#their solidarity is unmatched

[fantasykiri5]

They’re so bad(boys)!!

[belovedgamers]

Jimmy saying Grian brought him in because he hates streaming and knew Jimmy’d do it for him instead that’s so funny ToT pet streamer fr

[oflgtfol]

customer not wearing a mask: *gestures to my mask* do they make you wear it or are you just doing it?

me: oh no one makes me. im just wearing it

him: oh ok. not to shame you or anything. i get it, people are gross, haha

me: haha.

[fleurmatisse]

a “people are good actually” story from my own home, my mom had to take our dog back to the emergency vet and she said she was talking to some older gentlemen in the waiting area and both of them were able to leave before she did but one of them came over and told her how nice it was talking to her and that he hoped our dog would be okay and the other one waited for her to come back from talking to the vet to make sure everything was okay before he left and y’all i AM crying about it

[imthebadguyyy]

I Can Do It With A Broken Heart

pairing : f1 drivers x reader fandom : f1 synopsis : the grid is there to watch you flourish with a broken heart. warnings : angst and insane amounts of platonic fluff

I can read your mind, "she's having the time of her life", there in her glittering prime.

The press conference room was buzzing with excitement. Cameras flashed, microphones were adjusted, and reporters shuffled in their seats, eager to ask their questions. You sat at the table, the only female driver on the grid, proudly representing Mercedes. Beside you were Lewis Hamilton and George Russell, both offering reassuring smiles as they prepared for the barrage of questions.

The session began with the usual inquiries about strategies, car performance, and race predictions. You answered confidently, drawing on your experiences and expertise. The lights refracted sequined stars off your silhouette every night, making it seem like you were having the time of your life, there in your glittering prime.

But then, a reporter in the back stood up, his tone sharp and probing. "I can read your mind," he began, a smirk playing on his lips. "She's having the time of her life," he quoted, a mocking tone in his voice. "But given the recent incidents, do you think you're emotionally strong enough to handle the pressures of Formula 1, especially as a female driver? Some might say you're struggling to keep up."

The question hit you like a punch to the gut. You took a deep breath, feeling a mix of anger and hurt. How dare he question your strength, your dedication? You squared your shoulders, looking the reporter straight in the eye.

"I can show you lies," you said, your voice steady and strong. "One, two, three, four. You don't get to tell me about sad," you continued, your gaze unwavering. "I've faced challenges and pressures just like everyone else on this grid. My gender doesn't make me weaker or less capable. If anything, it makes me stronger."

The room fell silent for a moment, the tension palpable. But then, Lewis leaned forward, his expression fierce. "We all face immense pressure in this sport," he said, his voice calm but firm. "And she's proven time and again that she belongs here. Her strength and resilience are unmatched."

George nodded in agreement. "She's one of the best drivers I've ever had the privilege to race alongside. Her gender has nothing to do with her capabilities. She's here on merit, just like the rest of us."

Sebastian Vettel, sitting a few seats down, chimed in as well. "Respect is crucial in this sport. We support each other, and we stand by her. She's earned her place on this grid, and nothing can take that away from her."

Valtteri Bottas added his voice to the mix. "We all have our struggles, but it's how we handle them that defines us. And she's handled everything with grace and determination."

Checo Perez, who was at the press conference as well, spoke up. "It's easy to criticize from the outside. But we know what it takes to be here, and she has it all. She's not just a great driver; she's an inspiration."

The support from your fellow drivers warmed your heart. You felt a surge of gratitude and pride. They saw you for who you were—a talented driver, a fierce competitor, and a valuable member of the F1 community.

The reporter, realizing he had crossed a line, shifted uncomfortably and mumbled an apology. The press conference moved on, but the impact of that moment stayed with you. It was a reminder of the solidarity and respect that existed among the drivers, a testament to the bond you shared.

After the press conference, as you walked back to the paddock, Lewis put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. "You're stronger than any of them know," he said with a smile.

You nodded, feeling a renewed sense of confidence. "Thanks, Lewis. And thanks to all of you," you said, looking around at your fellow drivers. "I couldn't do this without your support."

As you prepared for the next race, you knew that no matter what challenges lay ahead, you had a team of incredible people standing by your side. And that made all the difference.

'cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit

The race had been intense, a whirlwind of speed and strategy. You pushed your Mercedes to its limits, navigating the twists and turns with precision and skill. As the only female driver on the grid, you had a point to prove, and today, you were doing just that.

But then, in the final laps, an incident occurred. Another driver made a reckless move, causing you to swerve and lose valuable time. Despite the setback, you fought your way back up, crossing the finish line in third place. The cheers from the crowd were deafening as you made your way to the podium, your heart pounding with a mix of triumph and exhaustion.

Standing on the podium, you felt a surge of pride. You had earned this. But as the ceremony began, an official approached, a somber look on his face. "I'm sorry," he said quietly, "but you've been given a penalty for the incident on the track. You've lost your podium place."

Your heart sank, but you quickly composed yourself. 'Cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit, you reminded yourself. The decision was unfair, a blatant disregard for the fact that you were the victim of the incident. But instead of letting it break you, you chose to rise above it.

