#the age of adolescence

[doubtspirit]

Joseph Sterling, From The Age of Adolescence, 1961

[wombywoo]

boyzzzzz 👦💥

[novelconcepts]

The more the show progresses, the more I want to see the 90s cast infiltrating the modern timeline. We've gotten hints of it with Shauna and her younger self, her Jackie hauntings. We've gotten a little more with adult Lottie seeing teenage Nat (and Laura Lee), and with Natalie getting teenage Lottie in her final moments. I want more. I want the teen cast to be absolutely invasive on pivotal adult moments, infecting their adult counterparts when least expected. I want Taissa's argument with Van to dissolve into their teenage selves, their bond endless and timeless and inescapable. I want Misty absolutely wrecked by young Natalie lurking around corners, watching from mirrors. I want to see these women unable to navigate adulthood without the specters of their teenage selves cropping up absolutely everywhere, more and more as they let the memories in, as they stop being able to repress the trauma. They didn't grow up. They never could. You are always doomed to regress around your high school teammates. You are haunted by the phantom elements of your misspent youth. It is a comfort, and it is a gift, and it is a trial, and it is a curse. I would love to see that reflected with greater intensity, until the lines blur, until the timelines have no choice but to intersect. They haven't escaped themselves at all. They didn't grow up. They just got older.

[moonshynecybin]

Hey! Just wanted to say I’m in awe of how your writing it’s just so GOOD and FUN and TORUROUS. It’s rly hard to nail the voices and dialogue of characters (especially when writing them speaking in english!) but you always make it so believable. Ur Vale especially is sooo charismatic which like hats off bc a more mercurial man has not been made. 

Re ur charged-airport-conversation fic, I’m intrigued to find out how Marc will handle his sexuality crisis. Will he be in denial? does he very seriously study gay culture like telemetry data? is he getting Grindr? is he seeing it as something to incorporate into his PT routine & somehow translate this to a competitive edge? how did he feel about the pope saying frociaggine????

Also I loved the goofy brother shenanigans, Alex strongest most patient and silliest man alive truly. Extremely funny to think of Alex “please get a girlfriend you’re 30 and annoying me” Marquez having to cope with Marc coming back like “I found one! :3” holding hands with Cervera’s enemy #1 undisputed champ 2015-2024

Anyways, would love to hear any thoughts u had but no pressure! I just wanted to thank u for ur brilliant mind & forget about whatever fresh hell that sprint was 

this one. is one that i plan to maybe actually and fr write out so i shant answer in full because i hope that you'll find out eventually. um. i CAN give you chapter two! of THIS fic where Marc and Vale get stuck in an airport and have a somewhat fraught little bonding session. i have not proofread this OR reread the original so if there's inconsistencies just chill out. theres also a lot of liberties taken with the amount of privacy these guys have on a given race weekend again just chill out. please. they live in different countries and are bitter rivals its hard to get them alone into fictional scenarios. its about 1.4k.

(Part ONE !)

The next time he sees Vale is in the paddock.

It's not unusual to see him— the paddock is small and Vale is always a presence, felt even when he’s gone, indelible—but it’s on the television more often than not these days. Maybe a glimpse of him zooming around on his scooter, ignoring the swing of the camera phones tracking him in his wake. But it’s not like this, never this close up. Vale maintains distance, and Marc has adapted to take his cues from that same distance. He’s not going to be the first to engage, not anymore. 

All that being said, Marc is trying to grab some alone time in between sessions, communing with his lunch and contemplating ways to improve his breaking into Turn 11. He’s tucked into a shady place out of the way, generally out of the range of any stray cameras, when Vale catches him, sliding next to him on the table and leaning forwards on his elbows.

He starts picking at Marc’s food.

Marc reacts reflexively, not even processing that it's Vale who’s at his elbow who is reaching over to snag a bit of his chicken. He lifts his bowl out of reach like he would with Alex. “Hey— that's mine,”

Vale’s game, apparently, shooting him one of those dangerous grins, eyes crinkling at the sides towards Marc like he hasn’t seen in years. He’s brimming with the confidence of someone used to getting away with breaking rules. Marc puts down his food. Lifts a hand, adjusts the cap at the top of his head, and tucks his hair behind his ear. 

This means something. He doesn’t know what.

“Allora, you were not eating it.”

And Marc has always been easy for it—the simple skill he has in spinning a situation into the brightest version of itself, mood turning on a dime. Even when he was destroying Marc, he would do it with a smile. 

It’s that same silverbright thread that makes Marc laugh, disbelieving, a shock of delight. He shoves at the edge of Vale’s arm, jockeying with his elbow. He bites his lip, shakes his head. Would you look at that?

