#just as long as credits due

[squeakadeeks]

theres been a few times now where ive seen someone very clearly plagiarize either a design, idea, or even rip tutorial sections verbatim to claim as their own from my work, but the issue is i simply dont have the time or energy to fight it so i cant do much, so whenever i see a new instance of it my soul is crushed for 0.2 seconds before reforming and i look verbatim like this paul rudd bit:

[bring-cringe-back]

Okay I might just be reading too much into this. But while I was watching the episode *cough cough* procrastinating *cough cough I realised that they don't show how the Doctor and Ruby got there.

And I know that it's probably just meant to be vaguely like 'they just went for fun'.

BUT this is the third episode in a row where we haven't seen them arrive. And for 73 yards it was clearly a doctor who episode when it started but it immediately gets rid of the doctor. ( I know that for 73 yards and for dot and bubble it was because Ncuti Gatwa was filming other stuff but let me cook) In Dot and Bubble you could effectively be forgiven for assuming that it was a random Black Mirror episode or something similar until the Doctor turns up, and tbh if you were just flicking through channels and haven't been watching Doctor Who you could probably basically not know for much longer. In Rogue they are just there, except for the title screen (the same for dot and bubble) you could basically watch it as a Bridgerton episode until the Chuldur turn up.

(And there's whole other rant about how the Chuldur fits into the theory about this basically being a TV show within a TV show, I don't know the name for this theory)

But anyway these episodes are increasingly separated from the Doctor and Ruby as plot points particularly in the beginning of episodes. They are more and more like an excuse to tell the story or explore the topic that the writers want to explore. Which isn't totally different from the occasional episode of previous series, but this is a lot more in my memory at least from previous series. So it feels a lot like they are skimming over the more sci-fi doctor who elements. Which fits in in my mind to the idea that the 'One who waits' is a representation of story telling. I've seen theories that it's Ruby but she doesn't know it which makes sense, I think it would also make sense for it to be her parent(s) who left her, or alternatively just it's own thing all together. But it feels very like that bit where Amy is living a life and starts to realise it's all fake.

The narrowing down of these episodes into not showing them arriving, and at least in Rogue - I can't remember in the others - not showing them leaving the story, feels very different.

It feels more and more like story telling. They have covered fairy tales, Period pieces/Romance, Dystopia, War/SciFi, Musicals, Political Drama. They are also showing the doctor playing his role, something that we see companions doing often enough but we seldom see the doctor doing it.

In Space Babies he is scared of a new creature. In the Devil's Code he sings a song that makes little sense in the story, he doesn't question the road making noise. In Boom he's more himself but it's also the closes to his 'normal' environment. In 73 Yards they just fully remove him from the story, which I realise was done for filming requirements but would have been so interesting to see the doctor in a Political drama. In Dot and Bubble he plays the role of the outsider bringing information to those living under a Dystopia, how is he UNABLE to access the inside, sure he plays a role that's fairly similar to himself but Doctor Who is really Dystopian.

In Rogue he is becoming more and more his role, he is playing the role of a sort of Elizabeth Bennet style character, a strong romantic interest for the brooding man. Which is great, he makes fun of the genre, but he is hyper aware of the genre and still ends up in its pitfalls. He trusts a man so quickly he ends up handing over his sonic, he gets proposed to and basically immediately accepts. Now I am really hoping that Rogue gets to stay around I really liked him as a character, regardless of which theory of his identity if any are true. But the Doctors reaction to him is still a little out of character, he is feeling what he is SUPPOSED to feel and he is acting how he is SUPPOSED to act.

It just feels to me like an increasing number of these episodes are more and more story like and more and more separated from the more Doctor Who elements. And the lack of an introduction of how they get there, and the lack of them leaving in the TARDIS is so unusual to me and stands out to my brain so much.

It feels like they are removing elements that don't fit the genre. Anyway not sure if that makes any sense but I'm vibing with it.