With a defiant smile, you raised your trophy high, celebrating as if nothing had happened. The crowd roared in approval, sensing your silent rebellion against the FIA. You waved to your fans, your expression one of unwavering confidence and determination. You were here to stay, and no unfair penalty could take that away from you.

Lewis Hamilton, standing beside you, exchanged a glance of admiration and support. He knew the situation was unjust, but he also knew you were strong enough to handle it. As you all sprayed champagne, the message was clear: you wouldn't let anyone diminish your achievements.

After the ceremony, as you walked back to the paddock, Lewis was waiting for you. He pulled you into a warm hug, holding you tightly. "You were incredible out there," he whispered, his voice full of warmth and pride. "I'm so proud of you."

You hugged him back, drawing strength from his support. "Thanks, Lewis. It means a lot coming from you."

He pulled back slightly, looking into your eyes with genuine affection. "Don't let anyone tell you otherwise. You've got the heart of a champion, and no unfair penalty can change that."

Oscar Piastri, who had finished second, gave you a nod of respect as he approached. "That was a tough break," he said quietly. "But you handled it with more class than most could."

You smiled at Oscar, appreciating his support. "Thanks, Oscar. It’s moments like these that show what we're made of."

As you walked away, Lewis kept his arm around your shoulders, a silent but powerful gesture of solidarity. "Remember," he said softly, "we're a team. And we're all here for you."

You nodded, feeling a renewed sense of confidence and camaraderie. "I know. And it makes all the difference."

As you prepared for the next race, you knew that the road ahead would be filled with challenges. But with your resilience, the support of your team, and your unwavering determination, you were ready to face whatever came your way. And that made all the difference.

babe, you gotta fake it 'til you make it" and I did

The season had been a rollercoaster, filled with highs and lows, but you had handled it with grace and determination. As the only female driver on the grid, you constantly faced scrutiny and doubt from the pundits who seemed to neglect your achievements. Every podium finish, every hard-fought point, was downplayed or overshadowed by your male counterparts.

Despite this, you kept your head high. One particular pundit, known for his sarcasm, had once sneered, "You just have to fake it 'til you make it, right?" His dismissive comment stung, but you channeled that frustration into every race, using it as fuel to prove your worth.

Then came the breakthrough. Four consecutive wins. It was a streak that left everyone in awe, and there was no denying your dominance on the track. Each victory was sweeter than the last, a testament to your skill and resilience. But what you relished most was the silence from the pundits who had so often dismissed you.

After your fourth straight win, you stood on the podium, the crowd roaring in approval. You soaked in the moment, knowing you had earned every bit of it. As you descended the podium, your eyes locked onto the group of pundits, including the one who had made that sarcastic remark.

With a confident stride, you walked straight up to them. The surprise on their faces was evident as you approached. You could feel the tension, the unspoken acknowledgment of your triumph hanging in the air.

"You remember that comment you made?" you asked, your voice clear and unwavering. "About faking it until you make it?" You let the words hang for a moment, letting the weight of your achievements settle in. "Well, I did just that. And look where it got me."

Lando Norris, standing nearby, gave you an encouraging nod, his eyes filled with pride. Carlos Sainz, too, offered a smile of respect and admiration. They had witnessed your journey, your struggles, and your victories, and they knew how much this moment meant.

The pundits, momentarily speechless, nodded in acknowledgment. You didn't need their praise or recognition anymore. You had shown the world what you were capable of, and that was enough.

As you walked away, you felt a surge of satisfaction and confidence. The road ahead would still have its challenges, but you knew you could face them with the same strength and grace that had brought you this far. And with every race, you would continue to prove that you belonged at the very top of the sport.

Lando joined you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "You handled that perfectly," he said, his voice full of admiration.

Carlos came up on your other side, grinning. "They won't underestimate you again."

You smiled, feeling the camaraderie and support from your teammates. "Thanks, guys. It means a lot."

As you prepared for the next race, you knew that the future was bright. You had the talent, the determination, and the support to achieve anything you set your mind to.

lights, camera, bitch smile, even when you wanna die

The Monaco Grand Prix weekend was in full swing, and the glamorous event was bustling with high-profile guests, flashing cameras, and a sea of paparazzi. You, the only female driver on the grid, were attending a high-profile gala, and while the event was supposed to be a celebration, it quickly turned into a showcase of unwelcome comments.

You walked into the venue, dressed in a stunning outfit that was both elegant and bold. However, instead of admiring glances, you were met with snide remarks and superficial comments about your appearance. People were whispering about your body, your outfit, and your presence, making jabs and sarcastic remarks about your place in the spotlight.

“Lights, camera, bitch smile,” you thought to yourself, trying to maintain your composure. Even when you felt like the criticism was overwhelming, you knew you had to keep up a brave front.

Charles Leclerc and Lewis Hamilton, who were both at the event, noticed the uncomfortable atmosphere surrounding you. They were determined to support you and stand by your side.