“Presumptuous,” Marc scolds, and tucks back into his lunch, forking another bite into his mouth. Vale grins and leans closer, conspiratorial. That same hot, embarrassed feeling from the airport rears its head, giddy. Marc glances around. There’s no one here. He feels like there is. LIke there’s eyes on them, even though he’d chosen a place where there shouldn't be.

It feels like crossing a line, teetering on the edge of some cliff, one toe over the edge. Hot and anticipatory in the pit of his stomach. There’s a breeze going, and he shivers. Vale leans closer.

He likes it. 

He also knows that he shouldn't like it. He’s gone through this song and dance before. This feeling, this hero worship that he has with Vale never leads him down any good road. He thought– six premier class titles and nearly ten years of vitriol had been an effective cure. Not so, he’s finding out.

Vale corrects, “I see what I see. This I cannot help.”

“Oh yeah? You’ve been watching me?

Vale shrugs, steals another bite. “You do manage to put on a good, ah, show.” He finds the words in Spanish. Marc can’t remember the last time they spoke in Spanish.

Marc takes a breath in. Settles himself. He doesn’t know what the end goal is here. Curiosity wins out— it’s better than wondering why Vale’s here in the first place. What game he’s trying to play. What he thinks he’ll get out of being nice to Marc, aside from that shivery feeling clawing its way up the base of his spine. He should really at least find out if he’s doing this because he plans on not being nice to Marc. 

“How did you find me?” Is what he goes with. Neutral enough. 

“You are not hard to find.” The answer is vague, but frank. Vale loves to speak around things.

Marc raises an eyebrow, decides to just keep looking at him. They both know he’s bullshitting. Vale breaks, and makes a face, shrugging.

“I have been racing here longer than you. I know the hiding spots.”

Marc gives him a minute roll of the eyes. It's still not an answer. “You know, they remodeled not too long ago. The entire layout changed.” Vale would’ve had to work to find him. 

“Not too much!” Vale spreads his palms cheerfully, seizing on a diversion. “The bones are still the same. The stands are over there,” he juts a thumb, “The pits are here. The bathrooms change, but bah. It’s a facelift.”

Marc wrangles down a smile. Vale’s not being serious— he’s being fun. Maybe he’s trying to get him comfortable for some reason. “A lot changes, I think.” He says frankly, and he means it. 

Vale’s eyes flash. He sees Marc’s conviction, catches the double meaning. Another one of their conversations centering around two different issues on the surface, but coming back to their history all the same. The elephant in the room butting into other topics. History, division, and rivalry, all sneaking its way into the cracks in their words. 

Vale keeps going, the lead in their little play.

“Maybe. But it’s not— like, aerodynamics, new regulations, new tires— all that changes. Small stuff.  Opinions, riders. But it is still a paddock. I’ve been in paddocks my entire life. You can’t change much.”

Things change a lot, in Marc’s experience. People. Teams. Bodies. 

Friendships.

And Marc is brave usually, has made a career out of it, so he feels like he has to ask. No use avoiding it and feeling half out of his skin for the rest of the day. Vale’s knee bumps into his own and he closes his eyes briefly. When he opens them Vale is already looking at him

“Why are you here?” He levels.

Vale throws him a soft smile. It comforts exactly no part of Marc.

“Maybe I was looking for a hiding place.”

Marc hesitates, choosing his words carefully. It’s always a spar with Valentino; even when they were friendly, they were still competing.

“Am I the hiding place?”

“Well, I am still more famous than you, is true. Less photographers on you than me. It’s peaceful.”

“What do you want from me?”

“Now there’s a good question.” Vale says, stealing something else off of Marc’s plate. “Today? I was hungry. I thought I’d stop by and eat with an old friend.” The words jolt through Marc like a highside. He’s in the air— lost, flying, falling. 

Vale stands, towering. He claps Marc on the shoulder. It burns white hot. Marc keeps his eyes on him, trying to catch a hint, a clue as to how this all happened. 

An old friend.

“Is that what we are?” He asks, more earnest than he should be. Vale can be such a bastard.

“Well, what would you call it?” He responds, turning the question on Marc, voice quiet. Serious, like he knows whatever hangs between them is as thin as a spiderweb. Marc swallows.

“I don’t know,” Marc answers. still too honest, even now. Something flickers on Vale’s face, too quick and complex for him to read. 

“Think about it.” Vale prompts, and walks away.

Marc finds out that they weren’t alone, in that section of the paddock the next day. The pictures hit the news after the race, headlines rolling in thankfully after Marc has left for home. Valentino Rossi and Marc Marquez sharing lunch, alone on a race weekend ten years after their falling out. What could it mean? 

But Marc’s eyes look at the photo and just catch on Vale’s shoulders, leaning towards Marc, the palm of his hand, arcing through the air as he gestures, frozen on the screen of his phone, and himself, eyes crinkled at the corners. He was wrong. He didn’t manage to reign in that smile after all. 

FRIENDS AGAIN?, the headline asks, and Marc wonders.

