war with the weights

bucky was 24 when he joined the army

steve was also 24 when he enlisted in the army and still 24 when he became their supersoldier

bucky was 27 when he died, 7 days before his 28th birthday

steve was 26 when he died

steve is 26 when he wakes up in 2011 and 26 during the battle of new york

steve is 29 when he finds out bucky survived and 29 during shields collapse

steve is 30 when he takes on leading the avengers full-time and, a few months later, he is 30 years old and standing in a flying city talking to natasha how that would be a good place to die

-84 kg

Ho aggiornato l'ultima foto e mi sono resa conto di essermi fatta il regalo più bello. Questo regalo mi ha fatto capire quanto è bello mettere impegno in qualcosa, mi ha fatto capire che ci sono tante persone pronte ad abbracciarti, mi ha insegnato che l'amore degli altri e l'amore verso se stessi sono le armi più potenti. Vorrei donarvi questo per natale:  la voglia di non arrendersi mai.

“What I didn’t realize, back when I was this twenty-five-year-old pinup for geeks in that me myself and iconic metal bikini, was that I had signed an invisible contract to stay looking the exact same way for the next thirty to forty years. Well, clearly I’ve broken that contract. Partly because, in an effort to keep up my disguise as a human being, I had a child at some point. And then, in an effort to stay sane for said child, I took pounds and pounds of medications that have the dual effect of causing water retention (think ocean, not lake) while also creating a craving for salad—chocolate salad. So yes, in answer to your unexpressed question, sanity does turn out to come at a heavy price.

listen….. keith’s a kid. he’s a fucking kid that has to deal with the loss of the only family figure he has left AND the weight of leading an intergalactic space war on his shoulders. not everyone likes how he’s put in this spot, and it’s clear he doesn’t like it either, but it’s a responsibility entrusted to him by the man he respects the most, and he’s going to stand by that promise no matter what it takes. he’s already dealing with enough of his loneliness at losing shiro, and having people not even believe in him when he’s trying his damn hardest is really. it fucking sucks. so the fact that lance, his self-proclaimed rival lance, stood by his side as a source of comfort and unwavering support for keith…… to have someone be stubborn enough to believe in you despite being given all the reasons why they shouldn’t….. that’s just. that’s really something. and really, all i’m saying is,

motherfucking space ranger partners?

Summary of the chapter

Source - u/et_exspecto

  • Annie secretly follows Kenny to get more information about the King, but gets caught.
  • Reiner & co are in a lull, so Reiner suggests destroying wall Rose. The plan is to escape from the training corps as the chaos ensues and go to the capital to directly attack the King.
  • Annie points out that the plan would kill most of Reiner and Bertolt’s “friends”. She is disgusted with Reiner who says that gaining trust of the trainees is part of the show.
  • In Eren who struggled with his gear Reiner sees himself five years ago and encourages Eren that he will be able to eliminate all titans one day.
  • Back to the current timeline, Reiner is struggling from a sort of PTSD from all these memories and attempts to commit suicide.
  • But he hears Falco who despairs from not being able to gain the Armored at this rate. Reiner realizes there is some job for him to do.

Keep reading

I am going to submit a random headcanon to you:  

Stiles dragging the pack to play Laser Tag.

Stiles that played once, when he was twelve. He asked it as his birthday present, and John and Melissa drove them to the nearest place from Beacon Hills. Stiles was absolutely delighted, until they learned that they would be put with strangers to form a team. It all went downhill from there. 

They were left alone to be shot at fifteen seconds in, and had to hide under a ramp. Scott had an asthma attack when the fog machines started and Stiles, terrified, had to drag both of them out. He then fell into a full blown panic attack in the changing rooms.

So, not their best memory.

But fast forward seven years later. They are nineteen now, Scott is a werewolf and Stiles has been tortured and shot at. Laser tag is gonna be easy. Stiles is so ready to avenge their younger selves.

He only need a team.

Stiles prudently presents the idea during pack night. He’s not worried for most of them, he knows that most of his friends have an unhealthy love for violence and winning. He’s also ready to make Scott cry in order to convince Isaac.

The only unknown variable is their taciturn alpha. Somehow, convincing him to play with lasers in a room reeking of teenager’s hormones and sweat seems like a difficult task. But Stiles has prepared his speech, he has perfectly reasonable arguments, and he will bullshit about pack unity and trust exercises if need be.