As you mingled through the crowd, a particularly obnoxious guest made a loud comment, “Nice outfit, but are you sure you’re not just here to be a pretty face?”

The remark stung, but you refused to let it show. Instead, you turned to the person with a sarcastic smile. “Oh, absolutely. I’m just here to make up the numbers. But hey, if looking good and putting up with this nonsense is part of the job, I guess I’m killing it.”

The crowd fell silent, taken aback by your sharp retort. Charles, standing nearby, stepped in with a smile that was equal parts supportive and mischievous. “You know, I think she’s doing a lot more than just looking good. It’s impressive how she handles this kind of stuff.”

Lewis, also by your side, nodded in agreement. “Yeah, and I’ve seen her drive circles around the competition. I’d say she’s got more than enough talent to match that smile.”

The remarks were met with a stunned silence from the onlookers. The shift in tone was palpable, and the crowd seemed to recognize that they had crossed a line. You gave Charles and Lewis a grateful smile, appreciating their support.

As the night went on, you continued to navigate the event with a blend of poise and sarcasm. The comments faded into the background as you enjoyed the company of those who genuinely respected you.

Charles, as you were leaving the event, put a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “You handled that like a pro,” he said, his tone warm and sincere.

Lewis joined in, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “You were amazing out there. Sometimes, all it takes is a little bit of sass to set things right.”

You smiled, feeling a renewed sense of confidence and camaraderie. “Thanks, guys. I’ve learned that sometimes, you just have to give as good as you get.”

As you left the gala, you knew that the road ahead would still have its challenges. But with the support of your friends and the strength you had shown, you felt ready to face whatever came your way.

im so depressed i act like it's my birthday everyday

The breakup had been brutal. Your boyfriend, a famous tennis player, had ended things in the most public and humiliating way possible. Since then, he’d been making snide comments about you in interviews, trying to tarnish your reputation. Despite the heartache, you continued to show up and perform on the F1 circuit, determined not to let his words break you.

"I'm so depressed, I act like it's my birthday every day," you thought bitterly, putting on a brave face for the cameras and the fans. The Monaco Grand Prix was approaching, and as always, the media was in a frenzy. You had a press conference lined up, and you knew that questions about your ex were inevitable.

You took your seat at the press conference, flanked by Lewis Hamilton, Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, and Max Verstappen. The room was buzzing with anticipation as the questions started to roll in. It wasn’t long before one of the reporters brought up your ex-boyfriend’s recent comments.

“Your ex has been quite vocal about your breakup, making some rather harsh remarks. How do you respond to that?”

You took a deep breath, feeling the familiar sting of his words. But instead of letting it show, you decided to turn the tables with a sarcastic comment. “Well, he’s clearly got a lot of time on his hands now that he’s not busy winning matches. Maybe he should consider a career in stand-up comedy.”

The room erupted in a mix of gasps and chuckles. Before you could say more, Lewis jumped in, his expression serious. “He’s too stupid for his own good if he thinks he can undermine her. She’s shown more strength and class than he ever will.”

Charles nodded in agreement. “He let a gem slip out of his fingers. His loss is the racing world’s gain.”

Carlos added, his voice full of warmth, “She’s got more talent and heart than he could ever understand. We’re lucky to have her here.”

Max leaned into his mic, a rare smile on his face. “And let’s be honest, she’s the one who’s truly winning. Both on and off the track.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at their support. “Thanks, guys. I appreciate it.”

The bond between you all was palpable. The camaraderie and mutual respect you shared were evident, and the crowd could see it. The reporters seemed taken aback by the united front, realizing they wouldn’t get the reaction they’d hoped for.

As the press conference continued, the focus shifted back to racing, and you felt a sense of relief. You answered questions about your performance, your strategy for the upcoming race, and your goals for the season. With each answer, you felt stronger, more confident.

After the press conference, the guys surrounded you, offering words of encouragement and support. Lewis gave you a reassuring pat on the back. “You handled that perfectly. Don’t let anyone get to you.”

Charles grinned, his eyes full of mischief. “Yeah, and if he keeps talking, we’ll take care of it.”

Carlos laughed. “I don’t think he stands a chance against all of us.”

Max added, his tone sincere, “You’ve got us. We’re in this together.

You smiled, feeling the warmth of their friendship and support. “Thanks, everyone. It means a lot.”

As you prepared for the next race, you knew that with the support of your friends and the strength you had shown, you could face whatever came your way.

i cry a lot but I am so productive, it's an art

The morning of the race, you found yourself hiding in the bathroom, tears streaming down your face. The pressure of the season, the recent breakup, and the constant scrutiny had finally taken their toll. You sat on the floor, head in your hands, sobbing uncontrollably. "I cry a lot but I am so productive, it's an art," you thought bitterly, trying to pull yourself together.

Outside, the sounds of the paddock were a blur, but the faint knock on the bathroom door was unmistakable. "Hey, you okay in there?" It was Lewis's voice, filled with concern.

You tried to steady your breathing, wiping your tears. "Yeah, I'm fine," you lied, your voice trembling.

