fin is fine

Él era mujeriego, ella fría; él salía todos los fines de semana, ella bebía hasta emborracharse; él lastimó y lo lastimaron, ella nunca había creído en el amor. Él la besaba de vez en cuando, ella no decía que no. 
 Ellos eran un desastre. Ellos cambiaron. Ellos,  quizás en secreto, se quieren.
  • what she says: i'm fine
  • what she means: anakin and padme never got to see luke and leia grow up and they never got to decorate the nursery in a nice house on naboo and they never got to hear their kids whine when they kiss in front of them and they never saw their kids first steps and they never heard their toddlers say their names and obi-wan never got his beard braided by leia and luke never put flowers in obi-wan's hair and the twins never played with anakin's metal arm and padme never got to watch her husband rock their babies to sleep

04:00 am


Non sarò bella, non sarò una di quelle ragazze che vedi una semplice foto e pensi “Vorrei proprio conoscerla e dirle quanto è magnifica!”, ma, se tu volessi, potresti comunque innamorarti di me, delle mie stranezze. 
Potresti amare i miei occhi dal colore indefinito e sempre un po’ tristi e disinteressarti del fatto che non ho due gambe chilometriche e magre. 
Potresti amare il mio sorriso, che, mi dicono, è davvero buffo.
Potresti amare il modo in cui ti parlo, in cui mi tocco i capelli ogni dieci parole e non importerebbe se non ho delle labbra carnose. 
Potresti amare la mia malinconia, i miei occhi che si illuminano quando piove, i miei sguardi.
Potresti amare le mie parole, tutte le parole che ti dedicherei se solo potessi, le lettere che ti scriverei. E quelle resterebbero, al contrario della bellezza, quelle potresti rileggerle col tempo e maledirmi per essermene andata o imprecare perché sarai stato fragile.
Forse entrambi, forse sarai felice che io mi sia tolta dalle scatole, forse sarò ancora io la persona che ti ritroverai fra le braccia la mattina. 
Potresti amare il fatto che io debba mettermi in punta di piedi per abbracciarti, che nelle tue felpe sparirei completamente, che sono così minuta e non faccio che combattere con cose più grandi di me.
Potresti amare la mia determinazione, come lotterei fino all’ultimo per te, per noi. 
Potresti amare le canzoni che ti canterei e il mio averti in tutto ciò che faccio.
Potresti amare i miei libri, le citazioni che ti scriverei su fogliettini sparsi un po’ ovunque e ti lascerei da qualche parte, così, per regalarti un sorriso.
Potresti amare il modo in cui ti preparerei il caffè alla mattina, magari anche impicciando lo zucchero col sale qualche volta. 
Potresti amare le risate che ci faremmo, il mio chiederti di portarmi al mare d’inverno e il mio lamentarmi sempre di come il mio corpo non mi piaccia.
O potresti odiarlo, arrabbiarti con me perché sminuisco tutto, perché non credo mai a nulla, e litigheremmo, litigheremmo sempre per questo e dopo ci baceremmo fino a farci mancare i respiri.
Potresti amare il mio parlare tanto e i miei silenzi che vanno riempiti, potresti amare il modo in cui ti stringerei le mani.
Potresti amare le mie insicurezze, i miei immensi complessi e le mie paure potresti sconfiggerle.
Potresti amare il mio mondo immaginario.
Potresti amare il fatto che quando andremo ai concerti dovrai prendermi sulle spalle perché sono bassina e non vedrei niente.
Potresti amare il fatto che io sia un casino assurdo.
Potresti amare il mio profumo e i miei pigiami. 
Potresti amare il mio essere negata in cucina.
Pensaci, non sarebbe divertente metterci a preparare il pranzo assieme e ridere delle cose stupide che farei? 
Potresti amare i miei capelli sempre arrabbiati e le mie labbra tutte smangiucchiate, le mie cuffiette sempre nelle orecchie e la mia testa sempre altrove.
Ma se ci fossi tu no, se tu fossi qui con me, io ci sarei sempre, ti ascolterei sempre, ti accarezzerei i capelli e farei di tutto perché tu possa essere felice.
Potresti amare il mio comportarmi da bambina, i cartoni Disney che vorrei guardare con te, i dolcetti che comprerò e che ti toccherá finire. 
Potresti amare le giornate sdraiati sul divano a giocare ai videogiochi e il broncio che metterei perdendo, o, al contrario, il mio viso felice di quando mi lascerai vincere. 
Potresti amare le fotografie che ti scatterei, il mio implorarti di andare ovunque perché vorrei un ricordo di te da qualsiasi parte, le foto che ci faremo insieme e in cui io verrò sempre male. 
Potresti amare le mie incazzature, il mio essere lunatica e perennemente in guerra contro il mondo.
Potresti amare l’autunno come lo amo io, le ore insieme sotto le coperte abbracciati mentre fuori piove, e le pizze che condivideremo perché non riuscirò mai a finirne una da sola. 
Potresti amare tanto, ma davvero tanto di me, perché non sarò bella, ma sono quel tipo di persona che, quando ama, ama davvero.
Mi innamorerei di ogni tuo difetto e detesterei ogni tuo pregio che mi faccia sentire inferiore, ti accarezzerei le guance tutti i giorni ripetendoti quanto tu sia importante per me.
Scriverei poemi solo sul tuo sorriso che, forse, un giorno leggerai, magari quando saremo vecchi, magari quando ci saremo già persi, e penserai che, alla fin fine, ne valevo la pena.
Non voglio lasciarti scappare, perché alla fin fine, tu ne vali la pena, io me lo sento che tu ne vali la pena e non sarà il tempo, l'età e la distanza a impedirmi tutto ciò.
Spero di averti fatto svegliare col sorriso, lo meriti.