Of course, because this is Derek and he likes to fuck up with Stiles’ expectations, he’s only finished the first sentence of his passionate plea when Derek raises one hand in the air to stop him.

Yes,” he breathes, and smiles. They all blink at him a little. Derek keeps smiling, bunny teeth showing and looking almost… excited.


Derek’s family apparently used to throw their kids into the woods to pitch them against each other for fun.

Stiles is not surprised.

Stiles is awfully not surprised.

This was the family whose genes created Peter Hale.

Not noticing their stunned silence, Derek describes his childhood memories. During their monthly run under the full moon, adults used to hide colored pieces of tissue everywhere. The next day, Derek, his sisters and cousins were all let loose, in several teams, into the wood. At dusk, the team that was able to bring back the more targets to their home base while protecting said home base from enemy raids won. The prize was some old trophy, bragging rights and first crack at every dish during the huge dinner.

Derek is trying so hard to communicate his enthusiasm for his claws-and-fangs-allowed, hunger-game version of catch the flag that his hands are moving a little bit in the air. It’s adorable.

When Scott tries to get back on the subject of laser tag (Stiles glares at him, because Derek was sharing things), Derek immediately nods and explains helpfully that there is a place supernatural-friendly just 45 minutes away from Beacon Hills. There is no protest in the pack. Stiles bats the air with his fist in victory.

Their first game together teaches Stiles a lot of things.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

Can you do a gods and monsters based on Ares? (This series is amazing!! Thank you for writing it!!!

a continuation of this

Ares, the God of War, has a throne on Olympus, has followers and temples and tributes.

Ares, the God of War, has the screams of the dead and damned echoing around in his skull, and has not had a moment’s peace since his father declared his dominion over battle.


He tries to ignore them. He can’t stay on Olympus, not anymore where his father’s proud gaze follows him and he can’t help but flinch from it. At first he hides in his mother’s rooms, curling up on her lap and crying like he hasn’t since he was very small. “I can hear them,” he says, tears dripping down his nose and onto her dress, “I can hear them calling for me.”

She combs her fingers through his hair and drops soft kisses onto his forehead. “I’ll kill him. How dare he – how dare he.”

“You will do no such thing,” he says, and turns so he’s looking up at her. He presses his hand to her cheek, and she leans into his touch. Her eyes are alight with fury and grief, and it soothes him just to see them. Her eyes are his eyes, are his brother’s eyes. “You are the goddess of marriage. To kill your husband would be to kill yourself. Would you make me an orphan, Mother?”

There is a war raging within him now, soldiers and generals and widows crying out for him, but for now all he is worried about is preventing a war within his home.

Nothing would tear apart the pantheon so firmly as to pit Zeus against Hera.

She doesn’t say anything, but her grasp on his hand becomes almost painful, so he will take that as agreement.


He can only stay away for so long. He must go to whoever invokes him most strongly, to who builds him the biggest altars, to who provides the largest sacrifice. He is not a god who is lucky enough to be able to watch his domain from afar, to simply provide blessings and guidance. The screaming inside of him quiets only when he joins them on the battlefield, only when he is in the thick of it with a sword in his hand is it quiet enough for him to think.

Only when his battle fury turns the tide of a war is he, even just briefly, free from the crushing weight of his followers and his domain.

He does not get to choose which side to support. Whoever worships him more, whatever side invokes his name the strongest is the one who gets his aid.

He shows up sobbing at his mother’s door, whole body vibrating in pain because the soldiers shout his name in a glorious chorus and he should be with them now, but instead he’s here. Hera grabs his upper arms to keep him upright, eyes wide and concerned.

“I don’t want them to win,” he confesses, the words making his lips burn, “the soldiers are simply soldiers, but the generals and lords and kings seek glory for money, for profit, for nothing but selfishness. Their enemies only want to live.”

“I will take care of it,” she swears to him, and he has no idea how she expects to do that. Yet he trusts she’ll find a way, because she always does. He comes to his mother, asking her to help him, and she always has. “Now go, before you are hurt even more.”

He goes.


Hera had no influence on the battlefield.

But it is not solely the battlefield where tributes are made.

She is the goddess of marriage and family.