[makotonaegiunderstander]

something I’ve been thinking abt is how many people think Makoto is immune to despair. I don’t think he is. I think becoming the ultimate Hope was BECAUSE he felt despair. He wouldn’t have fully reached that point without Junko. Makoto becoming such a beacon was his last attempt to avoid completely falling and it wasn’t because he didn’t feel despair, it was because he was too damn stubborn to allow everything to go to waste and he refused to sacrifice his beliefs for someone else’s. His inner monologue tells me he DID experience the same new low the other suvivors did in the final trial, but at the point where he had the choice to give up and die, he looked at the others and he looked at Junko and he couldn’t allow it to happen, not out of self preservation, but because the idea that Junko would have control over their lives made him FURIOUS. and that utter refusal to die kicked in, wether luck or otherwise, and he made the concious effort for one last push while something in him was breaking. He had to be broken in order for the Ultimate Hope to come through so aggressively, bc it could only exist in the face of the Ultimate Despair. He snapped the same way she did, but in the other direction. In what could have been his final moments he chose to embody everything Junko wasn’t, and every single optimistic and luck fueled ideal in him suddenly charged forward and pushed him. It was a combination of the final straw and a choice. Makoto isn’t immune to feeling despair, he’s just too stubborn to fall into it of his own volition. I think that’s why I like that scene in DR3 so much. People were SO SHOCKED Makoto actually fell for the tape, that he actually became despair for a moment. I saw people getting mad or disappointed, saying it was pathetic and Makoto seemed to fall from some sort of pedestal for them. Honestly part of me wonders if that sort of mentality, which clearly people had in universe, affected Makoto a bit. Like he started to see himself as less of a person, subconsciously. Prompting him to take more risks, less self preservation, act way more bold. It seems he has to be reminded a lot not to put himself in danger by his friends, to not do something too reckless. All over the place I would see in regards to that scene either this frivolous ‘oh this was just angst drama with no meaning behind it’ or ‘he can do better than that. he’s so weak’ or ‘come on, there’s no way he’d fall into despair, he’s the Ultimate Hope!’ This kind of mentality, which was kind of ironic considering Ryota was there the entire time saying the same thing and treating Makoto the same way. Like Makoto was superhuman. Like Makoto didn’t feel despair the same way ‘normal people’ did. In a way that was also how Munakata saw Makoto. Makoto stopped being a PERSON to the world when he became Ultimate Hope, he became a concept, a belief system, much the same way Junko ascended beyond herself. But the difference is that treating Makoto that way is the opposite of the reason Makoto became such a representative for hope. He wasn’t doing something no one else could. He was doing something everyone had the chance to, he just… was a little more optimistic, a little more stubborn, a little more ‘gung-ho’ about things. He just took the lead where no one else did, where no one else knew they even COULD in the face of Junko’s unstoppable force. She had overcome the biggest threats and obstacles in the world, what could one person do? And the answer Makoto found was, anything. Everything. It doesn’t all rest on Makoto, he’s just the one that was inspired to try to do what seemed like the impossible. But as evidenced by the change in his friends after that trial, it’s clearly not something only Makoto is capable of. The others pulled out of despair thanks to Makoto, but it was their choice to do so.

“But… this world is so huge, and we’re so small. What can we do…? No, we can probably do anything. Yeah! We can do anything!”

[potatobugz]

i feel as if im going mad so im going to just put this out here. real quick. movieunleashers starters ramble.

i cant stop thinking about how mudkip broke down in that one scene in "Typomaniac," when Chespin called him mean. for a second he lets his mask slip a little bit and to me he just... acts his age. he starts crying and calls chespin mean back. maybe im just hyperfocusing on this one detail but mudkip is about 12 years old.

and that just makes me wonder what happened in this guys life that brought him to where he is now. and it makes it all the more tragic how his whole world revolves around chespin, but he is the one bringing him the most pain. and how young he was when he died.

there is a large theme of growing up in "Rare Candy." the characters ages are emphasized in that particular episode, and one of the main conflicts is fennekin wanting to evolve faster.

the thing about characters in these stories is that they're not allowed to just be kids, to have a childhood. so many bad things happen to them. like. mudkips whole, Everything. fennekin when she was famous in typomaniac, or dealing with her own insecurities/pressure from society about her relationship w chespin. and chespin always having to shoulder his friends problems & always somehow managing to stay positive despite everything.

why cant they just. play video games. eat ice cream or something. go to the movies

at the end of the day, i think both mudkip and fennekin are characters who grew up too fast. by distancing himself from them, chespin refused to follow in their footsteps and just wanted to stay a kid.

good for him.