04:00 il mio desiderio sei tu.
-M.

—  il-suono-dei-miei-pensieri
«Le uniche cose che rimpiango» disse, «le sole che rimpiangerò sempre sono quelle che non ho fatto.  Alla fin fine è solo questo che lamentiamo.
I sentieri che non abbiamo percorso.
Le persone che non abbiamo toccato».
—  Scott Spencer -  Un amore senza fine
Alla fin fine la verità…è questa,
che ti amo, e tu mi hai amata 
e t'ho visto felice, mio 
mentre da lei torni per centomila cose che non sono l'amore
—  Sibilla Aleramo a Giovanni Boine, da Carteggio (1979), pag. 440

Originally posted by fakesvuquotes

(GIF credit: @porpentinygoldstein , I couldn’t find this GIF the normal way)

*coughs* It’s Friday, what do you expect me to do when I happen to come across those two? ;)

La libertà è partecipazione?

Dalle primarie del 2005, quelle che incoronarono Prodi leader dell’Unione, gli iniziali 4.3 milioni di partecipanti si sono ridotti a meno della metà: 1.8 mln di votanti. In alcuni casi si parla addirittura di un più drammatico 1.6 milioni.

2005 (Prodi leader del Centro-sinistra): 4.3 milioni di partecipanti.
2007 (Veltroni segretario PD): 3.5 mln.
2009 (Bersani segretario PD): 3.1 mln.
2012 (Bersani capo coalizione di Italia Bene Comune): 3.1 mln.
2013 (Renzi segretario PD): 2.8 mln.
2017 (Renzi segretario PD): 1.8 mln.

Ma anche se partiamo dalle sole primarie del PD il calo è notevole: la metà scarsa si è persa per strada. Ovviamente bisogna tenere conto di diversi fattori: la politica del PD degli ultimi anni, le alleanze politiche, la caccia(ta) ai “gufi”, nonché poi i fuoriusciti dal PD degli ultimi anni.

Se invece guardiamo i numeri di altre primarie, fatte da altri schieramenti, il confronto diventa impietoso.

Nel 2013, alle primarie della Lega Nord hanno partecipato 10.123 votanti, mentre per votare la Meloni (Fratelli d’Italia - AN), sono andati in 249.380 votanti.

Le parlamentarie del M5S, voto solo permesso ai certificati, fu alquanto controverso. Si parlò, nel 2013, di 95.000 preferenze ma dato che ognuno poteva votare fino a 4 diversi candidati, non è tutt’ora chiaro se furono 95.000 votanti o preferenze, quindi grossolanamente 25.000 votanti per un partito del 25% nazionale e che fa della democrazia diretta un cavallo di battaglia. Primarie che in molti casi hanno eletto candidati con meno di 20 preferenze o, nel caso del sindaco di Genova, sono state annullate dopo il voto.