She goes to wives and husbands, to sons and daughters, to sisters and brothers. She whispers in their ears, speaks of devotion and fealty, makes them all wail for their missing family members caught up in a war none of them wanted.

Hera brings their grief and desperation to the fore, until they’re nearly mad with their need to have their family brought home.

They build a temple to Ares, sacrifice gold and food and anything of value they can spare. They cry prayers over hearth fires, and burn messages to the god of war to bring their family members home.


The tides change. He’s midway through the battle when the he feels the shift, when he realizes his mother somehow did as she promised and he no longer has to fight for these people, that now he can fight against them.

He doesn’t want to fight at all. But if he must, then at least he can fight for those he believes in.

Ares doesn’t allow himself to fall into bitterness or anger at his father often. But he wishes, not for the first time, that Zeus had named him the god of justice, of peace, of fairness, of loyalty. That Zeus had named him the god of something he believed in, something he could believe in fighting for.

All war does is kill good men and women, all it does is breed resentment and anger in the victors and losers both.

Although. Ares is of the opinions that wars never have any true victors. Just people that lose less than the people they’re fighting.


There is a lull. No one is invoking him powerfully enough that he can’t ignore their cries.

He goes to Haephestus’s volcano and slides into a magma pool, the burning heat of the lava the perfect temperature to work out the knots of stress in his back and thighs.

“It’s unnerving to see you in there,” his brother says, and Ares opens his eyes to see Hephaestus looking down at him in concern. “You look tired.”

Permanent purple bruises have formed under his eyes. He can’t remember the last time he saw himself without them. Everything hurts, it always hurts, even when there is peace there are people who covet war and call out to him and it tears at him whenever he leaves a tribute unanswered. He’s exhausted and rode hard, stretched so thin that he’s terrified he’ll snap at any moment.

He looks at Hephaestus’s concern and admits to him something he hasn’t told anyone, something he’s too afraid to say to his mother just in case she decides to smite Zeus for it. “I think that these wars might be killing me.”

His brother’s face goes tight, but he doesn’t say anything. That’s all right. Ares hadn’t expected him to – there really is nothing to say.

He wonders if the screams will still find him in death.


“I need a favor,” Hephaestus says the next time Athena comes to visit, wringing his hands, anxious in a way he usually doesn’t let anyone see.

Athena tilts her head to side. “I’m listening.”


Ares is resting, the moon high as he lays back in the middle of the battle camp and tries to quiet the cries in his head enough to catch even an hour of sleep.

“War is not just about fighting, about blood and battle.”

His eyes pop open and he looks over to see Athena sitting by his side. He pushes himself up cautiously. “Sorry?”

“You should pay more attention to the generals,” she says, “war isn’t won with blood. It’s won with strategy. With planning, with tactics.”

“I don’t know much about all that,” he admits, “it’s enough of a struggle just to keep up with the soldiers.”

Her face softens, “I know. That’s why I’m here. No one expects to win wars alone, Ares.”

This is how Athena, goddess of knowledge and weaving, becomes a goddess of war. She is a master of strategy, of planning campaigns, of ensuring that a victory on the battlefield remains a victory at home.

Some of his tributes go to her. Some people pray to Athena now instead of him.

He still hears the screaming. He still doesn’t sleep.

But it relieves just enough pressure that it feels like he can breathe again.


Ares and Athena are not the only names that get invoked on the battlefield.

Hades’s name has constantly been on their lips. They damn their enemies to a torturous afterlife, to thrice the pain and suffering they receive on the battlefield.

He tries to ignore it. It is not his domain. But the more he hears it, that more it stabs at him. Most of these people are soldiers. Cursing generals is well enough, but most soldiers didn’t choose to be here. He didn’t choose to be here.

Ares has never been to the underworld. It’s the one place his mother never let him venture.

He knows that the smart thing to do would be to go to his brother and ask him to speak to Hecate, the woman who raised him. Or even Hades himself – he doesn’t know how well Hephaestus knows the gods of the underworld. For all that he grew up there, he doesn’t speak of it much.

But if Hades’s wrath is to fall on anyone, Ares would rather it be him.

It’s easy enough to follow the souls of recently departed soldiers to the River Styx. Charon presses a hand to his shoulder and asks, “What business do you have here, God of War?”

“I knew a child who was called Kore,” he answers, and he doesn’t expect this to work, but he hopes it will. “I wish to speak to a woman who calls herself Persephone.”