[usertoxicyaoi]

“Immortal Ye, you overpraise him. He is just a child. He only did what he should do. You flatter him.” WORD OF HONOR (2021). Episode 17 / Episode 32.

[jankwritten]

Jasico Bingo Challenge: Comfort Food

Jason has just managed to slump onto the bench at table one for lunch when, seemingly from thin air, a brownie materializes before him. 

He stares down at it. It is smooth along the top, ribboned with cracks like all the best brownies he’s ever had in his life. 

He imagines this is how Tantalus feels. To be so close to something he wants so bad, knowing that he won’t be able to reach it, not really. That he can try all he wants, but surely wherever the brownie appeared from, it will just as fast disappear if he reaches for it. 

Jason, unfortunately, has a lifetime’s worth of training in not reaching for it. 

Moving over so the temptation isn’t directly before him, Jason pulls forward his empty plate and, with a pitiful sigh, summons the lunch he’s eaten every day since he turned ten. 

The brownie follows him. 

Jason tries not to notice, because, frankly, admitting he’s being haunted by a pastry is a step too far, even for his standards. He does not notice when a brownie shows up on his nightstand after he’s had a hard time breathing in a normal pattern. (It’s not a panic attack.) He does not notice when a brownie appears beside the ambrosia one of the Apollo kids tried to give him. (He doesn’t need it, he’s fine.) He looks the other way when a brownie shows up on the napkin he’s handed for s’mores at the campfire. (He can’t eat the s’mores either.) 

He can handle it. He can handle the constant, demanding temptation. He will not succumb to it, gods dammit, he’s stronger than whatever fucked up test the fates are throwing at him. If this is one of his Herculean tasks, so be it. Jason will endure. 

Nico throws himself to the ground at Jason’s side. Peleus, around the other side of Thalia’s Pine, snorts. 

Jason simply shuts his book and directs his attention to the dramatic lump of Hades spawn at his hip. “Yes?” 

“You keep disappearing,” Nico mutters. “I’m exhausted.” 

Something warm and fluttery beats into Jason’s chest. “You were looking for me?” 

Nico lifts his head up just enough to give Jason a flat, dead look. Then, he flops back over. 

Jason tries not to be too pleased. Nico was looking for him, which means Nico was actively seeking him out, and by his lack of urgency, it doesn’t seem like it was for anything more than hanging out. They’re friends now, or to the point where Nico will admit they’re friends, but Jason is still getting used to Nico showing up around him to just…be around him. Sure, with the others it makes sense - Percy loves getting attention from his friends, and Piper and Leo demand his attention so they can all three silently sit together in a room doing their own thing. Nico is more distant, to put a name on it. He’s fiercely loyal and everything, Jason knows Nico’s always got his back, but he’s not really the kind of guy who likes to hang out. 

When he does, though, of his own volition? It feels pretty damn nice. 

Which is why Jason feels so awful when he looks down to his book on his plaid picnic blanket, and spots a fucking brownie, innocent and perfect on a pristine napkin. 

His stomach turns. He closes his eyes immediately and tilts his head up to breathe. 

Gods. Not a fucking second goes by that he’s not being tested. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Jason reopens his eyes to the foliage overhead - the pine needles are lush and thick, dappling the sunlight enough to create comfortable shade. He inhales, and exhales. “You ever get the feeling the gods are screwing with you, specifically, on purpose?” 

Nico scoffs. “Yes. All the time.” 

Jason peeks down at him and, though he does smile, it fades fast. He sighs, tilting his head all the way back to the tree trunk. 

