’s only able to keep functioning through a truly astounding amount of denial, and he covers it all up with a layer of snark and feigned apathy, which he defends aggressively because he’s subconsciously realised that if it breaks he’ll have absolutely nothing left

(maedhros, for the record, is... i’d say more stable, but at a lower point. maglor may interact with the world mostly through cold stares and mocking laughter, but at least his mind is firmly rooted in the present)

(on the other hand, at least maedhros lets himself be aware of what they are and where their road will lead)

which... this doesn’t mean maglor doesn’t try to be kind to the twins, or rein in his worst impulses around them

there’s just so little of him left but the weapon

he stalks through the halls like a portent of death and gets into hours-long screaming matches with maedhros and has definitely killed people in front of the twins

not even as, like, a deliberate attempt to scare them, but because when you solve most of your problems by stabbing them it’s pretty much a given that people who spend a lot of time around you are going to see you do it at least once

and sometimes, he curls up in an empty hallway, and weeps

... suffice it to say i don’t think elwing’s the more preoccupied, or the less mentally ill, parent here

just. in general, the fëanorians aren’t cackling boogeymen, but they’re not particularly nice either

no one has the energy left for that. not these isolated and weary soldiers at the end of a long losing war and the beginning of the end of the world. they don’t really bother to guard the kids against them escaping. where else are they going to go?

the sheer despair that must have been in the fëanorian camp after sirion, the knowledge that the cause cannot be fulfilled, that they are utterly forsaken, that they’re really just waiting to die -

it can’t have been a happy place to grow up in, under the shadow of loss and grief and deeds unrepentable, and the slow march of inevitable defeat

they would have had a better childhood if they stayed in sirion, raised by people who knew how to hope

but that isn’t the childhood they had. and despite everything i’ve said, i don’t think that childhood was an entirely awful one

yeah, see, this is where the other side of my self-inflicted fandom catch-22 comes in. just as much of the pro-kidnap dads stuff comes off as overly saccharine and simplified to me, i find much of the anti-kidnap dads stuff equally simplistic in the opposite direction

the idea that maglor and the fëanorians never meant anything to elros and elrond, that they had no effect on the people they became at all, that it was just a horrible thing that happened when they were children, easily thrown in the rear-view mirror...

that’s even more impossible to me than the idea that life with the fëanorians was 100% fluffy and nice

like, i’ve seen the take that elros and elrond hated the fëanorians from start to finish. they were perfect little sindarin princes, loyal to their people and the memory of doriath, spurning every scrap of kindness offered to them and knowing just what to say to twist the knife into the kinslayers’ wounds

... dude. they were six. hell, given their peredhelness, mentally they could easily have been younger

what six year old has a firm grasp of their ethnic identity? what six year old is fully aware of their place in history? what six year old would understand the politics that led to their situation?

don’t get me wrong, i can see hatred in there. but something else that doesn’t get acknowledged alongside it often enough is the fear

some of the stuff i’ve read feels like it gives the kids too much power in the situation. they’re perfectly happy to talk back to and belittle the people who burned down their hometown and killed everyone they ever knew, like miniature adults who don’t feel threatened at all

and, like, six. i can see them going for insults as a defensive measure, but it is defensive. it’s covering up fear, not coming from secure disdain

(and a lot of those insults sound, again, like things an adult who’s already familiar with the fëanorians would say, not a scared child who’s lost almost everything. why would a six year old raised by sindar and gondolindrim know what the noldolantë is, let alone what it means to maglor?)

(... i’m just ranting about this one fic that’s been ruffling my feathers for five years straight now, aren’t i)

i mean, i write elrond as the world’s angriest teenager, who snipes at maglor pretty much constantly, but the thing about angry teenage elrond is that he’s angry teenage elrond

he’s spent long enough with the fëanorians he has a pretty secure position within the camp, and he knows that maglor won’t hurt him from a decade and change of maglor not, in fact, hurting him

but as a small and terrified child abducted by the monsters his mother had nightmares about? he fluctuated wildly between ‘randomly guessing at things to say that wouldn’t get him killed’ ‘screaming at maglor to go away in words rarely more complicated than that’ 'desperately trying not to do or say anything in the hopes of not being noticed’ and ‘hiding’

(and i don’t think the twins were never in any danger from the fëanorians, either. quite besides the point that before they started orbiting maglor nobody was really sure what to do with them... well, they wouldn’t be the first children of thingol’s line the minions took revenge on)

(fortunately for them, maglor did, in fact, take them under his wing. by this point even their own followers are shit scared of the last two sons of fëanor, nobody’s going to mess with their stuff and risk getting mauled. tactically, it was a pretty good decision for a couple of toddlers)

more to the point, i feel like a child that young, in a situation that horrible, wouldn’t reject any kindness they were offered, any soothing touch in a universe of terror

in a world full of big scary monsters, the best way to survive is to get the biggest scariest monster possible to protect you. that’s how elros rationalises it when they’re, like, eight, mentally, but at the time they were just latching on to the only person around them who seemed to care about them

that’s how it started, on their end. two very young very scared children lost in a neverending nightmare clinging tightly to the lone outstretched pair of hands

as for maglor...

i’ve called mags evil before, but i see that as more of a... technical term? he is evil because he did the murder, he remains evil because he won’t stop doing the murder. hot take: murder bad

but that doesn’t make him, like, a moustache-twirling saturday morning cartoon villain. he is deeply unhappy with the position he’s in and the person he’s become, and he’s always trying not to take that final step over the edge

it’s not that i can’t see a maglor who is abusive or manipulative or who sees the twins more as objects than people. it’s just that that characterisation is one i am profoundly uninterested in. i do occasionally read fic with it, but it never enters my own headcanons

horrible people can do good things!! kinslayers can do good things!! the fallen are capable of humanity!! people can do both good and evil things at the same time, because people are complicated!! maglor is not psychologically incapable of actually taking pity on these kids!!!!