He can’t see Charon’s face, but the air around him turns thoughtful. “It is summer. The Lady is with her mother.”


He’d forgotten about that.

“Then I request an audience with her husband,” he says, and he clasps his hands behind his back so that Charon can’t see them shaking. He can’t turn into a mess here. People are screaming in his mind, but he can’t let it get to him here, not if he wants anyone to take him seriously, not if he wants to help his fellow soldiers instead of hurting them.

“You are not dead, and so I cannot ferry you across the Styx,” Charon says, almost apologetically. “But – hold on.” He turns to the river, “Goddess Styx, could you come here?”

A little girl with skin even darker than Hephaestus’s and eyes and hair of soft grey appears in front of them. “Yes?”

Charon points to him, “He wishes to speak to our lord.”

Styx turns her grey eyes on him, and he can’t help but feel unnerved. She circles him, looking him up and down, seemingly looking into him. “Very well,” she says at last. She moves her arms together, then apart. Two sides of the river flow in opposite directions so that a dry walking path is revealed in the river bed. “Move quickly. The longer I maintain a break in my river, the longer things besides you may be able to sneak across.”

“Thank you,” he gives her a shallow bow, and then goes sprinting across the riverbed. It takes him longer than it should – the river is not overly wide, and it should be quick, but it seems like he runs nearly an hour to reach the other side. He heaves himself onto shore, panting, and as soon as he’s across the river comes crashing together once more, flowing back into the proper direction.


He makes it to Hades’s palace, but once again it takes longer than it seems it should. It takes too long, he’s been away from the battle field too long, and it shows. He tries to pull himself together, he’s come too far to fall apart now, but it seems to be a wasted effort. The screaming of people crying his name is so loud he can’t hear anything else, and it paralyzes him, he can’t move, he can’t feel, his muscles are tense enough to snap because he needs to answer the people calling for him, but he can’t there’s no easy way out of the underworld so he’s just stuck here –

Suddenly it all cuts off to a dull roar, and he gasps as he comes back to himself, squeezing his eyes shut to keep from crying. Hands cup his face, and calloused thumbs wipe the tears from his cheeks. “You must be Ares,” a soft voice says, “Charon said you were coming. Are you all right?”

He forces his eyes open, and Hades, King of the Dead, swims into focus. “How are you doing that?”

“Doing what?” his eyebrows dip together. “What are you doing here?”

He grabs Hades’s hands, and pulls them from is his face, but leaves their fingers tangled together. Luckily Hades doesn’t pull away. Ares doesn’t know what would happen if he did. “I – I know that they invoke you to punish their enemies, on the battlefield. They dedicate some of the pyres to you and ask you to burn their enemies in death, for eternity.”

“I hear them,” he says, “I know what they say.”

“Try not to,” he begs, and he can hear the screaming still, he’s shaking and can’t stop and he wanted to appear strong while asking the god of the dead for a favor but he’s barely able to keep standing. “I know they ask of it, I know they erect tributes and we must all answer the call of our names, but they’re not evil. They – some of them are, I mean, but don’t – try not to – please,” he ends on, and it’s just not fair that the soldiers must continue fighting after their death. Most of them hadn’t wanted to fight while they were alive.

Hades still looks confused, and Ares will beg if he has to, he knows it’s hard to go against what worshipers demand but this is important. He’s about to try again when Hades says, “I am the god of the death, lord of the underworld. Ares, I hear their cries but I am not bound by them. I rule the dead. The dead do not rule me.”

He stares. He – he’s never heard of something like that before. He answers the call of war because he must, his mother is bound by the chains of her marriage because she is the goddess of family. Demeter’s power is from the earth and of the earth, and when it suffers she suffers, even Poseidon is not immune to the sea’s temperament. Their powers are all double edged, half blessing and half curse.

“Oh,” he settles on finally. “Kore – I mean, Persephone?” They tell tales of the punishments she inflicts on those that have upset her. He knew her as a child, and he’s less surprised than most by what she became.

“My wife does what pleases her, and nothing else,” Hades answers. Ares doesn’t understand. She is Queen of Life and Death, how can that not pull at her, how does it not twist her into a shape she doesn’t recognize?