The tone of hanging out shifts and Jason feels pathetic about it. Nico sits up. 

“What’s going on?” 

“It’s nothing.” 

“It is not nothing, you- tell me.” 

It really feels like nothing, compared to what Nico’s been put through. A stupid brownie sitting in his peripherals for the last three days has nothing on walking through Tartarus, getting kidnapped by Giants, and being held prisoner in a fucking jar. 

Nico puts a hand on his shoulder. Jason feels infinitely worse. 

“Whatever it is, you can trust me, Jason, seriously. I’m here for you.”

Burying himself alive sounds like a decent option. “You could just open up a crack in the ground, frankly,” Jason says. 

Nico, unfortunately, only looks more concerned. 

Jason supposes if there’s anyone to begrudgingly admit the brownie haunting to, it would be the boy who can summon ghosts. Who is unfortunately also the most likely to be offended that Jason sees this as a fucking trial. Gods dammit. 

“Jason-” 

“Brownies keep showing up everywhere I go!” Jason blurts out, before Nico can start any more well meaning, heart rending shit. Jason buries his face in his hands. “Which would be fine because I like brownies, but I can’t- it’s like they’re trying to trick me, like someone’s got a sick vendetta against me, or, like, the gods are trying to teach me to not give in to what I want!” 

Nico’s stretching silence is, frankly, not reassuring in the slightest. 

Jason hunches down further and waits for the retreat. For Nico to say something soft but cutting about how he has to handle real problems while Jason gets chased around by fucking dessert foods. 

This is it: the most humiliating moment in his life. 

“You…can’t eat brownies?” 

“No,” Jason says, muffled. “I’m allergic to fucking tree nuts.” 

More horrific silence. Here he is, Jason Grace, whining that his hardest trial in life is a fucking nut allergy. 

Nico’s hand moves from his arm. Jason’s stomach sinks to the pits of the Underworld. 

“I had no idea,” Nico says, under his breath. “Since when?” 

Jason lifts his head back up, though he refuses to open his eyes. His face is hot like a sunburn. “I think since I was a kid? I-I forgot, y’know, with the amnesia, but I would get these awful stomach aches after eating stuff, and I’d feel like I couldn’t breathe right and- I talked to Frank about it a few months ago and he told me I was probably allergic to something. Reyna confirmed it.” 

“Oh,” Nico says. 

Jason, hating himself deep in his lungs, looks at his friend. One of his best friends. Likely about to be ex-friend. 

Nico looks…constipated. 

“I know, it’s stupid,” Jason says in a rush. “I made it sound really serious and it wasn’t, it’s nothing like, you know, bad, it’s only annoying. I mean- it really sucks, y’know, this thing I love keeps appearing but I don’t know if I can trust it to not make me sick, and it’s like- like some god out there knows all that. It just sucks.” He’s such a loser, isn’t he. 

“Jason,” Nico says, again in that soft, almost pitying tone. “It’s- It’s not a god.” 

“What?” 

Nico swallows, and shuffles around on the blanket. He folds up his legs, and then tangles his hands together and looks down at them. 

If Jason didn’t know better, he’d say Nico almost looked…

“I’ve been the one sending you brownies. I know you like them, uhm, and I wanted to help you feel better. Cheer you up, I guess.” 

…guilty. 

Nico looks back up at him, through his eyelashes, then immediately back down. “I didn’t know you were allergic,” he says. “I-I’m really- I’m so sorry.” 

“You’re the brownie ghost?” 

This time, Nico looks up with fluttering eyelids, a confused wrinkle to his brow. 

Jason stares back at him as his stomach launches back up from underground, as his chest squeezes and his shoulders lift, “you’re the brownie ghost!” 

“I, uhm, sorry?” 

There was no god taunting him! No awful portent of an oncoming apocalypse! Just a misguided friend trying to do something nice, oh, gods, Jason could touch the clouds right now. 

Nico was being sweet! To him! 

“Are you mad at me?” Nico asks. 

Jason only barely refrains from bear hugging him. “No! Nico, gods, no, I-I thought- I mean, you heard what I thought, but- you were trying to cheer me up?” 