[serpentface]

Here's what Brakul's abandoned son looks like in the present day. His name is Síldebrai, he's 14 years old and already almost 6', and he just graduated to his very first responsibility of impending manhood (tending cattle up at the summer pastures). He has a notably shitty deer tattoo given to him by a friend, which remains indefinitely unfinished due to them being caught in the process.

Síldebrai does not have full ancestral tattoos (arms) yet, as these are only given when a child comes of age and is initiated into adulthood. His parental ancestry tattoos are atypical in only representing his mother and maternal grandparents, as his blood father abandoned him and is a known oathbreaker, and has thus been struck from his lineage. Ancestry is measured based upon direct parent to child blood relations (divided by gender into unbroken male and female lines), so his adoptive father Vrailedh cannot be directly represented. However, due to Vrailedh being Síldebrai's biological uncle (Brakul's brother), Síldebrai will still be able to claim his male ancestral line upon adulthood.

Remarriages in cases of death, exile, and abandonment tend to be kept within the family of the absent parent when possible. This is in large part a pragmatic matter of maintaining clan ties, but additionally to ensure full and unbroken ancestral guardianship for any children who have not yet come of age (and thus have not yet secured a place in their lineage). An adoptive parent completely unrelated to a child may be able to persuade their ancestors to offer guardianship, but the child cannot formally claim a place in their line. This is not socially damning, as they will still have a firm place in their clan, but it can be spiritually fraught and isolating. Being the progenitor of an entirely new lineage is a heavy burden both in life and especially in the afterlife, in which you will initially be the only member of your gendered line tasked with watching over your descendents.

[wrinkleintime]

enterprise text posts: featuring trip and t'pol

[kalivasquezart]

[kismetconstellations]

@sockdooe, I think that person was attempting to argue, with some exceptionally odd choice of words, that Sheith shippers are "nasty", because Shiro and Keith first met when Keith was a child. I assumed, based on the seven year age-difference and the fact that Shiro and Adam were cohabitating and headed toward engagement, that Shiro was at least twenty-one and Keith was fourteen and a high school freshman, when Shiro came out to Keith's school.

Not Shiro eighteen and Keith twelve.

Steven Yeun's voice was pitch-shifted in the flashbacks, but not enough to suggest that Keith hadn't even started puberty, yet. And, I don't think even fictional military academies recruit middle schoolers to be communications experts, data analysts, engineers, and pilots.

The majority of Shiro/Keith shippers only ship them in the context of both of them being legal adults, anyway, so I thought we were largely past the Keith/Shiro shippers are "pedophiles", angle.

Evidently not.

I guess I was giving this fandom too much credit.

[baylardian-1]

POV I scrap my old MLP next gens and do new ones lmaoooooooooo whateverrrrrrrrrrrrr,,,,,, Been wanting to do a Chrysalis/Shining Armor next gen that Cadence and Shining Armor raise (mostly Cadence). General idea being that he's conceived/born around the Chysalis season 2 arc. Cadence and Shining Armor end up taking him in a bit reluctantly, but Cadence warms up to the little grub baby quickly; Shining Armor takes more time and remains distant with his son. While he isn't biologically related to Cadence he ends up kinda metamorphically inheriting her traits as he ages. Cadence calls him Lovebug :) Bit of a filler concept for now, I used the canon colors for Chrysalis and Shining Armor which I'm prone to changing when I have a chance to focus on them. 

[imakemywings]

It's actually not canon that Feanor was a child when Finwe remarried. In fact, in the chapter "Of Feanor" in The Silmarillion where these things are discussed, Finwe's remarriage is mentioned after Feanor's marriage to Nedanel, suggesting he may well have been an adult when Finwe and Indis got together.

[skecherss]

for the last time. Dick is 9-year-old angry and Jason is 12-year-old angry and Tim is 14-year-old angry and Steph is 17-year-old angry and Damian is pretentious rich kid angry. There is no single Angry Robin. we all know this to be true

[gingerswagfreckles]

Mildly annoyed by the sudden slew of posts complaining about queer coming of age stories without any self awareness over the fact that the poster is not the target audience. "I don't want to see another movie about a teenage boy discovering his sexuality and navigating his identity and experiencing high school romance" yes babe that's because those movies are targeted at 15 yead olds and you are 28.

[epifaniacintilante]

Girls in cars

Thelma and Louise (1991)

My Brilliant Friend (2018 - 2024)

Nana (2006)

Age of Youth (2016) it's not a bus

The Adolescence of Utena (1999)

Gilmore Girls (2000 - 2007)

Derry Girls (2018 - 2021)

My Mad Fat Diary (2014-2016)

Heavenly Creatures (1994)

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

P.O.D. - Youth Of The Nation

[towl]

adolescent Sesshomaru ♡ Hanyo no Yashahime, Ch.17