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hawkogurl · 5 months

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I'll probably have more to say about this later bc I'm going to sleep soon, but I feel like, you, oliveroctavius, me, and a few other people are like the small minority I've seen anywhere who actually criticize TASM for the eugenics and ableism, and it honestly floors me that no one talks about it when it's so blatant and tumblr loves bringing up disability and ableism otherwise? Like, it's not even a case of how everyone has valid differing opinions and needs/wants when it comes to how the vast range of disabled experiences should be approached in fiction and there's nuance in how to do even tricky, but real experiences like grief and loss - we're talking about a film series where an antagonist meant to be sympathetic makes a speech about disability being a weakness of humanity that must be genetically eradicated to strengthen it (which is never deconstructed or challenged) and has no other characterization beyond sad amputee whose only interest for a decade is his missing arm, and where Peter is some kind of genetic chosen one whose Good Genes give him cool powers, and the whole mess with Harry.

The few other times on tumblr I've seen it brought up is to like, woobify (internalized) ableism even though the films go way beyond realistic personal struggle and straight into eugenics, and as someone with a Lizard niche in the Spidey fandom, I'm floored at how everywhere else, I keep seeing the TASM version of the character topping best adaptation discussions by a huge margin compared to way better takes with zero references of the ableism (this was not the case even a few years ago, idk what happened), and you can correct me on this if I'm wrong bc you would know more about the Harry side of things than me, but I feel like TASM!Harry used to be very popular and be moved, at least until MSM2017 and Insomniac came along.

Hi sorry my brother just graduated college. Anyways, in regards to the Harry side of things, I think a lot of the ableism SHOULD be pretty obvious, but apparently it’s not considering how little critical thought there is with all these villains. There’s the good genes bad genes eugenics of Harry wanting Peter’s blood to cure himself and then it doesn’t work because the spider only worked with Peter’s “good genes” (I don’t care about their in canon excuse, it still buys into this trope) and it reacted so badly with the TERMINALLY ILL CHARACTERS “bad genes” that he turned crazy and evil. And that’s ignoring my general distaste for disability or “insanity” being used primarily as a source of fear for the good, noble, and of course able bodied protagonists.

Something that’s also pretty weird that nobody mentions is the fact that like, Electro in these movies just HAD to talk to nothing. Normally it wouldn’t bother me as much or I might be willing to give it a pass, but it’s these movies, which just love to make their disdain for disabled people clear, so it comes off as super bad taste.

Like… I’m only scratching the surface. Why are there three people who consistently point out how ableist these movies are? Especially when as you said, tasm Harry is pretty popular! Ignoring my beef with him as a Harry Osborn, it’s so odd to me because so much of that is either like, sort of romanticizing his chronic illness and breakdown or getting off on that ableist insanity I mentioned earlier.

And when you bring it up, people get SUPER defensive. I don’t know if like, the amount of invalid criticism just makes people defensive or if it makes people think there’s NO valid criticism but like… these movies aren’t bad for the reasons you think. The issues they have are like… the writing saying that eugenics is cool and fun alongside generally iffy writing.

#I’m gonna tag #tasm ableism talk #for filtering #harryposting #harry osborn #peter parker #curt connors #max dillon #spider man #spiderman #tasm #tasm2 #the amazing spider man #the amazing spider man 2

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katnissmellarkkk · 1 year

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Alright girls, I got a request a bit ago for some Katniss / Mrs. Everdeen content and as I’ve never written their relationship before I wasn’t sure if I liked it at first! But I’ve finally gotten around to actually editing it so I hope it’s good and it feels in character and y’all like it! I don’t know if I’ll write a oneshot focused on their relationship again but this was actually pretty fun! I hope y’all who read it have a blessed day and enjoy yourselves 🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵🩵

summary : katniss and her mother bond a few days after she comes home from the games. set between the hunger games and catching fire 💕.

I’m never getting used to nightmares.

It’s been two days since the cameras left and I’ve found little relief in their absence. For some reason I assumed once they were gone, the terrors would follow behind them, chasing after the shiny lenses and bright lights, all the way back to the Capitol.

But as it turns out, that couldn’t be further from reality.

Instead the lack of limelight has led to an uptick in nightmare. Not all equal in vigor but all too severe to be properly described by the word dreams.

Sometimes it’s Thresh, chasing me in the woods. Other times Cato tosses me off the Cornucopia to be eaten by the mutts. Occasionally I see Glimmer actually make it up the tree without the branches breaking beneath her feet, grabbing me by the braid and yanking me to the ground where the entire Career pack closes in on me like a pack of wild dogs.