The door creaked open slightly, and Charles's worried face appeared. "We heard you crying. Do you want to talk, Speedy?"

Carlos and Max were right behind him, their expressions mirroring Charles's worry. "You don't have to do this alone, Champ," Carlos said softly.

Unable to hold it in any longer, you broke down again. "It's just... everything. The pressure, the breakup, the constant comments... I can't handle it."

Lewis stepped inside, kneeling next to you. "We're here for you, Superstar. You’re stronger than you know."

Max nodded, his usually stern face softened with empathy. "You don’t have to be perfect all the time, Ace. It's okay to have moments like this."

Oscar, who had just arrived, added, "And after all this, we know you’ll go out there and show everyone what you're made of, Rocket."

Their words, their presence, it all felt overwhelming in the best way. You took a deep breath, trying to compose yourself. "Thank you, guys. I just... I need to get through today."

Lewis helped you up, giving you a reassuring hug. "And you will, Star. We believe in you."

With their support, you made your way to the grid. The race ahead seemed daunting, but you channeled all your emotions into your performance. Lap after lap, you pushed yourself to the limit, determined to prove to yourself and everyone else that you could rise above it all.

When the checkered flag waved, you had done it. You won the race. The crowd erupted in cheers, but all you could think about was the breakdown you had just hours before. As you climbed onto the podium, flanked by Max and Oscar, you felt a mix of triumph and relief.

During the podium ceremony, the emotions threatened to overwhelm you again, but you managed to keep a brave face. When it was your turn to speak, you decided to lighten the mood. "I cry a lot, but I am so productive, it's an art," you said with a smile. The crowd laughed, appreciating your honesty and humor.

Max and Oscar both hugged you tightly, their support evident. "You did amazing, Lightning," Max whispered.

Oscar added, "We’re so proud of you, Champ."

The three of you stood there, arms around each other, a united front against the world. The bond you shared was clear, and for a moment, all the pain and pressure seemed to fade away.

As you looked out at the cheering crowd, you knew that the road ahead would still have its challenges. But with the support of your friends and the strength you had shown today, you felt ready to face whatever came your way. And for now, that was enough.

i was grinning like I'm winning i was hitting my marks, cuz I can do it with a broken heart!

The final race of the season was here, and Abu Dhabi was buzzing with anticipation. You stood on the starting grid, feeling the weight of the world on your shoulders. The breakup, the constant pressure, and the emotional toll of the season had been overwhelming, but you had kept pushing forward.

As the race began, you found your rhythm. Lap after lap, you were grinning like you were winning, hitting your marks perfectly. The focus, the drive, the determination—it all came together. "I can do it with a broken heart," you thought, channeling all your pain into every turn, every straight, every maneuver.

When the checkered flag waved, it was you crossing the line first. The roar of the crowd was deafening as you realized you had just won the World Championship. Tears of joy and relief streamed down your face as you brought your car to a stop. You had done it. Despite everything, you had achieved your dream.

Climbing out of your car, you were immediately swarmed by your team, who lifted you high in the air, cheering your name. Amid the chaos, you saw Lewis and Charles running towards you, their faces lit up with pride and excitement.

As you stood on the podium, the reality of your accomplishment sinking in, you took the microphone for your victory speech. "This season has been the toughest of my life," you began, your voice wavering with emotion. "I’ve been through hell and back. Heartbreak, pressure, and so many nights where I didn’t think I could keep going. But I did. Because I’m stronger than my fears, stronger than my pain."

You paused, looking out at the sea of faces cheering for you. "To everyone who ever doubted me, who said I couldn't make it—look at me now! I was grinning like I was winning, hitting my marks... because I can do it with a broken heart!"

The crowd erupted in applause, and Lewis and Charles were the loudest, hollering and cheering for you. They rushed onto the podium, drowning you in hugs, their pride and love for you evident in their eyes.

Lewis pulled you into a tight embrace. "You did it, Superstar! I knew you could!"

Charles joined in, wrapping his arms around both of you. "You’re incredible, Speedy! We’re so proud of you!

The three of you stood there, holding each other as the celebration continued around you. The bond you shared was unbreakable, forged through countless races, challenges, and triumphs.

As the champagne flowed and the confetti rained down, you felt a sense of peace and fulfillment. Despite the broken heart, you had achieved your greatest dream. And with Lewis and Charles by your side, you knew you could face anything the future held.

This moment, this victory, was yours. And it was sweeter than you could have ever imagined.

try and come for my job

The afterparty in Abu Dhabi was in full swing. The entire paddock was buzzing with excitement after the thrilling end to the season, and tonight was all about celebration. You had just won the World Championship, and the energy was electric.

Dressed in a dark pink glittery dress, you let yourself get swept up in the festivities. The music was loud, the drinks were flowing, and everyone was ready to let loose after a long, grueling season. Your team was gathered around you, along with many of the other drivers, all celebrating your incredible achievement.

As the night went on, the mood became more jubilant. Someone handed you a shot, and you raised it high, feeling a surge of adrenaline and joy. The crowd around you cheered as you climbed up onto a tabletop, ready to make a statement.