Personalmente, le primarie hanno senso nel momento in cui c’è una larga partecipazione perché la funzione vera non è nella scelta del segretario di partito ma nel misurarne la sua forza. Una larga partecipazione popolare è una misura della grandezza del partito. Alla fin fine, un partito politico è tale quando una somma di cittadini si riconoscono in visione politica comune, un’idea di società e d’ideali piuttosto che in un programma politico. 

Il centro-sinistra di Prodi fece scendere in piazza 4.3 milioni di persone. Il PD, negli anni seguenti, ne portò costantemente 3 milioni, a dimostrazione che era ancora un partito popolare o di derivazione popolare.

La differenza con la Lega Nord, con Fratelli d’Italia o peggio ancora, con il M5S era tutta qua. Per una volta il PD aveva una storia molto più interessante da raccontare. Era l’unico campo in cui gli avversari dovevano inseguire, in certi casi arrancare. Uno spot elettorale, certo, ma anche una speranza. 

Rocky contro Ivan Drago. La partecipazione del popolo, in piazza, vera, dove si vedono i volti delle persone contro quella dei click gestiti da una “oscura” società di marketing. 

Con meno di 2 milioni di partecipanti (se non 1.8 o peggio ancora 1.6 milioni di votanti), la soglia di “popolare” si assottiglia sempre di più e ci dà il senso di cosa sia oggi il PD: un partitino forse del 20% guidato da un incapace. Un partito nato a tavolino per governare da solo ma che ora, per farlo, avrà bisogno di una legge elettorale fatta su misura. Un partito buono (forse) per un sistema maggioritario e che ora si vede costretto a fare alleanze politiche mortali: a sinistra ci sono i fuoriusciti del PD ma con lo sbarramento, tra Camera e Senato non avranno più di 5 rappresentanti in totale. Mentre a destra, invece, ci sono i residui del ventennio berlusconiano che nel PD vedono solo un’opportunità di fare politica fine a sé stessa. 

4

Chapter Six - Digesting the Family Tree

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“You are hungry?”

After sitting together in the dimly lit room for nearly two hours his question had broken the silence.

“No, no I’m not” Louise coolly replied. She wouldn’t admit to anything, not to him. They often thought of Humans as lesser/weaker, she wouldn’t let him have that over her.

The Vulcan raised a single eyebrow, he seemed puzzled by her answer.

“I will ask again, are you hungry?”

Louise sighed in frustration. “Why do you ask?”

“The noises emanating from your digestive system indicate hunger. I can provide you with food if it is required.”

“I’m fine.” Louise replied firmly.

“Fine has variable definitions, fin……..”

She interrupted him “I’M FINE!”

Keep reading

10

I decided to bite the bullet and upload some pictures of my 4 month old 20 gallon long sorority tank. There are six girls in here but my little baby refused to join the photo shoot. It’s really hard to take photos of everybody, let alone a teeny and damn near green colored fish, in this messy jungle. I really need to prune it again so the lower leaves can get light.

Worries - Enoch O'Connor imagine One Shot (request)

a/n: hi this is another request i absolutely love, it’s so cute and i hope it turns out well and that you guys like it :)

request: Hiii I don’t know if you take requests but if you do could you make an imagine with finlay macmillan or enoch o'connor ( you choose which one you prefer ) and like we’re dating and something happens and he’s worried or something like that ? Thanks xx

characters: finlay macmillan, reader

any important things: finlay and the reader are both finaly’s age, past the age 18; fans and paparazzi are crazy in this imagine, like they are when kim k is on the street :D; finlay and the reader are a couple in this imagine, i hope it doesn’t bother anyone :)



“have you got everything?” y/n asked as the lipstick in her hand drew the last dark red line of colour on her lips. after a few seconds of hearing no response, she called out louder, “fin?”

“yeah, yeah, everything’s fine.” her partner replied, coming towards the mirror y/n was standing before. “you look ravishing, love.” 

the girl with wavy hair looked up at finlay in the mirror and smiled. “thank you. could say so about you, too.” she said. the young man walked up to her from behind and rested his chin on her shoulder, right next to her head. 