Today though, it’s Clove dangling her knife above my head, taunting me, drawing out the kill. I can’t make out her words, the pulsating in my ears far too loud to understand just about anything, but she says something and then cracks up laughing, as if she’s the funniest person in the whole entire world, ecstatic to be the one to kill the girl on fire.

The dream ends when she plunges the knife into my heart. I don’t actually feel anything but it shocks me awake all the same.

It shocks me awake with such a start that it takes a moment to gather my bearings. It takes a moment to realize I’m alive and safe, in my new house, in District Twelve.

In Victor’s Village, to be exact.

The new home that I was gifted over a week ago, already ready to go with furniture and all, as a reward for my efforts in the games.

If I’m being honest, I feel like it’s taking just as much effort to battle these nightmares as it took to survive the arena.

That may be a bit of an exaggeration but it feels true. For the last couple of weeks I’ve been fighting almost every second of the day to come to terms with what occurred in the games.

To come to terms with all the things I did. All the things I did, with the sole purpose of surviving. All the people I hurt — all the people I killed, directly or indirectly — in effort to stay alive and come home to my mother and sister.

Every choices I made to save my own life has been playing on repeat inside my head every waking second since I woke up in the hospital in the Capitol and I feel like it’s finally going to drive me insane. It’s finally going to push me over the edge, right here, right now, in my new luxurious bedroom with my mother and sister none the wiser.

Of course, the nightmares have been a nice break from thinking of the one choice I made to save someone else’s life.

The one choice that may have disastrous consequences. The one choice I likely will never be able to escape.

Thinking about Peeta and the berries and the arena in those final moments and Cato’s mutilated body as the mutts gnawed away at him — and the look of heartbreak etched across blue eyes — does absolutely nothing to help my current state of mind and everything to exacerbate it.

I don’t even realize I’m crying until my mother’s voice sounds on the other side of the door.

“Katniss?” She calls lightly and I make an immediate effort to wipe my face and keep my voice even.

“I’m fine!” I swallow, hard, choking down the tears still fighting to come out. “Sorry, I just had a bad dream. Go back to bed.”

But she’s already opening the door before I’m even finished speaking. And I suppose I look even worse than I feel. “I know,” she says softly, looking at me with a compassion I would have rejected a couple months ago. “I heard you from down the hall.”

On the ride back to Twelve, between breaking Peeta’s heart and worrying about what President Snow may do to me or my family, I made a serious promise to myself that I would try and make things right between me and my mother.

I know she didn’t choose to be locked away in some far away, dark world after my father’s death. And I know she wishes she could take it all back.

And I know that I could have died in the games. The idea of leaving this world with my relationship with my mother still fractured and tense almost makes me cry harder.

“I’m sorry,” I say now, forcing myself to smile in a way that I hope is reassuring but am aware enough to know it probably looks pitiful at best. My tears refuse to stop and until then, none of my placating will have an effect. “I’ll be fine. Why don’t you start breakfast and I’ll be down in a moment.”

My mother nods, letting me take all initiative in our relationship. Just as she’s done for the last four years.

She turns as if to leave, as if to give me the space I’m so clearly wanting. The space I have all but verbally asked for.

But instead, as if making a split second decision, she surprises me. She spins around and makes a sudden beeline in my direction.

Both her arms wrap around me, holding me protectively, as if she could even begin to keep me safe from the horrors playing inside my head. Still though, her embrace isn’t the most startling thing.

It’s the fact that I instinctively return it.

I hugged her on the train platform in front of the cameras when arriving back in Twelve and I hugged her again yesterday at some point but this is the first time since I was eleven — since I was a child — that I readily accept her embrace. That I go as far as returning it.

That I willingly dive into her arms, just like I would have years ago, letting her comfort me instead of getting angry and defensive and mean.

It takes a moment for her to get over her evident shock, obviously not anticipating that I would even allow her to hold me, let alone clinging onto her like a needy kitten. But when she does, she sits down on the edge of my bed and pulls me into her arms, stroking my hair and rubbing my back in soft circles.

“It’s okay,” she whispers when my cries grow louder. “It’s okay, baby. I’m here now.”

I’m not your baby, I’d shouted at her years ago. I was so angry with her. I was so angry and so righteous and for what? For something she couldn’t control and couldn’t take back? For something she clearly needed help to manage?

I thought I knew everything when I was twelve. I thought I was the strongest person on earth.

Not now apparently, I think to myself as I wail into my mother’s neck, almost surprised that I still fit in her arms after all this time.

I don’t know how long I stay against her, letting her smooth back my sweat soaked hair and breathing in the scent of lavender I didn’t even know I missed while in the Capitol. It’s got to be close to an hour before my sobs die down and even then they threaten to start back up again.