Holding the shot glass in one hand, you looked around at the sea of faces, all eyes on you. You grinned mischievously, feeling a boldness take over. "Try and come for my job!" you shouted, downing the shot in one go.

The room erupted in cheers and laughter. Lewis and Charles were right there, cheering the loudest, their faces beaming with pride. The moment was captured on video by several people, and within minutes, it was already going viral on social media.

You continued to dance on the tabletop, feeling the music pulse through you. The crowd chanted your name, the energy infectious. Lewis and Charles joined you, clambering up onto the table and dancing alongside you, their arms around your shoulders.

Lewis leaned in close, his voice filled with laughter. "You’re unstoppable, Superstar!"

Charles, grinning from ear to ear, added, "No one’s taking your job, Speedy! You’re the best!"

Max and Oscar were below, cheering and laughing, capturing the moment on their phones. Carlos handed you another drink, shaking his head in amazement. "You’re a legend, Rocket!"

As the night went on, the party showed no signs of slowing down. You felt an overwhelming sense of camaraderie and love from everyone around you. The hardships and struggles of the season melted away in the light of this celebration.

Later, as you finally climbed down from the table, breathless and exhilarated, Lewis and Charles stayed close, their support unwavering. "We’ve got your back, no matter what," Lewis said, his tone sincere.

Charles nodded, his eyes filled with admiration. "You’re a champion in every sense of the word. Never forget that."

You smiled, feeling the warmth of their words. "Thanks, guys. I couldn’t have done it without you."

The night continued, filled with laughter, dancing, and countless toasts to your success. The viral video of you downing a shot and declaring your dominance spread like wildfire, capturing the essence of your fearless, unstoppable spirit.

As the party finally wound down, you knew that this was just the beginning. With your friends and teammates by your side, you were ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead. And for now, you were content to bask in the joy of this unforgettable night.

a/n : ahhh I've been waiting for this one!! happy reading 🩷 and as always, comments likes reblogs feedback etc is always appreciated 🤍

TAGS

f1 : @ivegotparticulartaste @moon-enthusiast @superlegend216 @theonly1outof-a-billion

ttpd series - @ateezseonghwanot @khaylin27 @imgondeletedis @jj-ever-lovely-jewel @stylestastic

charles : - @chanshintien @eternalharry @janeholt @magicalcowboyarbiter @oneafterdark @leclerc13 @moon-enthusiast @crlsummer @superlegend216 @electrobutterfly @formula1mount @f1lover20 @livsters @inkfable @ssararuffoni

[makapedia]

chaotic thot “when you tear my heart out, stain your lips red with my blood” mytho

I love how most of the asks you've shared so far have been about Fakir, and the funniest thing to me is that he isn't even really the edgiest edgelord in Princess Tutu.

hahahahhaha ELABORATE

[cool-fancier]

The Finals

Synopsis: Backstage, Team BEBE triumphs in Street Woman Fighter. Bada and you share a heartfelt moment after their well-deserved win.

a/n:In honour of BEBE winning!

Emotions ran wild on the night of the Street Woman Fighter finals. You were standing backstage with the rest of Team BEBE, and everyone seemed excited and nervous at the same time. Bada, in particular, was a bundle of nerves as she went over the choreography and checked in with the girls.

The room's adrenaline spiked as the music started and the team took the stage. The performance needed to be perfect because the choreography was tough.  The judges and crowd gazed at the stage, anticipating what would happen next.

With a racing heart, you watched the performance on the backstage monitor. You had complete faith in Bada and the rest of the crew, knowing that this competition meant the world to her, and you had the utmost faith in her and the rest of the crew. You clenched your hands tightly, sending silent well-wishes and love.

The backstage area erupted in collective gasps as Team BEBE performed an especially challenging sequence. Every crew was competing fiercely and giving it their all. Each member of BEBE danced with constant commitment, showcasing their skill and the powerful bond that held them together.

You couldn't help but cheer silently as the performance continued. The crew's coordination and solidarity were unmatched. The audience was enthralled with the magic they were working on that stage.

The excitement in the room intensified to an almost unbearably high level as the performance neared its end.  Bada's voice resonated as she counted off the last few beats, leading her team to a perfect finish. Your heart sprang at the deafening clapping from the crowd.

Team BEBE left the stage and made their way back to the backstage area during the cheering. The girls expressions showed a mixture of tiredness and excitement; they were ecstatic and gasping for air. With contagious smiles, Lusher, Kyma, Tatter, Minah, Cheche, and Sowoen embraced one another tightly.

You hurried over to join in the celebrations.  You gave each girl a hug while shouting, "You were incredible!" "I'm so proud of all of you!"

Lusher replied, "Thank you so much, unnie," and Bada joined in the celebration, her eyes still full of the passion of the performance. The girls showed their appreciation to each other. She gave the crew hugs and smiles in appreciation of their combined efforts. The room buzzed with shared joy, and it was a beautiful sight to behold.