it’s... again, complexity. the fëanorians straddle the line between black and white, which is a lot less sharp in the legendarium than it’s sometimes characterised as. it’s what draws me to their characters so much, why i have so many stupid headcanons about them. pretending they fall firmly on either side of the line is my real fandom pet peeve

and, like, this moment? this sincere connection between a bloodstained warlord and two children who will grow up to be great and kind in equal measure? i may not entirely like the direction the fandom’s taken it recently, but that beat, that relationship, it still gets me

so no, i don’t think elrond and elros’ years with the fëanorians were an endless cavalcade of abuse and misery. i think there was love there, despite the darkness all around them

an old, tired monster, and the two tiny children it protects

maglor never hurts the twins, not ever, not once. his claws are sharp and his fangs are keen, if he so much as swatted them he’d rip them in half. instead he folds down the razor edges of his being, interacting with them ever so carefully. he has nightmares of suddenly tearing into their skin

seriously, the power differential between them is so great, maglor so much as raising his voice would break any trust they have in this horribly dangerous creature. fics where he does corporal punishment always get the side-eye from me

the mood of their relationship is... i find it hard to put into words. melancholy, maybe, like a sunny afternoon a few days before the end of the world. three people who’ve lost so much finding what respite they can in each other as the world slowly crumbles around them

there are times when it feels like the three of them exist in a world of their own, marked out by the edges of the firelight. maglor telling stories of the stars, elros giving relaxed irreverent commentary, elrond getting a few moments to just be, all their troubles kept at bay

they are the last two lights in a world sunk into darkness, the last two living beings he does not on some level hate. he will tear his own heart out before he sees them in pain

he teaches them to ride, he teaches them to read, he gives them everything he still has left. the twins should never have been in this situation, maglor probably isn’t entirely fit to take care of them, but it is what it is, and they take what love they can

(maglor depends on the twins emotionally a bit more than any adult should rely on any child. he’s still very much the caretaker in their relationship, but that relationship is the only one he has left that’s not stained by a century of rage and grief. he’s obsessed with them, maedhros tells him frequently. maglor’s standard response to this is to try to gouge maedhros’ eyes out)

(that particular darker side to their relationship, where maglor’s attachment to the twins turns into a desperate possessiveness - that’s not something i think i’ve ever seen in fic. which is a shame, it feels much closer to my own characterisation than the standard ways this relationship gets maleficised. darker, in a different way than usual. horribly compelling in its plausibility)

however you want to read it, i don’t think you can deny this is a relationship that defines elrond and elros’ childhood. they were raised in the woods by a pack of kinslayers, the text is quite clear on this

but i’ve seen a lot of talk about how elros and elrond are only sirion’s children. they are completely 100% sindarin, they love and forgive eärendil and elwing thoroughly and without question, they identify with doriath over - even gondolin, let alone tirion. the fëanorians - the people who raised them - had zero effect on the people they grew into and the selves they created

and that, more than anything else, i find utterly unbelievable

look, i get what this is a reaction to. a lot of the kidnap dads stuff paints the fëanorians as elrond and elros’ ‘real’ family, and i’ve already talked about what i think of the idea that maglor-and-possibly-also-maedhros were better parents than eärendil and elwing. i think it’s reductive and overly optimistic and just a little too neat

but to say instead that elrond and elros held no great love in their hearts for maglor, no lingering affinity with the fëanorians, no influence on their identity from the people they grew up around, none at all? that after it happened they just left it behind and resumed being the same people they were in sirion?

that strikes me as just as much an oversimplification. it sands down all the potential rough edges of their identity, all that inconvenient complexity that stops them from fitting into any well-defined box, and replaces it with a nice safe simple self-conception i find just as flat and boring as declaring them 100% fëanorian

we can quibble over who they call ‘father’ (i personally find that whole debate kinda petty) but denying that it was actually maglor who was the closest thing they knew to a parent for most of their childhoods, and that that would, in fact, affect the way they thought of themselves and their family, elides so many interesting possibilities out of existence

(i’m not even going to get into the most braindead take i have ever heard on the subject, namely that because their time with the fëanorians was such a small fraction of elrond’s total lifespan it was like being kidnapped for two weeks as a toddler and had no greater significance than that. do you not understand what childhood is????)

like, i tend to think of elrond as a child as being very loudly not-a-fëanorian. elros is more willing to go with the flow - hey, if the creepy kinslayer wants kids, elros is happy to play into that in order to not be murdered - but elrond is very firm that he’s not happy to be here and he doesn’t belong with them

(this is after they get over their initial terror, of course, when they’ve realised they won’t be fed to the orcs for the tiniest slight. even so, elrond only really gets shirty about it around people he’s comfortable with, whose reactions he can reasonably guess at. naturally, the first person he does it to is maglor)

elros calls maglor their father exactly once, when they’re... maybe early preteens? this is because elrond hears him do it and immediately loses his shit. they have a dad, elrond says, in tears, and a mum, and any day now their real parents are going to come to pick them up and take them home

... right?

it gets harder to believe as the years roll on, as their memories of sirion fade, as they find their own places within the host, as maglor watches over them as they grow. elrond still mentally sets himself apart from the fëanorians, but it’s more of an effort every year. life in the fëanorian camp is the only one he’s ever really known. he can barely remember his mother’s voice

then the war of wrath starts, and the fëanorian host drifts closer to the army of valinor, and the twins come into contact with non-fëanorians for the first time in forever, and it becomes clear just how obviously fëanorian elrond is. he always insisted he wasn’t like the kinslayers at all, but he dresses like them, talks like them, fights like them

the myth cycles the edain tell are almost completely unfamiliar to him, he barely remembers the shape of the songs of lost doriath. even these sarcastic commentary and subversive reinterpretations he made of maglor’s stories - those were still maglor’s stories! he’s been trying to guess at the person he was meant to be, but it’s growing nightmarishly blatant how little elrond ever knew about him

instead, the people he was born to are as alien to him as the orcs of morgoth. he is a fëanorian, through and through

... yeah, elrond (and/or elros) having an absolutely massive identity crisis upon being reintroduced to his quote-unquote ‘true kin’ is another angle i’d love to see in fic that i don’t think i’ve ever come across. all those potential grey areas around who they are and who they’re supposed to be sound utterly fascinating, and i think it’s the complexity i hate to see elided over the most

i really, really doubt they could effortlessly slot back into being eärendil and elwing’s children. not when they’ve been surrounded by, lived alongside, been raised by the people who were supposed to enemies for most of their lives

they just don’t fit into that box any more. they can’t

speaking of eärendil and elwing, while i do agree that they both (especially elwing) get a lot more flak than they deserve, i don’t agree that therefore elrond and elros were never the slightest bit mad at them and fully forgave them for everything with no reservations

because, well, they were left behind. elwing had no other choice, but they were still left behind; it led to the world being saved, but they were still left behind. all the best intentions in the universe don’t erase the weeks and months and years of waiting, of a hope that grew thinner and frailer until it finally quietly broke

that’s a real hurt, and a real grievance. even if the twins rationally understand that their parents were making the best out of their terrible situation, you can’t logic away emotions like that. it’s perfectly possible for them to know they have no reason to resent eärendil or elwing, and yet still harbour that bitterness and pain