“I really didn’t know.” 

“No, I know you didn’t. I know you wouldn’t do that. Oh my gods, that is such a relief, you don’t even know. I was so freaked out-” Jason stops himself, catches the pinched up look on Nico’s face. “It was a really, really nice thing, with context. 

Nico doesn’t look totally convinced, but he drops his shoulders, relaxes his fingers. “I’m still sorry.” 

“Already forgiven.” Jason looks down at the brownie again, and laughs. “You’re incredible, you know that?” 

He doesn’t have to look to know Nico’s ears are red, to know he’s shaking his head to himself either in disbelief, or an attempt to shake off the compliment. But it’s true, no matter what Nico tells himself. He’s incredible. 

“Whatever,” Nico mutters. Then, after a moment, he slumps all the way back to the ground, and sprawls. 

Jason tosses the brownie to Peleus and dusts the crumbs off on Nico’s shirt. 

When Nico cracks an eye open to glare at him, Jason grins, with one last petty swipe of his hand. 

(Later that night, after the campfire, Jason settles into his cabin, still smiling about how silly he’d been. When he rolls onto his side, there is a brownie on his nightstand, lit by the yellow glow of the only lamp. 

Written on the napkin, in shaky, unpracticed handwriting, it says, “no nuts. I triple checked.” 

Jason has never eaten anything faster in his life.) 

[kiwibirdlafayette]

vavoom moment

finished good omens 2 last week and. im so emotionally distraught but also yeah watch this *combines my two otps like a boss*

[revasserium]

the good earth

chevalier; 1,282 words, fluff and the barest hint of angst; chevalier agrees to have a picnic, gn!reader

you ask him out for a picnic, and he agrees before he can stop himself. later, he’d wonder what possessed him to entertain such foolishness, such misanthropic meanderings of the mind but then — then you smile, and he puts aside the seventeen things he’s had on his mind and reaches out to help you carry the four bottles of champagne.

by the time you all settle in the rose gardens, clavis is grinning like the devil and chevalier teeters briefly on whether or not to kick him in the shins.

he decides on not as you go about laying out the freshly baked breads and the soft, melting cheeses. there’s jam from the orchards and cakes from the kitchens. chevalier cocks his head as he watches you spread a liberal dollop of creme fraiche on a piece of bread and offer it to him.

“it’s good! i promise.”

chevalier quirks a single eyebrow, smirks, and takes it from you. the cream is sweet and light and tangy, the bread the perfect amount of warm and chewy. he wonders if the kitchens have always been this good, and then he wonders if it’s just the effect of you.

and later, much, much later — when they’ve all had their fair shares of creme and bread and fruits and jam, when the sun is hanging sweet and low as summer berries, the sky painted in languid, lazy brushstrokes of pinks and golds and blistering silver clouds, he finds himself watching you. like he always has.

“you’re staring,” you say, your eyes slipping towards him to catch his gaze, to hold it for a second before it flickers back up towards the darkening sky. up, far, far above you are the first burgeoning sighs of twinkling stars.

“yes,” he says, unabashed in his intensity, “so i am.”

he watches as your cheeks darken, watches as your eyes slowly slide back to meet his again. and this time, he doesn’t let you go. all around you, the other princes are slowly making their exits, their excuses muttered on smirking lips, first luke, then nokto, and finally even clavis, who’d been watching you both with a sharp, rapier-like amusement bows his head and heads back in. you try your best not to blush and you’re unsure if you manage it.

“there’s still a glass of champagne left.”

chevalier’s voice is pointed as always. you turn to look down at the half-filled flute sitting by your hand.

“so there is.”

“come.”

chevalier stands up with a woosh of ghost-white robes and offers you a hand. you regard it for a split second before taking it and letting him help you to your feet.