As the rest of the crews watched the celebrations in awe, they couldn't help but notice you and Bada. You stood side by side, your eyes locked with deep affection, and there was a sense of solidarity and love that radiated from both of you. The other dancers exchanged glances, realising that your relationship held a secret source of strength.

The results were eagerly awaited, and as the judges prepared to announce the winners, you and Bada clutched each other's hands, your fingers entwined. The crew members huddled together, supporting one another in the final moments of suspense.

When Monika announced, "The winners of Street Woman Fighter Season 2 is... Team BEBE!" the arena erupted into cheers, and your hearts swelled with joy. The dancers jumped with excitement, their screams echoing in the backstage area.

Tears welled up in your eyes as you watched the crew's happy emotions, knowing they had won their well-deserved victory. The love and affection they received from their fans, the respect they received from their fellow dancers, and the recognition of their hard work were amazing.

The team finally returned to the backstage area after their time on the main stage, and you were ready to congratulate them once more. The room was buzzing with life, and as you hugged each member of BEBE, your smiles mirrored theirs.

Then, as the celebrations continued, you noticed Bada standing apart from the gathering, still talking with some of the other crew members from other teams. As you saw her engage with the dancers, your heart filled with pride and love.

But after a while, Bada turned, and her eyes locked with yours. It felt as if the entire world had slipped away, leaving only the two of you. You moved towards her without a second thought, your movements swift but filled with devotion.

As you approached Bada, your eyes met, and all your love and pride for her was reflected back to you. You didn't need to say anything as you threw your arms around her and pulled her into a close, warm embrace.

"Proud of you doesn't even begin to cover it," you said into her ear as you held her tight. Bada's eyes sparkled with happy tears as she leaned into your embrace, her grip on you equally firm.

The powerful emotions, the countless hours of practise, the obstacles they had overcome had all led to this moment. With the victory secured, Bada's heart was overflowing with love and appreciation, and tears ran down her cheeks.

"I couldn't have done it without you," she admitted, her voice soft but filled with emotion.

You brushed a delicate kiss across her forehead, feeling her warmth against you."I've seen how hard you've worked and how committed you've been to leading this team, and it's paid off." You're amazing, Bada." Your tone is gentle.

She smiled through her tears, her gaze fixed on yours. "Thank you for being here for me, even when nobody knew. Your support means the world to me."

The other crew members continued to celebrate their well-deserved success as you both shared a joyous moment backstage. The room was alive with the energy of achievement and fellowship.

It was a night of celebration and acknowledgment, and Team BEBE's efforts were rewarded with the title they deserved.

Bada lifted the trophy high as the audience applauded and confetti poured down, her heart brimming with delight and appreciation. And you, her secret supporter, stood right backstage, sharing in the glorious moment.

The journey had been long and difficult, but it had brought you and Bada closer. Your love and support had been her strength during the competition, and it was a connection that would deepen as you embarked on new adventures together.

As the night turned into early morning, and the celebrations continued, you and Bada found a moment alone backstage. You stared at each other with affection and pride, knowing that your bond was stronger than ever.

And as the world celebrated Team BEBE's victory, the two of you celebrated the love that had quietly thrived in the background, making the triumph all the more special.

[bugcatcherkit]

very curious about your thoughts on a tome teru ritsu shou friendship. you are one million percent correct but i am also extremely curious what you think her individual dynamics would be with everyone in the group, how she starts hanging out with them, and the general vibes of their private minecraft server

oh my god thank you hfhhehvhe i lovee having space to ramble about my interpretations !!!!!! I am trying so hard to make this short and coherent (I didn't sleep at all last night) so bear with me ok. This got long sooo ...

Tome and Teru bond first by virtue of being work besties turned regular friends. Well, work besties as in Teru hangs out there and helps out a lot but would never officially take the job. Anyway they get along great because they can match each other's weird and eccentric vibe while also having an underlying bit of Understanding between them due to the whole "tried to rationalize their isolation with specific escapist fantasies that indulged it instead of addressed it" thing. I think they help each other bridge whatever gap remains from their difficulties in connecting the supernatural/extraterrestrial/super-powered world and experiences with the regular/normal/ordinary world. like theyre a good balance for each other. Theyre both So Much that it kind of cancels out. I just like to think they help ground each other. This is very important for their enrichment.

Some of their enrichment activities include: Tome trying to get Teru to fucking Relax For Once by introducing him to video games like pokemon but it kind of backfires when he gets Way Too Into It (this is where minecraft comes in also). Making a super expansive OC world and continually referencing it to each other much to everyone else's confusion. Trying to cure their intense boredom by hanging out together but never really knowing what to do, so they're just bored together. Their text messages are mostly funny images they found, not actual conversations. Their solidarity with each other is almost unmatched. They have a warriors bond.

Anyway. ANYWAY. I think Tome is just kind of absorbed into the Teru-Ritsu-Shou friend group mostly because of Teru, and partly because sometimes, very occasionally, Shou will be at S&S because of Ritsu, who is usually there only as a favour. Ritsu and Teru do the exorcism stuff and Tome and Shou have to sort the filing cabinets for the 5 millionth time because Reigen is running out of things that Tome can do. Shou does not mind these tasks. I think Teru and Shou both like having little menial tasks to do whereas Tome doesn’t. For Ritsu is depends on the task and who it’s for a think. But ANYWAY. Anyway they just grow closer from there probably unless I think of something better.

