#I was tired when I made them ok

[lightthepathwithalantern]

The New Generation...

O F S U F F E R I N G . . .

@spellsunderthestars

@invaderxeya

[lotus-pear]

bsd rewatch w my friend means obligatory art of my fav found family ever

[aishabellasbigblogofeverything]

I love it when women hate men. I love it when women are allowed to vent to each other about how horrible and creepy men are. I love it when women form friendships with and prioritize each other over relationships with men(whether they're attracted to them or not). I love it when women put men dni in their bios and on their nude photos and on posts on their blogs. I love it when women refuse to mollycoddle and accommodate entitled male feelings with "but this doesn't mean I hate all men, I know a few men who are great, I love my father/sons/brothers/uncles/male cousins/guy friends" I love it when women complain about men WITHOUT "not all men" being a disclaimer. I love it when women avoid socializing with/refuse to be around/befriend/get close to men because they know men can't be trusted. I love it when women make "kill all men" jokes. I love it when women offer absolutely no concern or care for men's feelings and if their misandry offends men whatsoever because why should we, men are the oppressor class who have raped and killed and abused us and kept us as subjugated as second-class citizens for millennia, they regularly mistreat us and the women in their own marginalized communities still every single day and make this world so much harder and more awful for us to be in, and if we choose to hate them and not spare them any sympathy then so be it, and I don't just mean "men as a class" either, you can be a woman who doesn't want to have anything to do with any man on an individual basis and completely cuts off men from her personal life too and ykw I will love and fucking support you in that because men deserve absolutely NOTHING from us. If they're so tough and strong then they can handle it just like they can handle being lonely. If you are a woman who hates men, ESPECIALLY IF YOU ARE A LESBIAN AND/OR A TRANS WOMAN, then just know that I love you. I love you, I support you, and you are safe here.

[djangari]

I have to deal with this and all I get is a headache and a silver medal

~ 1616 words

“Third place? Hmm, do you remember who finished third in 2018?”, Marc jokes to the reporter and laughs as she answers that she doesn’t. “Me neither! So that's it.”

Pecco freezes, while the reporter joins in, and the video eventually restarts. He won’t like that. Hopefully, he will never see this or at least when he is not present- “What are you watching?”

A familiar figure leans over his shoulder and slowly he turns his head to look at his mentor, who suddenly appeared behind him. Whose smug grin got wiped out of his face, as he watches the video. How stupid he was to assume the other would need longer to join him in the trailer, of course he will visit him first to see how he handles the championship fight stress.

Vale laughs too. However, it's more of a pressed, dry, forced sound that is coming out of his mouth. So different from Marquez cheerful, honest sounding laugh.  In this moment, Pecco doesn’t dare to mirror it. Instead, he observes Valentinos mimic, how his eyebrows are pulled together, the wrinkles around his mouth disappeared, his eyes don’t agree with the act he is trying to play.

He taps on the screen, pauses the loop. Silence spreads in the room, while Pecco is waiting for Vale to do something. To speak, to react.

A few seconds go by and Vale hums. “He isn’t wrong. Do you remember who was third in 2008?” Pecco knows that the factually correct answer would be Pedrosa, but in this situation he would never speak it out loud. He rather shakes his head.

“See? Nothing to speak about. Let’s get Bez and eat pasta or something. We need to calm your nerves before your great weekend.” Vale straightens up again, already turning towards the door. “Come on, come on, I’ll pay.” Impatient as always, he already left the room before Pecco could protest.

Pecco quickly gets up from the couch and follows the older man. From behind he can still see the tension in his otherwise relaxed and flowing movements, can see the firm grip he has on his phone.

________

Later, when they finally found Bez and Vale nearly dragged him with them, they are half finished with their meals as Vales phone, which lies next to him on the table, screen clearly visible to everyone nearby, buzzes and lights up with a pop up notice. Vale unlocks it easily with the hand that isn’t holding the fork loaded with pasta and clicks on the message. Another video starts playing, just as Vale puts the fork into his mouth, and Marc’s voice is audible.