(i did write a thing once where elrond loudly rejects eärendil as his father in favour of maglor, but something i didn’t add in that i probably should have is that elrond later regretted doing that)

(not like, several centuries later, when he’d grown old and wise. two hours later, when he’d calmed down. but he was still legitimately angry at eärendil, because the one thing angry teenage elrond was not lacking in was reasons to be mad at the adults around him, and before he could figure out if he had anything less furious to say the hosts of the valar left middle-earth behind)

(it’s another element to the tragedy of the whole thing. in that particular story, which is mostly aiming for maximum pain, the only thing elrond’s birth parents know about their son for thousands of years is that he hates them)

(and he doesn’t, not really. you can’t hate someone you’ve never known)

not that i think they couldn’t ever make up with their parents! fics where elrond and his birth parents work past all the things that lie between them and form a functional familial bond despite it all give me life. i just don’t like the idea that there’s nothing difficult for them to work past

i don’t like the idea that elrond and elros would naturally, effortlessly identify with the mother they last saw when they were six and the people they only vaguely remember. i can see them doing it as a political move, i can see them going for it as a deliberate personal choice, but i can’t seeing it being immediate and automatic and easy

no matter how great a pair of heroes eärendil and elwing are, that doesn’t change the fact that to elrond and elros, they’re at most a few scattered memories and a collection of far-off stories. and so long as the twins stay in middle-earth, they’re never going to draw any closer

compared to the dynamic, multifaceted, personal, and deep bonds they have with the fëanorians - who, and i know i keep saying this but i think it gets tossed aside way more casually than it should, are the people who actually raised them, their birth parents must feel like a distant idea

and that’s why i can never buy interpretations of elrond as 100% sindarin, a pure son of doriath, with no messy grey areas or awkward jagged edges to his identity. given everything we know about his life, it seems almost cartoonishly simplistic

honestly it seems like a narrative a bunch of old doriathrin nobles trying to manouevre elrond into being high king of the sindar or something would propagate. it's neat and nice and tidy, something that’d be much more convenient for everyone if elrond did feel that way

but i just don’t see how he can. this narrative is easy and simple in a way real people never are, it ignores all the forces pulling him apart. elrond being uncomplicatedly sindarin with the life he lives and the people he's close to - that doesn’t make any sense to me

which isn’t to say i think he’s 100% noldorin, from either a gondolindrim or a fëanorian perspective. (i find it a little more believable, given, again, who he grew up around and who he hangs out with, but it’s still a bit too reductive for my tastes.) it’s also not to say i couldn’t believe an elrond who made an active choice to emphasise his sindarin heritage

it’s not how i think of him, but it works. i don’t have a problem with other people interpreting the complexities of the twins’ identities differently

i just have a problem with people acting like it doesn’t exist

in general i think there’s a lot untapped potential that gets left behind when you declare the twins, separately or together, as All One Thing

they’re descended from half the noble houses of beleriand, and they have deep personal ties to most of the rest. they belong to all of the free peoples even the dwarves, somehow, probably and i feel like that was kind of the old man’s point? so many peoples meet in them, to say they wholly belong to any one species is probably an oversimplification

they sit at a crossroads of potential identities, and rather than narrowing down their worldviews to one single path, they take the hard road and choose all of them. that’s what you need to do, if you want to change the world

and, to bring this back to my ostensible topic, in my estimation at least this mélange of possible selves does include them as fëanorians! it’s not overpowering, but it’s certainly there, and the adults they grow into long after they’ve left the host still bear influence from their childhood

nothing super obvious, nothing that wouldn’t stand out if you didn’t know what to look for, but there’s something almost incandescent in how fiercely elros reaches out for his dreams

there’s something almost defiant in elrond’s drive to be as kind as summer

as for who they publically claim as their family... honestly, it depends. while it’s usually more tactically prudent for elros to connect himself to his various human ancestors, on occasion he does find a use for his free in with the elf mafia, and elrond, code switcher par excellence, is famously the son of whoever is most politically convenient at the moment, which is rarely, but not never, maglor

(in the privacy of their own minds, well, eärendil and elwing may have been the parents elros was supposed to have, but maglor was the parent he actually had, and elros doesn’t particularly care to mope over what might have been. elrond, for his part, figures that after all the shit maglor has put him through, the least that bastard owes him is a father)

but honestly? i think before any of their mountain of identities, before thinking of themselves as sindarin or gondolindel or hadorian or haladin or fëanorian or anything, elrond and elros identify as themselves

they are peredhil, they are númenóreans, they are whoever they make themselves to be. that’s how elrond finally resolved his identity, figured out who he was and found something past the pain and the rage

he wasn’t doriathrin, or gondolindrin, or falathrin, or fëanorian, or whatever else. he was elrond, no more and no less

and that person, elrond, could be whatever he chose to be

... elros came to a similar conclusion, with much less sturm und drang that he’s willing to admit. being able to go ‘hey, i can’t possibly be biased towards any one of your cultures, because i’m descended from all of you and i was raised by murderelves’ makes it a lot easier to unite people around your personal banner, turns out

the stories other people tried to force on them shattered into pieces, and the peredhel twins were free to shape themselves into anything they could dream of

and as the new world struggles alive, these lost children of an Age of death begin to bloom into their full glorious selves -

i just. i love the poetry of that. despite every single shadow that hangs over their past, despite all the clashing notes pulling them apart, they harmonise it all into a greater, kinder theme, determined to make their world a better place in whatever way they can

they fail, of course, but so do all things. the inevitable march of entropy doesn’t diminish the long millennia they (and their descendants) held onto the light

and their growing up in the fëanorian host definitely had a huge effect on the noble lords they became. you can see it in elros’ loud ambition to create a land of happiness and hope, elrond’s quiet resolve to heal all the hurts inflicted by this marred reality

it wasn’t a perfect time by any means, but neither was it a nightmare. it was what it was, a desperate existence at the edge of a knife where, nevertheless, they were loved

even after years upon decades upon centuries have passed, it’s hard for the wise king and the honourable sage to separate out and identify all the conflicting emotions swirling around their childhood. they never knew eärendil or elwing, true, but they also never really knew maglor

not as equals, not as adults, not as people who could truly understand him. he disappeared into the fog of history, leaving only childhood memories of razor-sharp, gentle hands

it’s messy and it’s complicated and getting any real closure would be like shoving their way through a thornbush with bare hands even if elrond could find the shithead, and yet at the core of it all, there is light. not the brightest of lights, maybe, but an enduring one

that contrast, above all, that note of warmth amidst the shadows, is what fascinates me so much about their relationship. three screwed up people in a screwed up world, finding a little peace with each other