I like to think of the Tome and Shou dynamic for similar reasons as the Teru-Tome dynamic (character comparison reasons). Shou craved normalcy and decided to chase it post-canon. Tome wanted the complete opposite. So I don't think they would exactly see eye-to-eye immediately (why would she want to give up that normalcy vs why would he want mundane normalcy). I think Shou might even find her View of Things a little bit annoying, mostly because I think he'd be high-strung post canon and she is just not helping that, as opposed to him actually disliking anything about her. But because they are both quite considerate of other people, they work through these things and become bros. He actually probably really appreciates her Severe Genuineness and (mostly) unwavering will regarding her passions/beliefs. She probably likes his appreciation for simple normalcy and relaxation because it hammers in again that doing stuff like that isn't a waste. They love doing so much Nothing together because they both like to take it easy. I think they would enjoy parallel playing.

When they hang out they have to stop EVERYTHING they're doing to watch an ant carry something 4x its size across the sidewalk because it is so exciting to them. Shou is in on the OC world by the way. Tome and Teru and Shou develop it like they're in the writers room of a high-budget TV show. He updates her on every little thing his hamsters do.

For some reason I found the Ritsu and Tome dynamic like the most difficult to think about out of all of them. They're probably the least close? Ritsu treats Tome as Mob's friend in the same way that Mob treats Shou as Ritsu's friend -- with immense care and consideration, but not a lot of close contact outside of a group. He tries to be sooo polite with her but she Does Not match his energy. So after a certain point Ritsu just kind of gives it up. Then they start annoying the shit out of each other. I do think that Ritsu looks up to Tome based on what he knew about her in middle school and how he knows her post-canon. Because she never conformed to people’s expectations in the way that he did, and she is committed to a Fun and Meaningful Existence in similar ways that he wants to be. My ideal dynamic is a Ritsu who gets Weirder and a bit more childish around her, because he deserves it I think. I know I said they wouldn't be close but this is how they can bond more.

I HAVENT EVEN GOTTEN TO THEIR MINECRAFT SERVER YET. Tome and Teru are the powerhouses of the server because they are so cracked at the game. the only difference is Teru takes it so damn seriously and Tome actually likes fucking around. She's putting herobrine portals around and convincing Ritsu he's on the server. Teru is doing it all he's farming he's mining he's building elaborate builds he's setting up economies because probably has the most consistent resource supply. Where's that post where it describes him and Ritsu as "they keep making more elaborate redstone powered industrial farms" I swear I saw something like that. That is them.

I wouldn't say Shou sucks at survival mode but he probably isn't terribly good at it either. He seems like a "load in a flat world and build stupid things and spawn in the max number of mobs allowed in any given range." He's always asking people for stuff because he keeps dying and losing his. Or he gets lost frequently. He's followed by at least 7 tamed wolves at a time and every time he loses one he makes everybody stop whatever they're doing to come to the funeral he puts.

The only thing stopping Ritsu from basically speedrunning the game is the fact that he is scared of the cave noises/the monsters/the nether. Also him and Mob have to share an account so sometimes he'll load in with nothing because Mob got them killed last time he was on. Tome and Teru both suck at bringing beds with them when they go out on in-game days long adventures and everyone else is soo mad at them. Is this too elaborate. I could probably go on I just haven't played minecraft in a while.

[workersolidarity]

🇾🇪🇵🇸 🚨

MASSIVE PROTESTS IN SANA'A AS YEMENI CITIZENS RALLY IN SOLIDARITY WITH PALESTINIANS UNDER SIEGE IN THE GAZA STRIP

📹 A massive million-man march in Sana'a as Yemeni citizens rally in support of, and in solidarity with, the Palestinian people under siege and facing genocide in the Gaza Strip on Friday, March 8th, 2023.

Yemeni citizens have repeatedly answered the call of its leaders to rally in support of Palestine, coming out in numbers unmatched anywhere in the world as Yemen's Ansarallah movement continues to blockade Israeli, American and allied ships in the Bab el-Mandeb straight, in the Red Sea, setting back trade routes by hundreds of years.

#source

@WorkerSolidarityNews

[myimaginarymonologues]

them: are you okay? all good? :3

me trying to recover from the most insane backshots I've ever felt:

they/them dick so good it left me in the family guy death pose

[sachafaible]

The White Cloak

Chapter 1 of my Ao3 Criston Cole x Gwayne Hightower Faible fanfic after last night's HOTD episode (spoilers ahead)

The sound of hooves pounding against the earth filled the air as Sir Criston Cole led the column of riders. The morning was misty, with dampness clinging to armor and cloaks alike. It was as though the very land held its breath, sensing the turmoil ahead. Beside Criston rode Gwayne Hightower, the green of his armor vivid against the mist, his expression a mask of determination. Their destination was Harrenhal, a fortress steeped in history and sorrow.