“Okay,” he says, and he has to leave, but at least he no longer has to worry so much after fallen soldiers. “I apologize for the intrusion. I should go.”

Hades slides his hands up his arms, and settles at his shoulders, and oh, Ares becomes distracted enough by those hands on him that for a moment it’s almost quiet in his own head. “If you like. You may stay as well. It seems as if you could use some rest.”

He drops his head forward on Hades’s shoulder, and he likes the solidity of him, the undercurrent of strength and power he gives off. He’s never met the man before, this is entirely inappropriate, but when Hades’s hands settle onto his hips he wants nothing more than curl up in his arms and ignore the war for a little while.

Hades feels like peace. He’d forgotten what that felt like. “I can’t stay.”

The god of the dead presses a kiss to the edge of his jaw that ignites something in Ares that has been absent since before he was declared the god of war. He wonders what Hades would do if he kissed him properly, he wonders if he pulled off his blood and war stained clothes if Hades would touch his too-hot skin. “Then I request that you return,” the god of death says.

He shouldn’t. The time he manages to not be on a battlefield should be spent with his mother, or Hephaestus. He shifts enough to press their foreheads together. He looks into Hades’s dark eyes, and says, “I will.”

Ares returns to the midst of war feeling lighter than he has in a long time.

gods and monsters series, part xviii

read more of the gods and monsters series here


in sunlight i was born; a playlist for all the sunny days

i. greek tragedy / the wombats ii. roses / the chainsmokers feat. rozes iii. gravel to tempo / hayley kiyoko iv. atlantis / bridgit mendler feat. kaiydo v. cardiac arrest / bad suns vi. happy pills / weathers vii. kamikaze / mø viii. la love / transviolet ix. hymn for the weekend / coldplay x. first / cold war kids xi. hold me down / halsey xii. tennis court / lorde xiii. weight of living, pt. one / bastille xiv. cleopatra / the lumineers xv. wild / troye sivan feat. alessia cara xvi. la devotee / panic! at the disco xvii. got love / tove lo xviii. young volcanoes / fall out boy xix. wild things / alessia cara xx. search party / sam bruno xxi. the city / the 1975 xxii. heaven / amber run xxiii. into the storm / banners xxiv. cosmic love / florence + the machine xxv. castle on the hill / ed sheeran xxvi. born / onerepublic xxvii. crystals / of monsters and men xxviii. all in white / the vaccines

8tracks - spotify

Trumps questions how media could produce ‘such beautiful children’ at trick-or-treat event
Trump later asked one child, “So how does the press treat you?”

President Donald Trump cracked that he could not believe members of the media could produce “such beautiful children” while greeting trick-or-treaters and their journalist parents during a Halloween event at the White House on Friday.

“I cannot believe the media produced such beautiful children,” the president said as costumed children filtered into the Oval Office. “How the media did this, I don’t know.”


In another eyebrow-raising exchange, Trump turned to a small girl dressed as Rey, the female protagonist from 2015’s “Star Wars: The Force Awakens,” and remarked, “You have no weight problems, that’s the good news,” before proceeding to give her a treat. 


anonymous asked:

Can we have some secondchoice obi wan interacting with the high council and the other masters?

“I’m not sure Anakin…I’m sure they’ve been quite fine without me.”

“They’ve missed you about as much as I did Master. And you are still Obi-Wan Kenobi, I know that you don’t realize it, but a lot of people look to you for guidance. You may be wracked with doubts but you are still Councilor Kenobi, your word still means a lot.”

“I…I guess…alright…I…would you go with me? Just to the tower I mean?”

“Of course Obi-Wan.”


Other then the occasional trip to the Gardens, Obi-Wan Kenobi had not been to temple more then the healing halls and his own, almost hidden away quarters. He had become a ghost in the temple that was his home and others had not seen the Jedi Master for weeks at a time since he first had fallen sick and then almost been blown up while at the Senate Dome.

It felt strange to walk in the sunlight almost, walking beside Anakin on the way to the lift that would bring them to the council tower.

He noticed there was a visible struggle not to stare at him.

You don’t look healthy Obi-Wan. Its a shock for those who are only now seeing you again.’ Anakin whispered along their bond and Obi-Wan gave an understanding nod back, wishing he had put on his robe.