“The third place doesn’t matter at all!’

Vale instantly chokes on the noodles and begins coughing. Pecco exchanges a look with Bez and leans over to his left to slap Vale on the back so their mentor maybe would not die because of a meal when he has lived through over twenty years of riding a death machine for fun. Bez reaches him a glass of water, although he mirrors Pecco’s expression of desperation and can absolutely relate to being fed up with his behavior.

Who can blame him? The two of them should be cheering him up, motivating him and giving him the extra power to win. Now he is robbing him of his nerves instead of helping him to concentrate.

 “Who remembers who finished third in 2022 or 2015? I finished third, but no one remembers.”

And it gets worse again… Why did he have to mention 2015 again? Sometimes it seems like he is doing this on purpose- wait no he does. Sadly Pecco, besides to Luca of course, is the one who is mostly present to see Vale‘s reaction. Not Marc. Maybe he would stop if he sees the impact he has on the old man.

… Who is he trying to fool. He would do it even more. Pecco has been around for too long to still denial the painful obvious existence of their weird exhibition kink.

With a small sigh, Pecco reaches over the table and again pauses the video, pauses the sound of Marc’s laughter. Slowly Vale recovers and is able to breathe like a normal human being again. “Nothing to worry about!”, is the first thing he gets out of his mouth.

 Sure. Pecco suppresses the urge to bang his head on the table until he falls into a coma. This would look weird, especially in public. Rumors spread fast in this paddock. The press he would have to face, the mocking he would have to endure from his engineers, it ruins the whole experience. They would eat him alive if he did that, even more if he did it on this particular weekend. So, all he does is to roll his eyes and beg some higher power that this moment would soon be over.

The door falls shut and the whole cafeteria goes silent for a second. Pecco throws a small look over his shoulder, only to freeze in fear.

Anyhow someone heard him up there and decided he needed to feel even more miserable. Loosing the title apparently isn‘t enough. Please, please, please, let him at least not-

„You‘re okay?“ No. No. No. Keep your head up, keep your head up.

„Ah. Of course, of course!“ Suddenly, the relaxed Vale is back again. He can hear the chair scraping on the floor as he leans back. „No need to worry about a guy like me.“ Ok, this has gone surprisingly well- „If you couldn‘t kill me, pasta will never make it.“

Pecco‘s head falls towards the table. God damn it.

A kick against his shin saves him. He tries to kick back, but Bez already caught his glare. With another deep breath, he turns around to face the situation like an adult.

„Ciao“, he greets his future teammate, who is standing on the right side behind his chair. Never in the existence of the universe would he ask how the fuck he got into the cafeteria of the VR46 team, so instead he stays silent and waits for Marc to speak again.

The Spaniard looks relatively comfortable in this situation, or so it seems for outstanders.  For them his bright smile blends them enough to not see the signs. Only if you get close enough you can see the tension in his shoulders, the way he holds his head high up and the inconspicuous foot tapping. Yet something… something in his eyes displays the same kind of hunger he often sees in Vales eyes after an especially good race. His smile just looks a little bit too sharp and too pleased.

„I wanted to come over and wish you luck for the weekend. You will need it.“, he says sweetish and blatantly ignores the indignant glare Vale shoots him. Pecco swallows what lies on his tongue and tries to put on a similar act. „Thanks. Good luck to you too, Enea won‘t give up that third place easily.“ Marc just laughs. „Don‘t know if you already heard it, I don‘t really care about that. Next week we will try out the bike together and that is what matters in the end.“ Pecco hears the threat that lies in those words, fights for his small smile to stay on his face. „Ah right, I am also curious how they have improved the machine for next year.“

He couldn’t have said clearer ˋThis bike was build for me and you need to look how you get along with her.´ A small twitch in his smile indicates Marc understood. „Ah I trust the engineers, I‘m sure it will be a great bike.“  They just stare at each other, playing the act of a friendly talk between soon to be coworkers. It's like time froze.