“leave the mess, we’ll come back to for it later,” he says, as if reading your mind.

you press your lips together but before you can make to follow him, he turns around, his eyes fixed on you as he says —

“bring the champagne.”

you blink. and then, you reach down for the glass.

you follow him to the memorial grounds, the huge marble monoliths carved with the names of all the knights and soldiers who had given their lives for the greater good. chevalier pauses before each with a solemn silence. you follow behind him, unable to stem your curiosity as you watch him.

“graves are for the living,” chevalier finally says as you come to a pause beside him, looking over the vast sunken green field of the memorial grounds, “they’re for us to mourn the dead. those who have passed have no use for them.”

you nod.

“yes… i know.”

“but it’s because of that… that they’re made all the more important,” he says, turning to face you again. there’s the shadow of a smile flickering across his lips.

“go on then, pour the champagne.”

you blink at him before turning back to the memorial grounds and slowly emptying the glass of champagne into the grass at your feet, pouring it out in a steady, horizonal line. a toast to the dead, made for the living.

how fitting.

later, after the remnants of the picnic have all been cleared away, after the glasses have been washed and the fruit pits disposed of. you find yourself watching him as he reads, leaning against the wall of your room, the balcony open against the tepid summer air.

“you’ve never done that before,” you say, without preamble. because chevalier has never needed you to explain to understand.

“hm.”

you bite back a grin, “what’s made you so sentimental?”

the book in chevalier’s hands snap shut.

“don’t asks questions you already know the answers to.”

you fight back the urge to roll your eyes as he pins you with a glare.

“alright, alright — but… it really isn’t like you… even after all…” you motion vaguely at the space between you and him with a faint blush, “all… this.”

at this, chevalier smirks, cocking his head, and you feel your stomach twist into ever tighter knots inside you.

“i suppose it’s because… someone somewhere once taught me that the only difference between a graveyard and a garden is what you choose to put in the ground,” he says, his head still cocked, his eyes cool even as you go ever and ever hotter beneath his penetrating gaze.

you can’t help but blush at his pointed words, but your body is awash with tingles as you finally parse out the depths of his admission.

you’d taught him something.

“o-oh! i — uhm… that’s… well,” you cast about for something to say, something other than oh and uhm. finally, you settle on, “sounds smart, whoever taught you that.”

chevalier’s smirk grows as he pushes off the large loveseat and closes in on the edge of your bed, towering over your as he looks down at you over his aquiline nose and sculpted lips.

“yes. they were.”

he leans down, and you feel your breath hitch in your chest as he presses you back into the soft, downy sheets of your bed.

“s-so… have you thought about… planting some more flowers in the memorial field, then?” you ask, averting your eyes as he crawls onto the bed, his weight shifting the bed beneath you, your traitorous heart thumping up against your chest in ever and ever faster rhythms.

“i have,” chevalier muses, his voice light and unaffected, “i’ve already given the order for it to be done.”

“oh…” is all you have in response, though it seems to please him all the same. you take a deep, steadying breath before forcing yourself to turn back and meet his piercing, star-fire gaze.

“so next time,” he says, pulling back suddenly, smoothing his hands over the material of his clothes as he makes his way back over to the loveseat to resume his book, “we might have a picnic there instead. once the flowers start blooming.”

“a picnic… in the memorial field,” you echo.

he nods, flipping open his book again.

a picnic with the dead… for the living.

you allow yourself a secret smile as you nod, thinking back to that last glass of champagne.

because yes — the only difference between a graveyard and a garden might be what you choose to put in the ground. but says who that life cannot thrive in a place for the dying? after all — graveyards are for the living, aren’t they? and champagne and flowers too.