and the fact that somehow, it does have a good ending - the children grow up magnificent and compassionate and just, they become exemplars of all their peoples, lodestars of the new world born out of the ashes of the old - that makes it seem to me like this relationship must have contained some fragment of happiness

but, fuck, all the darkness that surrounds that love, all the tangled-up emotions its existence necessitates, all the prefabricated self-identities it can never slot into - nothing about it is simple, nothing about it is easy, and i find that utterly enthralling. especially how, despite everything, that flickering light never goes out

well, i don’t think it does, anyway. my take on this relationship is both complicated enough no one else ever quite gets it right and well-defined enough every single ‘error’ in other people’s interpretations sticks out like a kinslayer in rivendell

it is an entirely self-inflicted problem, i will admit. other people are allowed to interpret those complexities differently from me, and it’s entirely my own fault i lack the :waves hands around nebulously: to write my own hypothetical fic on the subject at a pace faster than glacial

still, though. i do wish there was more fic out there that engaged with these complexities. a lot of the common fandom interpretations of this relationship just sweep it all away

[donald4spiderman]

Sweating, And A Lesson On Self-Worth

masterlist

Summary: Spencer finds himself falling for his NAT (new agent training) defensive tactics coach.

Pairing: SR x Fem!Reader *described as petite to give the illusion of assumed vulnerability when IRL she’s a badass— no other specific physical details are mentioned*

Category: Fluff

TW: Mentions of body image, general CM talk, mentions of fighting/grappling/wrestling, small age gap (reader is 28 & reid is 22)

concept inspired by @sierraraeck’s fic “Bad Liar” about Morgan training Spencer. I love wrestling so I wanted to do one about a badass female combat coach/agent.

REBLOG!

-

When Spencer and the rest of the trainees are ushered into the fitness center on their second day at the academy, he almost shits himself. He’s well aware of the physical demands being in the FBI requires, and he’s been dreading the PFT (Physical Fitness Test) since he applied.

There are hundreds of men and women huddled in the middle of the room, anticipating the orientation, and Spencer feels his palms sweat before he’s even started working out. The majority of the trainees are football players, wrestling’s, and weight lifters— he can tell by their muscular build and general atmosphere of strength and confidence.

SSA Jesse Fallon introduces their defensive tactics coach for the next twenty weeks— a petite but athletic woman. She’s dressed in a gray t-shirt and flexible khaki pants— Spencer would be lying if he said she didn’t look gorgeous, even in the bland attire.

“I’m SSA and defensive tactics coach (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” She introduces herself, giving a warm smile to the crowd. “I’ve been an SSA for five years and the head coach of this portion of the academy for two. This is my third official wave of trainees— and believe me— I won’t be going easy on any of you.”

Light laughter disperses through the crowd, and Spencer wears an uneasy look on his face.

“Today, I’ve prepped stations for each of you to cycle through for the next three hours. Agent Rivera is monitoring the weapon defense; Agent Glover is in charge of the takedowns; And I’ll be handling hand-to-hand combat and grappling. You’ll spend an hour at each station, run a mile at the end, and then you’re done for the day. Sound good?”

“Yes, Ma’am.” Choruses through the crowd.

SSA (Y/N) clasps her hands together, “Alright, you know your groups. Split up!”

-

Spencer’s assigned to the takedown station first. Agent Glover’s criticisms are primarily nonconstructive, and Spencer struggles with apprehending and cuffing his more robust and much more muscular partner on the floor. He’s never trained this hard for anything in his life, physically, speaking. He’s half-dead within the first hour, and he dreads having to do this two more times.

His next stop is with Agent Rivera, who’s much kinder to Spencer than his prior. Reid is better at disarming his opponent, but his long limbs flail wildly due to his incoordination— he’s trying his best, but he sees the way everyone else giggles at him. It’s a blow to the chest that leaves him defeated more than any gunshot could.

The last hour is spent working at SSA (Y/N) (Y/L/N)’s station. She commands the attention of the entire group so naturally, despite being considered a rookie, she has an intimidating amount of knowledge.

“How many of you are wrestlers or judokas?” About sixty percent of the group raises their hand, and Spencer scans around for who might have the strength to kill him with one blow.

“Good,” She smiles. “This will come naturally to you, then. Now, a head-and-arm throw most likely won’t work in the field— so, sorry, judokas. However, double legs, body locks, and blast-doubles are constantly used to take down an unsub with minimal injury to the agent. Even someone as short as me can use leverage to grapple and control a much taller person.” (Y/N) scans the crowd of trainees for a moment before pointing directly at Spencer.

“You, come here.” She commands, and Spencer waddles nervously up next to her on the mat. “This is...”

He’s confused for a moment before realizing she’s asking for his name. “S-Spencer Reid.”

“Hi, Spencer.” She smiles. “How tall are you?”

“Six foot two.”

“Spencer has the advantage of almost a whole foot of height against me. But, I can use his higher center of gravity to tip him over more easily. We do this a lot in wrestling— being low to the ground and agile is important.”

(Y/N) firmly plants her hands on Spencer’s shoulder, moving him so that he’s turned to the side. “This move is called a modified blast double— it prioritizes attacking the ankles and knees rather than the knees and abdomen.”

She leans in closer to Spencer, “Don’t post your wrist out when you fall.” She whispers in his ear, sending chills down his spine. “Keep your neck tucked too.” Her breath is warm and minty, and Spencer almost forgets that he has 30 other people watching him.

“I’m going to simulate an active attack with Spencer. Doing this move in a wrestling match is much more controlled than against a rogue criminal playing by their own rules. They might have a melee or close-range weapon like a knife or hammer on them, so it’s important to make this move when the best opportunity strikes.”

“Spencer’s going to run at me and attempt to land a punch to my face.” She gives him a nod, and he chambers over to her.

Swiftly crouching lower to the ground, she launches herself towards him, gripping the back of his ankles and pushing her shoulder into his knees, and suddenly he’s flying back onto the mat. She follows through, straddling Spencer’s hips and covering his movements with an arm under his neck.

He’s out of breath as he watches the beautiful SSA leaning above him. His head is slightly sore from the impact, but overall he feels... invigorated.

“You never let your opponent fall onto the ground without covering them. Straddling your opponent allows you to keep them down while having full use of your fists.” She swings her leg off of Spencer, standing up. She reaches a hand out and quickly yanks him up.

“Find someone and drill that move. I’m coming around to help all of you.”

She gives Spencer a firm pat on his back, to which he blushes furiously, pulling his lower lip in between his teeth.