“you look so gorgeous, i want to do things to you.” he said with a slight smirk. y/n raised an eyebrow. “too bad there’s a premiere we have to get to.”

“well, now you have something to look forward to when we get back here.” she said, looking down at her phone. “the taxi is here.”

finlay groaned. “let’s go then.” he spoke, putting y/n’s coat on her shoulders before he put one on himself. 

“don’t you be sulking at the premiere. i’ll be by your side at all times.” y/n assured her boyfriend. 

“yeah, yeah.” finlay said with a careless grin on his face before the two youngsters went out of their apartment.

they got into the taxi and the driver started the route to the movie theatre. finlay placed his hand on y/n’s thigh. she looked at him with raised eyebrows. “you’ll be fine?” he asked.

“yeah, i’ll be okay.” she nodded.

“i mean, it’s your first time to go to a premiere with me, so maybe you’re nervous.”

“a bit, but who isn’t?” y/n smiled.

“right you are.” finlay smiled back and kissed y/n’s cheek. the girl’s cheeks flushed a pink shade. they were together for already more than half a year, but small things like pecks on the cheek still made her feel wonderful emotions and shyness.

“we’re here.” the taxi driver said. y/n and finlay heard screams of fans and yells coming from grown men right after and both raised their eyebrows. 

“there are fans outside?” y/n asked.

“must be.” finlay shrugged. “you ready?”

“yeah, yeah, it’s okay.” y/n nodded. “let’s go.” the girl unbuckled her seatbelt. finlay did the same and then sighed before opening his door and stepping out of the car. people outside of the car started screaming so loud, y/n hoped no one would lose their hearing. 

she was soon to be going out into the mayhem and she waited for finlay to open her door so she could get out on the street. but she felt like too much time had passed for him to go around the car. y/n furrowed her eyebrows slightly and looked out the window. there were guards pushing people back, many were almost pushed against the car y/n was in. she couldn’t spot finlay anywhere.

she looked out the car’s back window and finally him. there were guards even holding him back, far away from the car. y/n furrowed her eyebrows even harder and then decided to get out of the car herself, screw polite things done for women, her boyfriend couldn’t do that right now.


“hey, let me go, i have to get back to the taxi.” finlay said in a confused tone to the guards that were holding him. their expressions didn’t change from blank. “do you hear me? i have to get to my girlfriend, can you please let me get back?”

“sir, there are too many people here, we can’t let anyone else get through this entrance, please get yourself into the premiere building.” one of the guards said.

“where are the others, then? don’t play jokes with me right now.” finlay said, starting to grow impatient and worried. 

“sir, get yourself into the building, please, for your own safety, the others are getting in through the backdoor.”

“no! let me get to y/n! i need to get her inside with me!” finlay protested, but the guards forcefully started pushing him towards the main entrance of the building. as much as finlay tried to fight them, they were guards - built like war machines, as strong as 5 men. 

so he has to get away in some other way than fighting the guards.


“ma'am, please, get back in your car and leave this place, there are too many people here.” a guard said to y/n who had just got out of the taxi cab. 

“what? no, i-i got here with finlay, i’m supposed to be here, uhm-”

“there are too many people here, it’s dangerous for you to be here.” the guard said.

“don’t-i came here with my boyfriend, i need to get to him, let me go.” y/n said with eyebrows furrowed and frustration slowly starting to rise in her. 

“please get out of here, ma'am, i don’t want to repeat myself.” the guard replied with annoyance in his voice.

“don’t give me that tone! i need to get to finlay and i will! let me go to him!” y/n said in a raised voice. “or i will go myself. i won’t get back into the taxi and drive away. i promise you.” she pointed her finger at the guard. 

“listen, lady-” before the guard could finish what he was saying or even get to his point, a hand grabbed y/n’s wrist and yanked her away from the guard with an attitude and next thing y/n knew - she was running. the run into the huge building, across the red carpet, was too quick for y/n to see who had grabbed her wrist, but by the touch, she knew it was finlay.

once a pair of doors shut closed behind the two and screams and yells got muffled, y/n breathed out deeply. “jesus christ, what was going on out there?” she said, making sure nothing was scratched on her skin or her heels broken.