Someone somewhere in the cafeteria laughs loudly and the tension breaks. “Well, I should go and find Nadia, we need to meet up with Gigi.” Shortly he bowes down to mutter something over Valentinos shoulder, who flinces at the slight touch. “You wouldn’t dare to die before I get my ninth, would you?”

Pecco sees Bez's mouth falling open and how Valentino stiffens up. Marc also notices that and his smile gets even sharper. Lightly his fingertips run over the edges of Vale‘s collarbone, centimeters away from the soft skin of his neck. Out of the corner of his eye, Pecco observes the way Vale now holds the fork, knuckles bright red, fearing he will do something drastic. The question is, would he be able to stop him? Thankfully Marc leaves Vales personal space before something like that could happen.

With a tap on Pecco's shoulder, Marc signals his exit and turns around to walk away. None of them wants to torture themselves so they surely won’t stare after him, watching how he nearly hops out of the cafeteria. Instead, they stare at the table, everyone trying to recover in their own way. Bez continues eating, hoping to forget everything what he just witnessed. Vale damages the cutlery and mumbles some curses under his breath. Pecco, finally, gives in and slowly bangs his head against the table before resting it on the cold surface. Why can’t this weekend just end?

______

Sunday night, when Marc's speech is almost over, Pecco feels his phone vibrating. Quickly, he checks his messages and sees a new one from Bez.

ˋWe need to replace the tv downstairs. He threw a bottle against it and now he doesn’t talk ´

Pecco grabs Domi‘s hand and tries to relax. Someone has to remember him that he needs a soundproof room next year for the case Vale decides to visit Ducati.

[okawarihappylife]

i am once again thinking abt the lost potential that is hypmic.

[katsettee]

I totally get people talking about rottmnt and not being into because of the cartoony madness and exaggeration. I get it, it’s grating for some

But that acceptance goes OUT the window as soon as the same person vehemently swears up and down 2012 is the best tmnt rendition 💀💀

The incest one??? With the horrible writing? THAT one?

[x-rds]

That post about huge red flags from exes is going around and I’m like well mine requires some background reading

[cator99]

I always get detained at da border because PROFUNC never ended but basically I'm like if a targeted individual didn't even care

[name-doggo]

One thing I really wish the FF Community would Stop doing is Removing All Nuance from the Parents in Those Stories in order to Make Them Abusive Supervillains who Never Loved their Kid.

Like... In the Four Years I've been here, and for how Small the Community really is, you'd be surprised how many Times I've seen it-

[rottiens]

I was going to make a post about choso's death and how gege just used that as an excuse to kill him but I was going to end up cursing sukuna, my pookie bear, so I'll keep silent better and hope gege feels my bad vibes from here.

[the-casbah-way]

not to be obnoxious but like. you people are mad at those watcher guys for making you pay for a subscription service. but you were all able to look past the fact that they had an entire series where they just made jokes about actual real life true crime cases. that makes sense

[moonlit-orchid]

When your friend needs you to be there to comfort them, but you have no energy for serious conversations and so you're stuck wondering if youre being a selfish asshole or if youre justified in not wanting to be the one to sort their problems out

[iwaasfairy]

some of you know that i don't like tiktok n it has many reasons but i have had a rant brewing in regards to it for a while and it's definitely extremely prevalent on tiktok

it is not your place to judge people's relationships, even the toxic ones

i know we all go like "yeah duhh" but i want you to actually take in what i'm saying. it's not your place. just because they exist in an age where things can be found online, doesn't mean it's your place. people are allowed to have the human experience. people are allowed to fall in love with the wrong people, and people are allowed to have toxic experiences and people are allowed to be stupid and make mistakes, even public ones

definitely if the person in question is a young woman. like genuinely, i think there is nothing more disrespectful and ironically, anti woman than determining for some young woman that she shouldn't be in a relationship with some older dude. it's not up to you. yea maybe she's making a mistake and will regret in in 3 years, and so fucking what? that's life. young women are able to choose, for themselves, even if the choice is stupid.