-

Spencer spent the rest of the hour getting slammed onto the mat over and over by various men and women. His entire shirt is soaked, and his breathing is so labored he thinks he’s going to faint. SSA (Y/N) (Y/L/N) might have appeared at ease earlier in the day, but she wasn’t kidding when she promised she would work them to no end. Everyone was at the brink of death when they approached the last lap of their mile— Spencer at risk of passing out more than others.

The relief he feels after completing his tenth lap around the gym is euphoric. Trainees collapse onto the ground with exhaustion all around him.

“Great job today.” SSA (Y/N) compliments happily. “I appreciate all the effort you guys showed today. It better still be here in four months.” And with that, she excuses them, along with the agents monitoring each station.

Spencer’s one of the last agents to trickle out of the gym. His legs feel like jello when he walks, and his lungs burn.

He almost makes it past the threshold of the door before his name is called.

“Dr. Reid.” She beckons him over with a finger. “May I talk to you for a moment.”

Spencer nervously shuffles over. “Yes, SSA (Y/L/N)?”

“I applaud your effort at training today. I can tell you were working hard.” He blushes. “But I’ve been informed that the board is willing to wave all physical training requirements for your acceptance into the FBI.”

“Yeah... I-I uh figured they’d want me for my IQ only.” He jokes nervously, shrugging his shoulders. He knows it’s disrespectful not to look her in the eye, but she intimidates him too much.

She laughs, and it’s a sweet, joyful sound that Spencer can’t get enough of. She’s powerful and radiant— stealing attention from everyone else. “You’re charming, and your reputation precedes you.”

Charming? Since when has little Spencer Reid ever been charming? He smiles awkwardly, looking off to the side to hide his blush.

“You know, the forensics department wants their hands on the trainee with the chemistry doctorate, and the surveillance department wants the kid with eidetic memory, and word has it that you speak more than four languages, so everyone wants their fair share.”

“W-why are you telling me this?” Spencer asks, voice shy and barely above a whisper.

“Because,” she places a tender hand on his shoulder, “You need to carry yourself with more confidence, Spencer. I saw you— surrounded by all those athletes— it made you feel out of place. I get it.”

“How d-do you get it?”

“I was 23 years old when I became an SSA, surrounded by people two decades older than me. I felt like the office secretary— constantly getting pushed around by people I was afraid to upset. But the thing is, Spencer, you need to demand respect from other people. I’m not saying you need to be arrogant or be a bully, but you are one of— if not the most promising agent trainee— and you need to realize your self-worth.”

“I’m smart, I-I know that. But I’m not strong or athletic by any means.” He sighs, gripping the duffle bag slung across his shoulder tightly.

“That’s alright. You’re not going to be Kyle Dake overnight. But you can’t beat yourself up about it.” (Y/N) chuckles lightly.

Spencer thinks for a moment, “T-thank you... for uh saying all those nice things about me.”

“They're true.” She nods.

“I think I’ll continue with the defensive tactics training. I could um use it.” Its partially true, but he’s most inclined to stick around because of the kind and beautiful SSA that’ll be training him.

“Yay! That’s great, Spencer.” She cheers, wrapping him in a hug that’s a little too friendly to be professional. He accepts despite being drenched in sweat.

Her arms are wrapped tightly around Spencer, and she pats him on the back twice before pulling away like a proud mentor would. He can’t decide if (Y/N) would be a better girlfriend or a better teacher. If she would, he’d prefer for her to be both. He’d give her all he had to offer if she’d allow him.

He doesn’t recognize the smile that plays on her lips, and it’s a foreign feeling for the aggressive and focused SSA. She hasn’t felt something like this in a while, especially not for a nerdy trainee named Dr. Spencer Reid.

“Hit the showers.” She teases. “You stink.”

Spencer nods furiously, “Y-yeah, of course. Thank you, again, SSA—“

“Just call me (Y/N).”

“T-thank you, (Y/N).” He smiles, scurrying out of the gym and into the hallway as giddy as ever.

(Y/N) knows she can’t pursue this— at least, not right now. She’ll give it a few years to let him settle in the FBI (his acceptance is inevitable) if she can be patient for that long. All she knows is that eventually, she wants the awkwardly adorable boy to be hers— and she wants to be his.

i’m so proud of this fic but sry i got carried away talking about wrestling i love it sm

[mistressemmedi]

Måneskin: "Different from whom?"

Greetings from Miley Cyrus - phenomenal numbers.

The streams of Zitti e Buoni are growing by the second, and ahead of Muse, on the top of the English charts, twelfth in the Spotify Global Chart. We almost tripled followers after Rotterdam (from 1.4 to 3.3 million, ed). Contagious and universal madness: T-shirts and merchandise sold out in 10 minutes. Like records, tickets for a tour that adds dates and expands on maps. They are even looking for us in festivals where the Rolling Stones have played. - Thomas

After the whole cocaine scandal that was started against us from France, which was later denied by my drug test, in Spain there people have been making murals with my face saying "No drugs". Some tweets made us laugh: «Congratulations, Italy! I have never been so sure that four people have fucked each other ". Miley Cyrus started following us. "You are great". “You are more” . - Damiano

From rags to riches - what a story

It was only 2016, and we were playing in restaurants, on the streets, in via del Corso (famous street in Rome). Damiano without a microphone, Thomas's guitar with broken strings, Ethan drummed on a cajón. At the occupations of the high schools in Rome (Kennedy, Virgilio, Mamiani) we had our first gigs and half an hour of fame, between those who criticized us and those who said "these guys are so cool". One of the rare times in which they offered to pay us to play - 50 euros each - we offered that money to those after us, in exchange for the chance to play during their time slow, as we knew there would have been a bigger crowd. We already understood then how it worked. That visibility was worth more than the money. We still think so ». - Victoria

The intimacy of rock - Choice of a genre

Music allows is this miracle which allows one to talk about very personal and private topics, even difficult and delicate ones. They are and remain deeply yours, but at the same time they become a confession that reaches a wider audience, and in this passage which is like a delivery, they also find their place in you, their elaboration. They are overcome, they are accepted. One moment it feels aggressive, one moment later a (soft) ballad. It's very cathartic. - Damiano

Against panic - The stage as therapy

I have suffered a lot from anxiety and panic attacks, it is a problem that I have worked on thanks to a course of psychotherapy, to my friends and family. Playing has helped me not to let myself be paralyzed by my fears, not to be limited in my private and professional life. I have learned to accept, to live with this side of me. I don't hide it. I no longer feel ashamed. - Victoria

This belief that only crazy people go to the psychologist is widespread ignorance. Nobody is born learned. And it is often difficult to understand why we are here, let alone the derivation and direction of our desires. It is a long and legitimate journey towards one's clarity. - Damiano