“You’re home and safe,” she promises gently, rubbing my back again. “You will never go back to the games for as long as you live. You’re never going to see another arena. You’re going to live a long life here in Twelve.” Her voice is light and soft, almost like a hum. The way she speaks to Prim after a nightmare. The way she used to speak to me before my father died.

“Where’s Prim?” I croak, becoming more and more aware of how disgusting I feel. The nightmare left me covered in perspiration and I would feel sorry for my mother having to be so close to me if it wasn’t for the fact that she deals with much worse on a daily basis as a healer.

“At school,” she says, pulling back a little to wipe my leftover tears with her thumb. “You slept in late today.”

Right. Prim is starting school again now. It’s almost autumn. Gale is working in the mines six days a week. My mother is beginning to treat people for colds and croup again.

And I have to now decide how to spend my days as a happy little victor.

I suppose today isn’t the day to make that decision though. My head hurts from all the crying and my body feels weak with exhaustion despite the fact that I just woke up.

Before really thinking about it, I lean my head against my mother’s shoulder again, already seeing Clove with her knives reappear as soon as I shut my eyes.

“Are you hungry?” My mother asks, leaning down kissing my hair as she folds me back into her arms. I can tell she’s almost overjoyed that I’m allowing her to console me.

Almost. Because there’s no way she would have ever wished for this to be the reason I let her back in.

“No.” I shake my head, my stomach turning at the mere thought of eating right now.

“Then why don’t we get you cleaned up? Hmm?” She waits for my nod before standing up and taking my hand.

I let her lead me into our new bathroom, where the sinks are white and porcelain and the toilet feels too expensive to use. And the giant tub in the middle of the room makes the bucket we used to use in the Seam feel like a foot bath.

I watch as she moves the knobs around, already having gotten the hang of the appliance, and adds soothing, sweet smelling oils into the water.

Once the tub is halfway full she helps me undress and tosses my damp pajamas into a laundry basket by the door.

I sink to the bottom of the bath, feeling the blazing hot water relax my sore, achy muscles and encase me like a wool blanket in wintertime.

My mother lets me soak for a moment before kneeling down to the right of the tub and getting to work. She washes me up with rose scented soaps and cleans my hair with something that foams when you rub it between your hands and reminds me distantly of Effie Trinket.

“You’d be a good hair washer if we lived in the Capitol,” I murmur as she scrubs my scalp lightly with her fingernails.

She snorts and tips my chin up to rinse my locks. “In another life, I suppose.”

After double conditioning she expertly rings my hair out and then pulls the drain. I sit in the tub until it’s completely empty, having never actually seen huge swirls of water rushing down a drain before. It’s so fascinating that for a moment I consider refilling the tub just to pull the drain all over again.

Afterwards I sit on my bed silently, feeling worn and depleted, wrapped in a towel while she combs out the tangles from my hair, before pulling it into a simple braid.

“Mama,” I whisper as she grabs a silk shirt from my dresser.

“Yeah?”

“I’m so tired.”

My words are plain but the meaning behind them is loaded and she intrinsically understands my true intent.

I’m so tired. It’s only been two days since it all officially ended and I feel exhausted. I feel like I haven’t slept in a hundred years. I feel like I’ll never sleep again. I feel so much older than sixteen and at the same time so much younger and I don’t understand and you can’t understand but I just want to sleep. I just want to go to bed and actually sleep through the night without the panic and the fear.

Wordlessly, she turns back to the dresser and pulls out a nightgown instead. “Then you should go back to sleep,” she says simply, pulling away the towel and tugging the nightgown over my head, rightening my braid and moving back the covers to my bed.

And I crawl between sheets without hesitation and let her tuck me in, let her care for me, let her mother me again, in a way I’ve rejected for so long now. I lay there and let her rub my back, comforting me the same way she does when I’m too sick to push her away.

I’m almost asleep when she leans down and kisses me goodnight. “I love you, Katniss Sienna,” she whispers, standing to pull the blankets up to my chin. “I love you. And I’m so happy that my baby’s home safe.”

“Goodnight,” I mumble into the covers as she starts closing the door behind her. “Thank you,” I add as sleep grabs ahold of me again, but I doubt she catches it. “Thank you, Mama.”

#thg #hunger games #Katniss everdeen #Mrs. Everdeen #Katniss’ mom #my writing #I’m gonna tag #mother/daughter #oneshot #drabble #yeah that’s all I got for these taggies today #hunger games fanficton #thg fanfic #what ya know I had two more in me

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