billy dating that goofy fucking dude and getting so much shit for it bc what? she whose wrong? yea, i'm pretty sure she made a conscious choice, so stop. she'll survive her mistake. trying to keep young women from experiencing life, even the bad parts of life, isn't doing anyone a fucking favor. its just dismissive of the fact that they can make their own choices for fuck sake.

some nineteen year old ending up married to her high school teacher because they wanted to, getting called out because it's weird and creepy? they're living their lives. who are you to criticize random people? even if it is weird. even if it is true. it's not your fucking place.

a thirty year old woman married to a seventy year old guy and they are living their life and existing in a space where people can see it, but now suddenly it has to be called out bc that's toxic and gross. ok, it's also not your fucking relationship. stop butting in where you're not asked. it is so unbelievably disrespectful and honestly, i'm sick of seeing it. everyone needs to keep their nose in their own business

the easy access of drama on tiktok has made everyone believe that everything is drama that you should stick your nose into. it's not. other people's lives and mistakes shouldn't be your entertainment. young women making bad choices for themselves isn't a hill you need to die on. you aren't being an ally. you aren't being a feminist. you aren't being appropriate.

it isn't your place. it isn't your place. i'm sick of it

[dangerliesbeforeyou]

ok soim gonna ramble about the wedding in the tags cos this is my diary lol kitty dont read this (she's not been on tumblr in ages it should b fine pfft)

[acourtofquestions]

"I didn't break," she said quietly. His heart cracked at the words. "I didn't tell them anything."

She didn't say it for praise, to boast. But rather to tell him, her consort, of where they stood in this war. What their enemies might know.

"I knew you wouldn't," he managed to say.

"She ... she tried to convince me that this was the bad dream. When Cairn was done with me, or during it, I don't know, she'd try to worm her way into my mind." She glanced around the cave, as if she could see the world beyond it. "She spun fantasies that felt so real..." She bobbed under the surface. Perhaps she'd needed the cooling water of the lake to be able to hear her own voice again; perhaps she needed the distance between them so she could speak these words. She emerged, slicking back her hair with a hand. "They felt like this."

Half of him didn't want to know, but he asked, "What sort of illusions?"

A long pause. "It doesn't matter now."

Too soon to push—if ever.

Then she asked softly, "How long?"

It took the entirety of his three centuries of training to keep the devastation, the agony for her, from his face. "Two months, three days, and seven hours."

Her mouth tightened, either at the length of time, or the fact that he'd counted every single one of those hours apart.

She ran her fingers through her hair, its strands floating around her in the water. Still too long for two months to have passed. "They healed me after each ... session. So that I stopped knowing what had been done and what was in my mind and where the truth lay." Erase her scars, and Maeve stood a better chance at convincing her none of this was real. "But the healers couldn't remember how long my hair was, or Maeve wanted to confuse me further, so they grew it out." Her eyes darkened at the memory of why, perhaps, they had needed to regrow her hair in the first place.

"Do you want me to cut it back to the length it was when I last saw you?" His words were near-guttural.

"No." Ripples shivered around her. "I want it so I can remember."

What had been done to her, what she'd survived and what she had protected.

Even if the woman treading water before him didn't seem to have vengeance on her mind. Not so much as a hint of the burning rage that fueled her.

He didn't blame her. Knew it would take time, time and distance, to heal the internal wounds. If they could ever really heal at all.

But he'd work with her, help in whatever way he could. And if she never returned to who she had been before this, he would not love her any less.

Aelin dunked her head, and when she emerged, she said, "Maeve was about to put a Valg collar around my neck. She left to retrieve it." The scent of her lingering fear drifted toward him, and Rowan lurched a step closer to the water's edge. "It's why I—why I got away. She had me moved to the army camp for safekeeping, and I ..." Her voice stalled, yet she met his stare. Let him read the words she could not say, in that silent way they'd always been able to communicate. Escape wasn't my intention.

"No, Fireheart," he breathed, shaking his head, horror creeping over him. "There ... there was no collar."

She blinked, head angling. "That was a dream, too?"

His heart cracked as he struggled for the words. Made himself voice them. "No—it was real. Or Maeve thought it was. But the collars, the Valg presence ... It was a lie that we crafted. To draw Maeve out, hopefully away from you and Doranelle."