Essere fuori di testa – Ma diversi da loro (Be out of your mind - But different from them)

Already feeling a strong passion for something that is not a 'regular' profession but an artistic language, it puts you on a level where you're an anomaly, and while you're neither superior nor inferior to others, it places you in the condition of what breaks the mold but you're also being at a loss, leaving it to you to be bold and to take risks, hoping that they will pay off and land you somewhere. "What good is it if you don't stand out on your own?". You want to give it an aesthetic to your artistic dream, but to others it boils down to " You dress differently! You must be gay! ”, I'm 22 now and it makes me laugh, but at 17 it had an effect on me too. - Damiano

The beauty of being unique - Of believing in that and defending it

After all, we are all different not because we want to be alternative but because really no one is the same. Justice is being judged on what you do and not what you are. Justice is equality, respect, beauty. - Ethan

Fluid sexuality - Pride is freedom

We appreciate heels on men, we kiss each other, we have an open, extended mind, and we are proud of it. The horizons become vast, beyond the oppression of conservative families. With information on the web, knowledge is enriched and with it the possibility that minorities will be fewer and fewer, because majorities will be fewer and fewer. This will lower the volume to insults and bullying. If social networks can reach a village of 50 souls to reveal to someone, who is afraid of the darkness, that someone has felt that same fear.. There is no longer the need to give it a name, to define that "something" to fear, to brand it with labels that only limit you. Definitions have always had this effect on me. Gender should not even be considered in a person's judgment. Let alone orientation ". - Victoria

Sexism - A culture to be dismantled

Emma (Italian singer) dropped the bomb:" When I went to Eurovision, they insulted me over a pair of shorts. Damiano - half naked and in heels - was never criticized ". The judgment against women is constant, ferocious, and demeaning (if I have a lot of sex I'm cool but Vic a whore, where I show myself strong I'm a leader she is domineering and pain in the ass, who is successful because only because of her looks [and not the hard work she puts in]). As a male I am privileged, the harassment I suffer is not comparable to that experienced by a woman, the comments on my aesthetics are focused only on my aesthetics and do not insinuate anything about my professionalism and my competence, while women are victims of this kind of thinking in a systemic way. But I did find myself in a situation, out of nowhere, with someone who, pulling close to her for a selfie, started licking my face ... "What do you want, did you ask me?" Consent exists, and it is a must ». - Damiano

To grow as a person - The only rule to follow

For me, to conform is the total opposite of educating oneself, and the asphyxiation of one's expression (of freedom). Fortunately, I did not suffer heavy bullying, to the point where I felt I needed to change to adapt to how others saw me. But the matrix of who I am and the aggression that marks me is the same. If I'm a kid who dances and loves dolls, then allow me the freedom to do so. I used to be a kid who wanted long hair and played with Barbies. My friends, as a teenager, looked my long hair and teased me: "You have to find yourself a girl with a short hair to make up for it". My grandparents took the dolls away from me and said: “Stop it, they're not for you” ». - Ethan

“I was six and I already could not tolerate the distinctions between masculine and feminine. I've always had strong ideas about how I wanted to be. I refused things typically defined as feminine as a child, and they made fun of me for skating, for playing soccer, for not wearing skirts, for giving myself the chance to be as I wanted to be. I suffered a little, as I was bullied, but I had courage to stay true to myself, and today thanks to that courage I know that I could have been much more hurt, or I would have risked leaving the most important decision to others: the one about being just me". - Victoria

Love - music and girlfriends

I've been married to music for the past 20 years. I cannot wait to celebrate our golden wedding anniversary. - Ethan

Everyone goes through their own experiences, sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, but it's never other people's business." - Thomas

When, for the first time, I developed feelings and attraction for a girl it was a bit disorienting because I had never had the courage to go beyond the limitations I had imposed on myself. For society, being heterosexual is the norm and therefore often one automatically pegs himself in that way, giving up the freedom to experience many different shades and facets of love. Once I got over the initial insecurity of having to question one's own certainties, I lived my sexuality in a very natural and free way, as it should be for everyone. - Victoria

I had paparazzi under my house morning and night. So, after four years of relationship, I finally revealed her name. I still have the paparazzi under my house morning and night, but at least I don't have to hide anything anymore. - Damiano

The value of the group - Protecting each other

But the real relationship, the real family, is between us. Our band. We believed in it from the first day, even before calling ourselves Måneskin (moonlight in Danish), even before Ethan drew a giant moon, on the poster for our first concert. We share everything, even the pain of the tragedy of Seid Visin, who committed suicide at 20 because he was a victim of racism. Being a group is what we should all do together: stay united and not retreat in the slightest in the face of abuses generated by a distorted vision of someone "being different|. - Thomas

Non ho l’età – like Gigliola (It references Gigliola Cinquetti who won both Sanremo and Eurovision with her song "Non ho l’età" which translates to Not old enough)

Before us, the only one to win Sanremo and Eurovision together was Gigliola Cinquetti (in 1964). Is there is something for which I feel I am not yet old enough for? No, honestly no. Maybe for kids. I'll be honest, I'm not enough to be a dad. - Damiano

Reached the sky - What fears still remain

We are more than in the dream, we have conquered the dream. To fly high this high, there is the risk is to fall and get hurt, but we will try not to end up like Icarus, who burns his wings with the sun. Everything is in our hands. And this - somewhat presumptuously - reassures us rather than frighten us ". - Damiano

(ORIGINAL INTERVIEW IN ITALIAN)

[Please note that I have changed some words or structure sentence, trying to make it so that the interview made more sense lol - I skipped the first two paragraphs, which was basically the interviewer gushing over how pretty the band is lmao (relatable).