He settled his arms around himself as if he had the robe and walked quickly beside the blond, taking deep breaths. ‘I was thinking of inviting Cody again…do you think you could comm him for me Anakin? You have a easier time getting through to the barracks.

I can do that. He’d be happy to see you. He looked smitten last I saw him leave you.’

Cody does not look smitten.

Smitten like a puppy.’ Anakin teased, distracting the slighter man contently. He still took note of any staring and hoped it would get better when they were going back.

At least his distraction worked until they were in the elevator on the way up.

“…You’ll wait for me won’t you Anakin?” Obi-Wan questioned quietly, a note of nervousness in his voice.

“Of course. I told you I’d go with you. I’m happy to wait outside for you too.” He smiled at him, hoping the rest of the council would be careful with his master. ‘Force, don’t let his recovery be set back…’


“Masters.” Obi-Wan bowed a bit to them and then made his way to his usual chair, breathing quietly through his mouth as he fought a wave of panic at the silence that had closed the room when he had stepped in.

“Master Kenobi, better you are?” Yoda leaned a bit forward, watching the other closely. He wasn’t the only one, Mace was eyeing the painfully thin waist that was made clear by the cinched belt but refrained from commenting as Obi-Wan sat down.

“I…yes, better is a good word. I’m still working on the…physical aspects of my health.” Obi-Wan ran his fingers through his hair, a bit in the front falling down in his eyes. For all his lingering gauntness, Obi-Wan was still a handsome man who had done good with some proper sleep since everything had gone down.

Yoda smiled at him and nodded. “Relieved I am. To matters we will now get, almost a full council we have.” He gestured around.

It settled into a familiar sense of murmurings, of bringing up council cases and hearing reports.

It was strange. The CIS seemed to be floundering, the occasional attack happening yet nothing that required more then a battalion on sight to scare them away. It was almost like straw attacks, smoke and mirrors to make it seem like they were still working yet not really doing anything at all.

It was so very odd.

Obi-Wan frowned and looked around before offering his opinion.

“I agree with you Master Kenobi.” Plo sat forward, tapping his fingers against his knee. “My wolfpack and myself engaged a couple of CIS fighters, expecting a dogfight for the Auros moon, yet after we shot one down, the rest scattered and fled into hyperspace. It was very strange and none of the tactic makes much sense.”

“None of this makes sense.” Obi-Wan sighed, running his hand over his beard.

“If I was being odd, I’d say the CIS change of heart in their tactics coincidence with Kenobi falling ill.” Mace leaned forward, frowning. “As if the mind behind the movements was being distracted.”

Obi-Wan blinked then sat back. “You mean the Sith lord.”

“Hmm. Peculiar all of this is, but right Master Windu and Master Kenobi are. The sith lord distracted with the illness has been.” Yoda peered at everyone over his folded hands on his cane.

“That would imply the Sith is close enough to…monitor me.” Obi-Wan argued.

Everyone went silent at that.

“…On Coruscant.” Depa continued slowly. “Oh Force the implication…”

“Is dangerous.” Kit agreed.

“If its true, then…the Sith lord would not have remained idle.” Shaak offered from her hologram.

“…No, they would have tried to kill me.” Obi-Wan offered quietly to the sudden silence of the entire room. There wasn’t a master who wasn’t aware of the situation with Palpatine being suspected in trying to get rid of Obi-Wan.

“…Oh Force.” Plo rubbed his face.

“Its good to see the mind behind the body is just as sharp as always.” Mace gave Obi-Wan a strained smile before breathing sharply. “Are we implying what I think we are though?”

“Dangerous that would be. But no falsehood I sense.” Yoda murmured and Obi-Wan covered his face with his hands, trembling faintly before swallowing.

“…Anakin is close with the Chancellor. Has been since he was a young boy.”