Only the faint lapping of water sounded. "There was no collar?"

Rowan lowered himself to his knees and shook his head. "I—Aelin, if I'd known what she'd do with the knowledge, what you'd decide to do-"

He might have lost her. Not from Maeve or the gods or the Lock, but from his own damned choices. The lie he'd spun.

Aelin drifted beneath the surface again. So deep that when the flare happened, it was little more than a flutter. The light burst from her, rippling across the lake, illumining the stones, the slick ceiling above. A silent eruption. His breathing turned ragged. But she swam toward the surface again, light streaming off her body like tendrils of clouds. It had nearly vanished when she emerged.

"I'm sorry," he managed to say. Again, that angle of the head. "You have nothing to be sorry for." He did, though. He'd added to her terror, her desperation. He'd— "If you had not planted that lie for Maeve, if she had not told me, I don't think we'd be here right now," she said.

He tried to rein in the twisting in his gut, the urge to reach for her, to beg for her forgiveness. Tried and tried.

She only asked, "What of the others?" She didn't know-couldn't know how and why and where they'd all parted ways. So Rowan told her, as succinctly and calmly as he could.

When he finished, Aelin was quiet for long minutes.

She stared out into the blackness, the rippling of her treading water the only sound. Her body had nearly lost that freshly forged glow.

Then she pivoted back toward him. "Maeve said you and the others were in the North. That you'd been spotted by her spies there. Did you plant that deception for her, too?"

He shook his head. "Lysandra has been thorough, it seems."

Aelin's throat bobbed. "I believed her." It sounded like a confession, somehow.

So Rowan found himself saying, "I told you once that even if death separated us, I would rip apart every world until I found you." He gave her a slash of a smile. "Did you really believe this would stop me?'

She pursed her mouth, and at last, those agonizing emotions began to surface in her eyes. "You were supposed to save Terrasen."

"Considering that the sun shines, I'd say Erawan hasn't won yet. So we'll save it together."

He didn't let himself think of the final cost of destroying Erawan. And Aelin seemed in no hurry to discuss it, either, as she said, "You should have gone to Terrasen. It needs you."

"I need you more." He didn't balk from the stark honesty roughening his voice. "And Terrasen will need you, too. Not Lysandra masquerading as you, but you."

A shallow nod. "Maeve raised her army. I doubt it was only to guard me while she was away."

He'd put the thought aside, to consider later. "It might just be to shore up her defenses, should Erawan win across the sea."

"Do you truly think that's what she plans to do with it?"

"No," he admitted. "I don't."

And if Maeve meant to bring that army to Terrasen, to either unite with Erawan or simply be another force battering their kingdom, to strike when they were weakest, they had to hurry. Had to get back. Immediately. His mate's eyes shone with the same understanding and dread.

Aelin's throat bobbed as she whispered, "I'm so tired, Rowan."

His heart strained again. "I know, Fireheart."

He opened his mouth to say more, to coax her onto land so he might at least hold her if words couldn't ease her burden, but that's when he saw it.

A boat, ancient and every inch of it carved, drifted out of the gloom.

"Get back to shore." The boat wasn't drifting—it was being tugged. He could just barely make out two dark forms slithering beneath the surface.

Aelin didn't hesitate, yet her strokes remained steady as she swam for him. She didn’t balk at the hand he extended, and he wrapped his cloak around her while the boat ambled past.

But Aelin turned toward them, hair dripping onto the stone at her bare feet. Half a thought from her could have had her dry, yet she made no move to do so. "We're being hunted."

"We know that," Lorcan shot back, and were it not for the fact that Aelin was currently allowing him to rest a hand upon her shoulder, Rowan would have thrown the male into the lake.

But Aelin's features didn't shift from that graveness, that unruffled calm. "The only way to the sea is through these caves." It was an outrageous claim.

"And I suppose they told you that?" Lorcan's face was hard as granite.