Any mistakes in the translation are sorely mine, nothing was proofread, so apologies in advance]

[theartofdreaming1]

Slightly paraphrased, but Peeta talking about that moment he developed his crush on Katniss is just too sweet 😊

As usual, my thoughts regarding this week’s prompts and random thoughts on chapters 22-24 are below the cut (sprinkled in some psychology thoughts again).

heart

Honestly, I think the people in Panem would perceive the whole everlark storyline the same way we perceive and react to our ships on tv (desperately wanting to reach through the screen, shoving the characters forcefully together, screaming “And now, kiss!”); especially the Capitolites who barely recognize the tributes (or people in the districts, in general) as people. The people in the districts would definitely view the whole thing more under a “reality tv” kind of lens, questioning how much of the relationship is real or not (we know that Finnick certainly thought that the entire thing was just a spiel, until Peeta hit that forcefield). The time spent in the cave must have been pretty convincing, though.

mind

I think that Katniss is still torn here - On the one hand, she kind of wants to believe that Peeta is actually into her (remember the happiness she felt when Peeta told her how his crush on her began, and it all added up and seemed so real), but on the other hand she’s terrified of that possibility because A) lingering trauma from her mom’s depression in response the Mr. Everdeen’s death, B) Katniss never even considered falling in love, so that’s a sudden unexpected thing to deal with, and C) maybe it’s just for the sake of the Games; and wouldn’t that hurt, getting your hopes up only to learn it was only for show? (How about we ask Peeta about that?)

soul

Yeah, that quote about Peeta only eating stale bread also struck me as quite sad. It just further adds to his understanding how there should be more to life than just survival, though. (One day, I’ll make that post about Peeta, Katniss, and Maslow’s pyramid of needs, I swear! I’ve already gathered some research material)

Chapter 22

My mother’s hand strokes my cheek and I don’t push it away as I would in wakefulness, never wanting her to know how much I crave that gentle touch. How much I miss her even though I still don’t trust her. - Ugh, I can’t... Katniss misses her mom, misses being cared for😢 I’m so glad we’re going to see her patch up her relationship with her mom in CF... On a different note, Katniss craving that gentle touch just perfectly illustrates why she’s so drawn to Peeta, who is generally such a gentle soul (I mean, he’s literally the person stroking her cheek here 😊)

He [Peeta] doesn’t seem angry about my tricking him, drugging him, and running off to the feast. Maybe I’m just too beat-up and I’ll hear about it later when I’m stronger. But for the moment, he’s all gentleness. - As I was saying... 😉

“I’ll go hunting soon,” I say. “Not too soon, all right?” he says. “You just let me take care of you for a while.” - I love them so much😊🥰 And then Peeta makes sure she’s well-fed and hydrated, he rubs her cold feet and tucks her into the sleeping back... and she let’s him! 💗

“He [Thresh] let you go because he didn’t want to owe you anything?” asks Peeta in disbelief. “Yes. I don’t expect you to understand it. You’ve always had enough. But if you’d lived in the Seam, I wouldn’t have to explain,” I say. “And don’t try. Obviously I’m too dim to get it,” he says. - Oof. This exchange here is interesting in many ways: 1) it highlights their different experiences, tied to their different socioeconomic backgrounds, basically, and 2)  that Katniss is very much aware of this difference, but we also see hints of her own ignorance here - because Peeta didn’t have to starve in his childhood, she thinks that he can’t possibly understand this level of hardship; but there are other ways in which one can suffer/lack fundamental needs, which brings us to 3) Peeta’s response about being “obviously too dim to get it”; I think this is a clue to his mom being also verbally abusive towards him: she called him “stupid creature” when he burnt those loaves of bread for Katniss and when he’s losing it in the attic of the Justice Building in D11 in CF he is mad that Katniss and Haymitch keep things from him “like [he’s] too inconsequential or stupid or weak to handle them”, which - to me - sounds like he’s tired of being treated that way (i.e. the way his mother treats him)

“I want to go home, Peeta,” I say plaintively, like a a small child. - God, this is a teenager in a murder-arena who feels like wanting to go home is a childish notion instead of a totally legitimate wish for anyone in that situation, regardless of age 😢

It’s not that Peeta’s soft exactly, and he’s proved he’s not a coward. But there are things you don’t question too much, I guess, when your home always smells like baking bread, whereas Gale questions everything. What would Peeta think of the irreverent banter that passes between us as we break the law each day? Would it shock him? The things we say about Panem? Gale’s tirades against the Capitol? - Geez, Katniss, give Peeta some credit here! A) It’s not like Peeta can walk around District 12 talking publicly about the injustices happening there - she and Peeta hadn’t even talked with each other before the reaping, whereas Gale is her best friend who rants to her while they are outside the confines of D12 and B) Peeta is literally the one who introduced the whole “not a piece in their Games”-idea to her; why would he be clutching his pearls over Katniss and Gale’s irreverent banter?! Just because Peeta didn’t live on the brink of starvation (she again brings up how his house smells like bread and - at this point - still thinks that the family running the bakery actually gets to eat what they produce just like that), doesn’t mean he doesn’t see how shitty life in D12 is - he can still want better conditions for those who are worse off than him!

“I did do the right thing,” I say. “No! Just don’t, Katniss!” His grip tightens, hurting my hand, and there’s real anger in his voice. “Don’t die for me. You won’t be doing me any favors. All right?” - Well, we’ll see this song and dance again in CF...

And while I was talking, the idea of actually losing Peeta hit me again and I realized how much I don’t want him to die. [...] And it’s not about what will happen back home. And it’s not just that I don’t want to be alone. It’s him. I do not want to lose the boy with the bread.” - I wish CF Katniss would remember this moment when she is questioning her motives about saving Peeta’s life in the arena - You. Care. For. This. Boy! You. Value. Him. For. Who. He. Is!!!

This is the first kiss that we’re both fully aware of. [...] This is the first kiss where I actually feel stirring inside my chest. Warm and curious. This is the first kiss that makes me want another. - Whoo! Is it hot in here or is it just me? 😉

I’m struck by his immediacy now. As we settle in, he pulls my head down to use his arm as a pillow; the other rests protectively over me even when he goes to sleep. No one has held me like this in such a long time. Since my father died and I stopped trusting my mother, no one else’s arms have made me feel this safe. - He makes her feel safe in a murder-arena!!! 😭 This is the kind of stuff that makes everlark just a top tier romance, tbh

Peeta telling Katniss about his crush starting on their first day of school 🥰😭 - and her reaction to it... For a moment, I’m almost foolishly happy - yes, because you have a crush on him, too! - and then confusion sweeps over me. Because we’re supposed to be making up this stuff [...] So, if those details are true... could it all be true? - YESSSSSSSS!!!

