The Disdain, The Eloquence - A Masterful Eyebrow Raise!! He Gets It From His Dad 🥹

Extra installment in the bizarre star wars t shirt series:

t-shirt that says ‘I’D RATHER BE DEBASING A CHASTE AND VIRTUOUS KNIGHT RIGHT NOW.’

Lord, grant me the strength to throw away this box that i'll never use, the courage to throw away this box that i'll never use, and the wisdom to throw away this box that i'll never use

So there was a post a while back about Ben Solo always being told "don't do (x), that's how uncle luke lost his hand" when he was a kid - and I raise you: Elrond and Elros being told "don't do (x), that's how Maedhros lost his hand"??

Like, at Amon Ereb when the twins were newly acquired and refusing to eat their vegetables and Maglor is Mag-mothering them until Erestor, feral half-sane clinically depressed anarchist Avari hostage/patient/infiltrator and Certified Little Shit, hits em with:

"I would listen to the Lord Maglor, winyamor, he well knows the dangers that come to young elflings who don't eat enough vegetables - after all, that's how his brother lost his hand."

Elrond looks conflicted. Elros squints suspiciously. "Truly?"

Erestor, practically comatose since the massacre but ultimately saved from Fading by the biological compulsion to fuck with you, lays a hand over his heart. "I would never lie about such a thing! Just what do you take me for? This is a true tale and a grave warning - the Lord Maedhros' hand was tragically lost in the days of his youth, whilst he was still growing as you are. He refused to eat his vegetables and so, cruelly deprived of the strength it needed to grow strong, his body started to fall apart! First his fingers, then his thumb, and then his palm and wrist - all turned blue and dropped off!"

"No!" Elrond gasps. Elros looks both terrified and impressed. Maglor's face is scrunched up into something that the twins probably interpret as pained - at reminder of the horrors of limbs falling off! - but is actually just him busting a rib trying not to laugh.

"Yes!" Erestor cries with relish. "And it never grew back. All because he didn't eat his vegetables. Isn't that right, Lord Maedhros?"

Maedhros, a looming terror at the head of the table, scarred and solemn and impenetrable as his fortresses, narrows his eyes consideringly at the unfolding shenanigans and the rascal behind it. His conclusion? Fuck it. He gives a slow, solemn nod. Completely deadpan and exaggeratedly formal, because it may have been centuries since he last had his brothers smothering laughter at political dinners but the Finwëan sense of humour, once caught, is not an ailment easily cured.

Maglor conceals his wheezes behind his goblet as Erestor nods sagely to the wide-eyed twins, who suddenly seem a sight more interested in their vegetables.

A (comparatively) Brief Thought about Steve Harrington's Names

Lucky Stevie has full names in three different languages and they're all equally incriminating in different ways!

For context: Steve's parents meet just as the summer of '66 is ending, in a perfectly legitimate bar with absolutely no connection to organised crime in Chicago. They introduce themselves as Christopher (call me Chris, Christopher is shite) Harrington and Anita (but you, bello, can call me Tina) Martino. They are both lying.

See, America is it's own little world. Founded by desperate refugees and religious extremists, the USA is the New York of the western world - the perfect place to disappear, because no matter your sins, there's always someone weirder. And in this totally not shady bar in Chicago, these two strangers have a lot of sins.

Mr. Ciarán Ótis Marcin Ó'hArrachtáin is what some might call a terrorist. Those 'some' are, of course, all eejits who seem to be fecking delirah with the Brits treating the Irish Free State as a colony. But Ótis and Martyna didn't raise a spineless dosser, not on tales of the shite they saw in Nazi Poland. Ciarán wants to be just like his mama, so does the only thing he can at sweet sixteen and joins the IRA. It was a grand old time - until some spanner decided to start the boarder campaign, make some things go boom, then it all goes arseways and suddenly he's a wanted man. Now he's legged it all the way out to this bar in Chicago where he can find some mostly-legal work, set himself up as someone who doesn't need to check over his shoulder every five seconds - and maybe he can take a chance on this absolute ride of an Italian who's just walked in, Jaysus -

Sig.na Alessia Stefania "Pieterina" Serafini has made a name for herself as a mafiosa. Beloved, wild, ruthless granddaughter of Don Alessio - caporegime since nineteen and well on her way to consigliere - and, right now, in molti problemi with la Cosa Nostra. So much problemi that she's been effectively smuggled into the US, like that goddamn heroin shipment that started all these problemi... ah well. She just needs to lie low for a bit (a decade) with her American cousins on the less than legal side of Chicago before she can return to her cosca and the people she actually trusts not to stab her the moment she turns her back - and maybe she can have some fun with this bello, bello Irishman who's looking her way, dannazione -

So. Discussing the evolution Mr and Mrs Harrington's relationship is gonna have to wait (though I'd love to hear from you guys) - the important thing here is the family history.