"Watch it," Rowan snarled. Fenrys indeed bared his teeth at the dark-haired warrior, fur bristling. But Aelin said simply, "Yes." Her chin didn't dip an inch. "The land above is crawling with soldiers and spies. Going beneath them is the only way."

Elide stepped forward. "I will go." She cut a cold glance toward Lorcan. "You can take your chances above, if you're so disbelieving." Lorcan's jaw tightened, and a small part of Rowan relished seeing the delicate Lady of Perranth fillet the centuries-hardened warrior with a few words. "Considering the potential pitfalls of the situation is wise."

"We don't have time to consider," Rowan cut in before Elide could voice the retort on her tongue. "We need to keep moving. Gavriel stalked forward to study the moored boat and what seemed to be bundles of supplies on its sturdy planks. "How will we navigate our way, though?"

"We'll be escorted," Aelin answered.

"And if they abandon us?" Lorcan challenged. Aelin leveled unfazed eyes upon him.

"Then you'll have to find a way out, I suppose." A hint-just a spark-of temper belied those calm words. There was nothing else to debate after that.

And they had little to pack. The others gave Aelin privacy to dress by the fire while they inspected the boat, and when his mate emerged again, clad in boots, pants, and various layers beneath her gray surcoat, the sight of her in clothes from Mistward was enough to make his gut clench.

No longer a naked, escaped captive. Yet none of that wickedness, that joy and unchecked wildness illuminated her face.

The rest of their party waited on the boat, seated on the benches built into its high-lipped sides. Fenrys and Elide both sat as seemingly far from Lorcan as they could get, Gavriel a golden, long-suffering buffer between them.

Rowan lingered at the shore's edge, a hand extended for Aelin while she approached. Each of her steps seemed considered—as if she still marveled at being able to move freely. As if still adjusting to her legs without the burden of chains.

"Why?" Lorcan mused aloud, more to himself. "Why go to these lengths for us?"

He got his answer—they all did—a heartbeat later. Aelin halted a few feet away from the boat and Rowan's outstretched hand. She turned back toward the cave itself. The Little Folk peeked from those birch branches, from the rocks, from behind stalagmites. Slowly, deeply, Aelin bowed to them. Rowan could have sworn all those tiny heads lowered in answer.

A pair of bony grayish hands rose above a nearby rock, something glittering held between them, and set the object on the stone.

Rowan went still. A crown of silver and pearl and diamond gleamed there, fashioned into upswept swan's wings

"The Crown of Mab," Gavriel breathed. But Fenrys looked away, toward the looming dark, his tail curling around him.

Aelin staggered a step closer to the crown. "It—it fell into the river."

Rowan didn't want to know how she'd encountered it, why she'd seen it fall into a river. Maeve had kept her sisters' two crowns under constant guard, only bringing them out to be displayed in her throne room on state occasions. In memory of her siblings, she'd intoned. Rowan had sometimes wondered if it was a reminder that she had outlasted them, had kept the throne for herself in the end.

The grayish hand slipped over the rock's edge again and nudged the crown in silent gesture. Take it.

"You want to know why?" Gavriel softly asked Lorcan as Aelin strode for the rock. Nothing but solemn reverence on her face. "Because she is not only Brannon's Heir, but Mab's, too."

A throwback to her great-great-grandmother, Maeve had taunted her. Who had inherited her strength, her immortal lifespan.

Aelin's fingers closed around the crown, lifting it gently. It sparkled like living moonlight between her hands.

My sister Mab's line ran true, Elide claimed Maeve had said on the beach. In every way, it seemed.

But Aelin made no move to don the crown while she approached him once more, her gait steadier this time. Trying not to dwell on the unbearable smoothness of her hand as it wrapped around his, Rowan helped her aboard, then climbed in himself before freeing the ropes tethering them to the shore.

Gavriel went on, awe in every word, "And that makes her their queen, too."

Aelin met Gavriel's gaze, the crown near-glowing in her hands. "Yes," was all she said as the boat sailed into the darkness.

[levinbolts]

the next time i open twt and see someone talking about a redemption arc for sephiroth i might actually scream