“total horrible staff work.” finlay said from before her. trying to regain his normal breathing. y/n chuckled and straightened back up to face her boyfriend. “didn’t break your expensive shoes?”

y/n rolled her eyes playfully with a smirk. “thank god, no.” she replied. finlay held out his arm for y/n to take and she gladly linked her hand around his and they started to make their way further into the building. 

“i was worried something had happened to you.” finlay stated. “the guards and the screaming fans were scaring me.”

“thanks, my darling.” the girl said. “the guard was giving me some attitude. i wouldn’t let him, of course.” she smiled.

“that’s my girl.” finlay smiled and his hand snaked down to hold y/n’s waist.

Esperpento, m. desus. consecución del ser.

Este es el mundo que con tanto espanto miro:
con las calles y sus niños
y su hábito de candor falso,
empequeñecido por individuos
que tanto saben de herir
que entienden de matar callando.

Ese es el espíritu,
la herencia de lo imperecedero:
lo indómito del incivismo,
la creencia infinita de creerse infinito,
la dominación de lo concreto y de lo abstracto,
la pena mayoritaria sublevándose en silencio,
la tiranía del esqueleto que deshace la piel
como el otoño que despeina las ramas de un árbol;
la muerte y el renacimiento:
el juego en el que todo avanza
y en el que todo empieza de nuevo.

Los años llegan de paso, manteniéndose al margen,
haciendo de cada cana al aire un gesto,
llevando la madurez a la torpeza del aire,
tiene su voz la conciencia para su propio detrimento,
las esquinas de una casa adoctrinadas por el eco
son la muerta imagen de un rostro que clama paz
en sus adentros;
no importa cuanto sosiego entone el vacío,
donde diluya una lágrima de nadie,
ni que hoy se pare el tiempo
ni que el tiempo nunca pare,
hoy diferentes rostros siguen siendo el mismo.

Cualquier nombre sigue empecinándose al vacío,
creyéndose único en el ejercicio
de repetirse que en el mundo hay varios caminos
y digo, que por azar, cada paso es un destino.

Even the Playing Field (Fin x reader)

Anonymous said: Hey, I love Across the Pond, it’s just a shame you haven’t written anymore Fin stories! If you don’t mind, could I request a friendship/maybe something more story with him? The reader is really sporty and on exchange in Scotland for water polo (or another sport if you don’t wanna write that) and he reluctantly drives her to training at first but in the end comes to every game & gets a little protective when she gets hurt. But take the story anywhere you like, I know you’ll make it amazing xx

Hey! I don’t know much about water polo, but I do know a little too much about competitive martial arts (taekwondo to be specific). I based it around martial arts as I do have that competitive background there. I would love to learn more about water polo though, I’ve never heard much about it. x

Originally posted by peculiarvader

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Lokane, ‘ Are you an angel? Has the time come? I’ve been waiting so long. ‘

A/N: I give you a Post-Apocalyptic AU. I hope you like it! :)

RESURRECTION WITH A PRICE

The last thing Jane remembers is the searing flash of light before fire erupted in her stomach, shooting out to her limbs in a burst of agony. She welcomed the murky oblivion that followed, grateful to find rest after so many years of conflict. No more losing friends on the frontlines in this endless battle between worlds. No more lurking in the shadows until the rare opportunity to strike at their would-be oppressors—as hollow as those efforts have been.

It was over. Finally.

But as she opens bleary eyes, blinking at the acute brightness that permeates her field of vision, she’s not so sure. Where is she? It’s a room colored a brilliant, impossible white. The ceiling is painted with a gold filigree pattern that bleeds down, fading into the shining, bleached stonework of the walls that she can see better now. She’s in a bed with linens unlike any she’s experienced in her short life. Adjectives like soft and silky come close to describing them, but not quite.

Is this the afterlife? Is there an afterlife? As a scientist and a soldier, she’s never believed in the supernal. After all, would a benevolent deity allow the devastation that she’s known for the past five years? She can’t bring herself to believe in an absentee creator, or worse, a malevolent one. There’s been comfort in putting her faith in an accidental existence born from a cosmic bang. Humans were on their own; they’d always been.