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Tina's side: Alessia Stefania "Pietrina" Serafini.

Tina's father is Vincenzo Serafini and her grandfather is Alessio Serafini. Her first name is the feminine of her paternal grandfather's name. Steve's middle names are also from them.

(In case it wasn't obvious, the Serafini family are heavily involved in the Italian mafia - potentially involved in the Ciaculli massacre in '63 - and also have ties to the American mafia.)

Tina's mother is Pietra Tedesco and her grandmother is Stefania Tedesco. Her middle name - Stefania - and her son's first name - Stefano - are from her maternal grandmother. "Pietrina" is a diminutive nickname for Pietra - they're saying she's just like her mother, and since they figured this would be easy and natural enough for Steve to remember, his agreed Italian 'cover' surname is Di Pietro.

(Pietra is the feminine of her father's Petri Tedesco - which is itself the new name chosen by the German runaway Peter Thälmann. No relation to German Communist Party Leader Ernst Thälman, no sir, nothing to see here.)

So: Stefano Alessio Vincenzo Serafini - or, when he doesn't want to advertise the mafia part - Stefano Di Pietro.

Chris' side: Ciarán Ótis Marcin Ó'hArrachtáin.

Chris' father is Ótis Ó'hArrachtáin, and his paternal grandparents Steafán and Keira Ó'hArrachtáin. He gets his first name from the masculine of his grandmother's name, his middle name from his father, and gave Steve his grandfather's name.

(Steafán and Keira worked their asses off their whole life to put their kids through school, ennabling Ótis to work at the Irish embassy in Poland, where he managed to smuggle a handful of refugees past the Nazis to Britain, of which his future wife, Hannia Marcinkiewicz, was one.)

Chris' mother is Anita Marcinkiewicz. He gets his middle name from her surname. Steve gets his Irish 'cover' surname from that.

(Anita and her son are very similar as teenagers and young adults - the same heady cocktail of jaded rage and a naïve sense of justice, motivating spiky teens in parallel shitty situations to commit near-suicidal acts of heroism, with similar results. Just what did Anita do? Nothing you can prove, of course...)

(Yes, Anita Marcinkiewicz and Anita Martino - a wild coincidence that kicks of conversation for our young lovers in Chicago. Not in any way manipulated by an omnipotent fangirl who wants her OCs to have something neat to make slightly awkward but unexpectedly wholesome small talk about over a Guinness and a Negroni in a bar in Chicago). (This is why Chris calls his wife Tina all the time when anyone else would get shot if she's feeling anything less than saccharine.)

So: Steofán Ciarán Ótis Ó'hArrachtáin - or, when he'd rather avoid any connection to the wanted terrorist - Steofán Ó Máirtín.

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Of course, as half Irish and half Italian - or, well, 1/8 German, 2/8 Polish, 2/8 Irish and 3/8 Italian but who's counting. Aside from me -

The point is, he's Catholic as fuck. He can be non-practicing and still Catholic (bc fuckboi), he can lose his faith and still be Catholic (bc interdimensional hell monsters), he can be an atheist (bc Irish) and still be Catholic, ok - he is Italian and Irish, there's no cure.

So, yeah, he's definitely been christened. And sure, you can old give any old name to the government (fuck them anyways) as long as it suits your purposes. But your christening name is the one that God knows you by, okay, you don't want to lie to the priest and end up with the wrong name tag when you get to heaven (or if, I guess).

What I'm saying is the paperwork says Steven Otis Harrington, but some poor Father/Reverendo gets hit with Stefano Stiofán Alessio Ciarán Vincenzo Ótis Serafini Ó'hArrachtáin. Good fucking luck!

Colour or no colour? Which is better?

Popular with the troops.

Percy Jackson vs Melkor lets fuckin GOOOOOOOOO

combine your first real fandom with your current one to create a terrible, terrible au

So my friend reaches over, takes my bottle an pops it open with her ring in the sINGLE SEXIEST SMOOTHEST MOST AWESOME MOVE I HAVE EVER FUCKING SEEN. THAT SHIT IS MY BI AWAKENING MY ROMAN EMPIRE THE HOMO TO MY SEXUAL -

I am very normal about my friend

Grandma: oh sasha, why do you dress like that? You look like a dyke!

Me, a dyke: . .

does anyone wanna hold hands until we feel a little braver