“yes… i’d like that,” you say, nodding, smiling, bright as bright can be, “i’d like that very much indeed.”

requests are open

[weaponizedmoth]

I usually leave my DMs open universally for comm requests, but that horse is dead and I'm putting dms on just for people I follow again <3

[jessamine-rose]

/obey me! vent/

[magiefish]

POV: You are listening to the end of Neverland

[arolesbianism]

Some swap au Olivia and Jackie concepts for the main 3 universes 👍

[jamiethebeeart]

I'm not saying I speedran 4 linearts today for @green-with-envy-phandom-event but .... Who am I kidding I did (gore submission under the cut: portal accident, cw: skeleton, dissolving)

[thevalleyisjolly]

Crack AU concept: Every Second Age Finwëan apart from Galadriel doesn’t actually have the origin they’re commonly purported to have:

No one is sure of Gil-Galad’s parentage because he’s actually a highly competent Green-Elf who looked around at the general chaos and destruction near the end of the First Age, sighed, rolled up his sleeves, and decided that someone had to start taking responsibility for this shit.  Look, he never actually stated that he was anyone’s son, it’s just that people are more likely to listen to someone named “Scion of Kings” than they are to a random (if exceedingly capable) elf, and the assumptions kind of snowballed from there.  His favourite pastime is dropping contradictory hints about his parentage and watching the ensuing confusion.

The fact of the matter is, Celebrimbor is a popular name among Elves.  There was a Celebrimbor of Gondolin and a Celebrimbor of Doriath and even a Falmari Celebrimbor, formerly of Aman, who insists that he was the first Celebrimbor.  They also all happened to be very skilled craftspeople so maybe there’s something to the name after all.  So when a dark haired Elf with incredible skills in craft shows up in Lindon after the war calling himself Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, the only part that anyone bats an eye at is the “son of Curufin” part because who would knowingly associate themselves with the House of Fëanor in this day and age?  Surely nobody would lie about that, and if they wouldn’t lie about that, why would they lie about anything else?

When it comes down to it, nobody really understands what it means to be peredhel, and especially not when it comes to their lifespan and aging.  Furthermore, nobody really knows what happened to Elwing’s sons after the Third Kinslaying; everybody just assumed they were taken hostage and/or killed.  Therefore, when during the War of Wrath, a pair of grown, clearly half-elven twins with a strong resemblance to Lúthien wash up in Balar, everybody assumes (with more than a little wishful thinking) that they must be Elwing’s sons, miraculously spared by the Fëanorians.  As for the twins themselves, they feel more than a little guilty about assuming the identities of the nephews they never met, but they also figure that if they told the truth of their survival, they might be disbelieved or taken for spies of Morgoth, so they’ll go along with it for now and if their nephews do turn up, they’ll deal with it then?

(They did actually turn up a few decades into the Second Age, having been in the East where Maglor sent them before shit really started going down.  They’re honestly just delighted to have living family more or less on this side of the Sea, and agree that it’d be too much of a bother to reverse the identity confusion now.  One of them decides to go back east to the Greenwood where he’d made some good friends with the Silvan elves there, the other stays on with “Elrond” as a councillor and ambiguous “kinsman” who helps him fill in any missing details in the story)

Out of all of them, Celebrían is actually the child of Galadriel and Celeborn.  Sometimes people are a little confused because they heard once that her parents had a son, Amroth, but it’s chalked down to poor communication and confusion with Amdír’s son since Amdír was friends with her parents.  Celebrían thinks it was incredibly tacky to give your child the same name as your friend’s child, so really, she was doing her parents a big favour by renaming herself Celebrían.  And honestly, while they don’t mind being Amroth (the superior Amroth because Amdírion is an idealistic romantic with his head in the clouds), they also like being Celebrían a little more. 

(Galadriel concedes that naming them Amroth was not the most creative move and that Celeborn possibly lost a bet with Amdír before their birth, but she also thinks that Celebrían could do better than the lady of a little valley in the middle of nowhere, so really, Celebrían’s had enough of her mother’s advice for the next long-year or two)

+Gildor never claimed to be Finrod’s son, he’s just never actually disclosed how they’re related and since none of the other Finwëans (real or otherwise) have ever said anything about it, people just sort of follow their lead and assume it’s a non-issue.  It’s actually the most mundane thing ever - his parents were among Finrod’s retainers in Aman and crossed the Ice with him; when they were both slain in the Dagor Aglareb, Finrod took the young Gildor on as a ward of his House.

[theartistichuman]

junko edamame would love my gayass for how im full of despair

[illithiddies]

Hm. Having thoughts