“If the sith could turn the chosen one…”

The words lingered in the chambers. The images they conjured horrifying enough.

anonymous asked:

Hi TT :), I just went on your marauders threads masterpost and none of the links worked. Honestly it might be my computer (I have a super nasty virus atm) but then it might not be. To give you an idea, every time i scroll over the links the typing cursor comes up (y'know the one with the lines that highlights stuff) I've refreshed the page quite a few times and nothing seems to be working. I will carry on refreshing and see if it will work, but for now I just thought you ought to know :)

(( OOC: Yeah, I’m not sure what’s going on there. :P I’ll try and get that fixed… but in the meantime… let’s see if this works: 


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anonymous asked:

For the meme: The skywalker twins

Headcanon A: what I think realistically

They never really have a conversation about Anakin Skywalker. They try, a few times, but it devolves into Leia shouting or Luke getting angry—angry in that black, festering way he has, when Leia can feel it in the air, choking as smoke from a chemical fire. He makes her cry once, even though she tries to hide it from him, and it’s the worst thing either of them has ever done to the other. (They’ve hated one another sometimes, but neither of them has ever hurt the other. Not once.) They do try to talk about it—this, more than anything else, the blood that unites them—until it’s too horrible to keep trying, so they stop. 

Headcanon B: what I think is fucking hilarious

There was a solid eighteen standard days on Hoth when Luke and Leia turned the entire base into a madhouse—it might have been longer, but Mon Mothma intervened and sent them on missions at opposite ends of the galaxy. This is still known colloquially as “The Great Prank War of Echo Base”, and whenever it’s mentioned, Han looks haunted.

“Listen,” he tells Ben once, very seriously. “If you ever have to pick sides between your mom and your Uncle Luke…the only correct answer is to run really fast in the opposite direction.”

Headcanon C: what is heart-crushing and awful but fun to inflict on friends

They only tell a handful of people about the fact that they’re brother and sister. Luke has spent the last five years telling anyone who would listen that he’s Anakin Skywalker’s son, and since Cloud City has been—almost—as open about the fact that Darth Vader is Anakin Skywalker, to the point that it’s not much of a secret that Luke Skywalker is Darth Vader’s son. (It serves to make him even more of a figure of myth, even among the Rebellion. Darth Vader’s son, the Jedi, who is going to kill his father and win the war.)

On the other hand, while most of the rebels who knew Bail are aware that Leia was adopted, Bail and Breha always insisted she was just an orphan of the Clone Wars, and honestly, what are the chances that Darth Vader had two secret children? (Yeah, right. This is real life, not some daytime holodrama.) Leia wants nothing to do with her biological origins, anyway; she’s happy to let Luke be the object of whispers and worship, to be tinged with the fear of those who don’t know him.

Still, sometimes Han has to nudge Leia, pull her away from Luke, because what is affectionate between brother and sister looks dangerously like infidelity in any other context.

Sometimes Wedge gives Luke pitying glances, because Leia and Han are whispering to one another, smiling the sort of smile lovers are entitled to, and Luke wants to protest, no no stop, let me have this complicated uncomplicated thing, for myself.

Sometimes Leia gets asked what her relationship to ‘Skywalker’ is. In all the intervening years, Leia has perfected an empty smile, to say warmly, “Luke is one of my oldest friends.” Sometimes, if she’s feeling vicious and/or guilty, she adds, “I consider him almost a brother.”

Headcanon D: what would never work with canon but the canon is shit so I believe it anyway

Being children of the Living Force is stranger than you might imagine, an embodied a war between your humanity and the weight of the galaxy. Leia sometimes wakes up inside Luke’s skin—just for half a second, her eyesight sharper and the world written in neon light because oh, that’s the Force, that’s what it means—before she’s slammed into her own body again. Luke has dreams of Aldera, where he walks along broad avenues and up into the mountains and every person he meets is on fire, burning up to ash, but he still must carry them, all the same.

Leia cries once for no reason, standing in the middle of a Senate session—so hard she has to excuse herself, and she screams her grief in the refresher, collapsing to her knees. (Luke is on Tatooine, standing over the ashes of his homestead.)

Luke jolts awake in the middle of a pile of rubble and bodies and feels all the blood drain from his face because he doesn’t know if this was him, or if this is something he can never, ever ask Leia.

(Neither of them die. This is not their inheritance as the Living Force, but what they inherited matrilineally. Surviving—that’s something human.)

we are the spark
that lights the fire
that burns the universe anew

because we are built on hope
and we are welcomed home with open arms
and we are a kind of igniting
that only comes with passion tempered by kindness

we need each other
grabbing another’s hand and whispering “run”
clutching each other's faces and screaming “fight”
for it is only together that we will conquer

and darling, we are just the right amount of stubborn
we are wild and war-torn, bruised and brilliant 
and we will transform the world with the weight of our hearts

—  there has been an awakening by Abby S