“You have a... remarkable memory, “ I say haltingly. - as a severely socially awkward person... I felt that lame response in my bones 😅

“You don’t have much competition anywhere.” And this time, it’s me who leans in. - God, this would be such an amazing moment if it didn’t get tainted by that immediate sponsor gift, which just serves to muddle Katniss’s feelings with her sense of survival, further complicating her relationship with Peeta... *sigh* 

Chapter 23

“What was that you were saying just before the food arrived? Something about me... no competition... best thing that ever happened to you...” “I don’t remember that last part,” I say, hoping it’s too dim in here for the cameras to pick up my blush. “Oh, that’s right. That’s what I was thinking,” he says. - Peeta is the master of being a cheeky little shit and adorable flirt at the same time

“So, since we were five, you never even noticed any other girls?” I ask him. “No, I noticed just about every girl, but none of them made a lasting impression but you,” he says. - I appreciate that while Peeta has had a crush on Katniss forever, he clearly didn’t spend the entire time pining after her, oblivious to the rest of the world - he has a life outside of Katniss Everdeen, but ultimately, it all lead back to her

A disturbing thought hits me. “But then, our only neighbor will be Haymitch!” “Ah, that’ll be nice,” says Peeta, tightening his arms around me. “You and me and Haymitch. Very cozy. Picnics, birthdays, long winter nights around the fire retelling old Hunger Games tales.” “I told you, he hates me!” I say, but I can’t help laughing at the image of Haymitch becoming my new pal. - Laugh all you want, this is going to end up being your future anyway 😄

He [Haymitch]’s at something of a disadvantage because most mentors have a partner, another victor to help them whereas Haymitch has to bready to go into action at any moment. Kind of like me when I was alone in the arena. I wonder how he’s holding up, with the drinking, the attention, and the stress of tring to keep us alive. - Katniss is already worrying about her “new pal”, I see ;)

Maybe he [Haymitch] wasn’t always a drunk. Maybe, in the beginning, he tried to help the tributes. But then it got unbearable. It must be hell to mentor two kids and then watch them die. - Honestly, that sounds absolutely awful...

Poor, Katniss, when she learns of Thresh’s death :( - But no one will understand my sorrow at Thresh’s murder. - It’s horrible how compassion and basic human decency gets construed as ‘weakness’ in the world of Hunger Games (esp. the Capitol)

Then I escape into sleep, comforted by a full belly and the steady warmth of Peeta beside me. - Honestly, I think a word analysis of THG-series could be interesting; how often does Katniss mention “warmth”, “steady/steadiness” “safe/safety/security” in connection with “Peeta”?

“We make a goat cheese and apple tart at the bakery,” he says. “Bet that’s expensive,” I say. “Too expensive for my family to eat. Unless it’s gone very stale. Of course, practically everything we eat is stale,” says Peeta [...] Huh. I always assumed the shopkeepers live a soft life. And it’s true, Peeta has always had enough to eat. But there’s something kind of depressing about living your life on stale bread - Katniss is starting to realize that the lives of the merchants isn’t a cushy as she thought; also, in a way, we see a “prettier” version of how Panem treats the districts overall -> feeding the districts just enough that they can do their work (plus/minus a couple of people who’ll die of starvation, but at a small, for Capitolites insignificant margin), but not so much that they are in good shape to rebel; here, the merchants of D12 have just enough that they can live a “decent” life (they know it could be worse -> the Seam), but they don’t have enough to live a free, comfortable, self-determined life either. This also just further drives a wedge between the inhabitants of D12 (the merchants won’t want to rebel because they don’t want to get ‘demoted’ in their lifestyle, starving like the people from the Seam, and the Seam folk feel resentful towards the merchant people, while also not having the resources to rebel, due to their awful socioeconomic conditions)

What would be my life like on a daily basis? Most of it has been consumed with the acquisition of food. Take that away and I’m not really sure who I am, what my identity is. - It’s so sad who Katniss has been so consumed with ensuring that her most base needs are fulfilled that she barely has had the time to really figure out who she is and what she wants from life (If we’re talking Maslow’s pyramid of needs, Katniss would primarily be stuck on the lowest tier 😢)

At least, we’ll be friends, I think. Nothing will change the fact that we’ve saved each other’s lives in here. And beyond that, he will always be the boy with the bread. Good friends. - Honestly, Katniss counting on being good friends with Peeta after the Games is the highest honor she can bestow on him at that moment (she’s so into him, lol); of course, knowing that their relationship is going to be a bit rocky once they’ve come back makes this thought a little sad... but we also know they’ll make up (and out ;) in the future

Peeta licking his plate and blowing a kiss out to Effie is such an adorable goofball-moment 😊

I cover his mouth with my hand, but I’m laughing. “Stop! Cato could be right outside our cave.” He grabs my hand away. “What do I care? I’ve got you to protect me now,” says Peeta, pulling me to him. - This moment would be so cute (also, Peeta’s so confident in Katniss’s skills to protect him, which is adorable - toxic masculinity who?) but... Ugh, he’s just so giddy here, it kind of breaks my heart for when he learns later that (at least some) of Katniss’s reactions were just for show

“If we want food, we better head back up to my old hunting grounds,” I say. “Your call, Just tell me what you need me to do,” Peeta says. - Love how Peeta’s always ready to follow Katniss’s lead :)

Ideally, I’d dump Peeta now with some simple root-gathering chore and go hunt [...] “Katniss,” he says. “We need to split up. I know I’m chasing away the game.” [...] “Show me some plants to gather and that way we’ll both be useful.” - Teamwork! If it weren’t for Katniss worrying for Peeta’s safety, they’d be on the same page here

“What if you climbed up in a tree and acted as a lookout while I haunted?” I say, trying to make it sound like very important work. “What if you show me what’s edible around here and go get us some meat?” he says, mimicking my tone. - I really like how Peeta’s challenges Katniss here; he doesn’t just go along with everything she says, while still being quite reasonable

I feel like I’m eleven, again, tethered not to the safety of the fence but to Peeta, allowing myself twenty, maybe thirty yards of hunting space. [...] I allow myself to drift farther away, and soon have two rabbits and a fat squirrel to show for it. - I don’t know, but Katniss feeling tethered to Peeta makes me think of Mary Ainsworth’s attachment theory, according to which children with a secure attachment to their primary caregiver use  their “attachment figure as a safe base to explore the environment”... Of course, Ainsworth’s Strange Situation was conducted with young children, but attachment styles are supposed to influence the relationships we form with people in our later lives as well (including romantic relationships)... I dunno, just a random association that popped into my brain 😅

Chapter 24

Peeta’s a whiz with fires, coaxing a blaze out of the damp wood. - Heh, Peeta sure knows how to handle fire, huh, Katniss (or should I say: Girl on Fire?) 😏

I order him into the sleeping bag and set aside the rest of his food for him when he wakes. He drops off immediately. I pull the sleeping bag up to his chin and kiss his forehead, not for the audience, but for me. Because I’m so greateful that he’s still here, not dead by the stream as I’d thought.  - Aww, this is so sweet (and domestic)!

It’s funny. I feel almost as if it’s the first day of the Games again. That I’m in the same position. [...] But no, there’s the boy waiting beside me. I feel his arms wrap around me. - They are a team! Katniss doesn’t have to face the horrors of the Games alone anymore! It keeps boiling down to this.