And yet, she can’t explain this. Her hand tentatively goes to where she’d been struck down by the alien weapon—to where there should be a charred, yawning wound in her belly as she’d witnessed too many times in fallen comrades. She finds nothing, though. Her abdomen is smooth, untouched, and covered by some gown she’s wearing made of fabric similar to the bed linens. She can’t make these variables fit logically with what she knows, what she understands.

She pushes up on her elbows, wincing instinctively against the pain she expects that never comes. Her breath catches when she finds another standing at the foot of her bed. He’s tall, long raven hair falling past his shoulders that contrasts his pale eyes and even paler skin. His angular features are inscrutable as he studies her. His garb is foreign, ethereal with a filmy deep green tunic, leather trousers and a dark, sleeveless robe. He’s inhuman. Beautiful.

“Are you an angel?” The question leaves her before she can think better of it, and her face burns at the smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth, at the laugh he breathes through his nose.

“I am called many things,” he answers cryptically. The baritone of his voice is dry, rasping—nothing like the lilting tenor she imagined as a child of the mythical, holy beings. “Never an angel,” he continues, tilting his head as his gaze travels to take all of her in. “But always a god.”

“Am I dead?” she asks as she turns his words over in her mind. A god, implying that there is more than a single deity, unlike the “One True Creator” traditions that fell out of favor in her world when the invasion began. Were any of them true—the religions of her people? Not that she’d given credence to any of them, but she tries to recall the belief systems that had multiple divinities.

“Yes,” he says, “and no.” He saves her from asking for clarification by adding, “You have been made anew.”

Her brows pull together in confusion. “Why?”

The smile that hinted on his features before blossoms fully now, drawing lines in his cheeks, revealing a set of straight, white teeth. The look is less pleased and more predatory, and her heart stutters briefly in response. “Because, Jane Foster,” he replies, inching closer to her, “clever leader of the futile resistance on Midgard, you are meant to be a part of a greater battle.”

The notion churns her stomach, fills her with dread. Midgard? She’s heard that unusual name for her world before, but she can’t place it. “I’m done fighting.”

“Oh no, you’re not.” His knees brush against the edge of her mattress. “This conflict is unavoidable, dear Jane. Both sides are recruiting across the nine realms and soon combat will begin.”

Again, she tastes the familiarity at the edge of his strange statement, but whatever she knows is locked away in the recesses of memory. “And you’re recruiting me?” At his tacit nod, she asks, “What if I don’t want to be recruited for your little war.” She’s done enough, fought enough. She’d rather be lost to eternal night than play warrior again.

My war?” He laughs at the idea. “You misunderstand. This is the war. The great and final clash to end all things. I speak of Ragnarök.”

Ragnarök. She knows this word; it’s from ancient Scandinavia. She combs through her knowledge of their mythos, what little she has. The battle he’s referencing is between the giants and the Æsir, isn’t it? Which side has he recruited her to? Which god is he supposed to be? She poses the questions aloud.

“I am Loki,” he says. “Better known to your kind as the God of Mischief.”

The trickster. The silver-tongued deceiver according to the bit of lore she knows. “No.” She shakes her head. “I won’t fight for you.”

“But you will,” he says smiling as though amused by her defiance. “The safety of your realm depends on it.”

She narrows her eyes. “What do you mean? You’ll wipe us all out if I don’t?”

His tongue presses briefly against his bottom lip, turning his grin feral. “On the contrary,” he replies, “I’ll save your paltry realm from the Chitauri if you join my ranks. A very generous gift on my part. Now, can you say no to that?”

She closes her eyes. She shouldn’t trust him. She can’t. And yet no one else has come to her people’s aid. “How do I know you’ll keep your end of the deal?”

He laughs, low and soft. “Fight at my side, and find out. What’s it to be, Jane?”

She searches his face for deception, but he’s unreadable. If she agrees to this, subjects herself to more carnage, more death and destruction, he may still leave Earth to die at the hands of those terrible aliens. But then, if she rejects his offer, it’s certain that humans will become extinct. She lets out a heavy sigh.

“Fine.”

~FIN~