"We're close," Gwayne murmured, his voice breaking the silence that had settled between them. Despite their recent arguments, he couldn't deny Criston’s unmatched skill and indomitable will. "The arrival of the Kingsguard should convince the local lords of our intentions."

Criston glanced at Gwayne, his gaze hard, yet not entirely devoid of softness.

"And you believe they will bend the knee so easily?"

"Not easily," Gwayne admitted. "But with tact and reason. Not everything is achieved through brute force."

Criston's jaw tightened. "Sometimes force is the only language understood."

Gwayne opened his mouth to argue but thought better of it. They had tangled enough on this matter. Instead, he nodded. "Then let us hope you won't need to speak that language today."

The conversation lapsed into silence again, the mist giving way to the massive silhouette of Harrenhal. As they approached the gate, the tension in the air was palpable. Soldiers on the walls watched with narrowed eyes, their loyalty uncertain in these fractured times.

Sir Criston reined in his horse, turning to address the men behind him.

"Be vigilant. We do not yet know how we will be received."

Gwayne's hand brushed against Criston's as they moved forward, an unspoken gesture of solidarity that neither acknowledged out loud. United in purpose if not in method, they prepared to step into the lion's den together.

With the towering gates of Harrenhal looming above, Gwayne Hightower spurred his horse forward, determination etched across his features. He understood that winning the support of Harrenhal's lords through words and reason would be more sustainable than through the edge of a blade.

"Gwayne Hightower of Oldtown!" His voice carried, strong and clear, across the walls. "We seek an audience with your lord. We come as emissaries of Queen Alicent Hightower."

Murmurs broke out among the soldiers on the walls, but no immediate response followed. Criston Cole, sitting on his horse beside Gwayne, shifted restlessly. His warrior instincts demanded action, and the prolonged silence only stoked the fire within him.

Gwayne turned his head just enough to catch Criston's eye. "Patience, Criston. They need time to decide."

Criston barely stifled a scoff. He trusted Gwayne's intellect, but words often failed in the face of doubt and fear. Minutes felt like hours as they waited, and the tension on both sides grew stiflingly thick.

Finally, the gates creaked open, revealing a small party of armored men led by a wary-looking captain.

"My lord is cautious," the captain said. "These are uncertain times."

Gwayne nodded, his demeanor serene.

"We understand. These are indeed troubled times. But we come bearing Queen Alicent's message of unity and strength. We need allies, not adversaries."

As Gwayne dismounted and approached, Criston's eyes scanned the surroundings for any sign of treachery. He moved to follow, his movements less measured than his companion's.

Gwayne continued, "Your loyalty to our cause will not go unrewarded, I assure you. Harrenhal's strength could turn the tides in favor of the Greens."

Criston saw suspicion flicker in the eyes of the men before them. Impatience gnawed at him.

"Enough talk!" he barked, stepping forward, eyes locked on the captain. "Prove yourselves true lords by standing with us, or face the consequences of your indecision."

Gwayne shot Criston a pleading glance, hoping to reign him in, but the damage was done. The captain's expression hardened, and he stepped back.

"We will consider your words, but you will have to wait outside until our decision is made."

Gwayne tensed, his effort to dissuade anger from creeping into his voice evident.

"Of course. We will await your decision."

As they retreated back towards their men, the friction between Criston's eagerness and Gwayne's diplomacy hung heavy in the air.

"You may have just made this harder," Gwayne hissed.

Criston shrugged, unmoved. "Sometimes hard is necessary. We'll see who they listen to."

--

The camp outside Harrenhal settled into an uneasy quiet as night fell, the occasional sound of rustling armor and low whispers breaking the silence. Gwayne Hightower had waited long enough. The fate of Queen Alicent’s cause hung in the balance, and he couldn’t afford to leave it to Criston’s aggressive methods. He needed a private audience with the lord, away from the mistrust and the eyes of soldiers.

Clad in darkened garb to blend with the shadows, Gwayne slipped from the camp, navigating through the terrain with practiced stealth. The moonlight offered just enough illumination to guide his path towards a less guarded side entrance he had scoped out earlier. His heart pounded with the weight of secrecy and determination.

He was nearly within the cold stone walls of Harrenhal when a shadow moved—Criston Cole, stepping into his path. His white cloak was pulled tight around him, but his armored silhouette was unmistakable. Gwayne halted, the sudden presence sending adrenaline coursing through his veins.

"Criston," Gwayne whispered, almost accusingly, "What are you doing here? You were supposed to stay back."

Criston’s eyes glinted in the dim light, a mixture of anger and something else—the same indecipherable emotion that had been simmering between them.

"And let you handle this alone? You could jeopardize the entire mission."

"I’m trying to reason with them. Your bull-headed approach won’t win us allies," Gwayne hissed, trying to keep his voice low. "Let me do this my way."

Criston stepped closer, his presence overwhelmingly intense in the confined hallway.

"Your way? And what if your way fails?" His voice was barely a murmur now, but the proximity made it hard to ignore the warmth of his breath against Gwayne’s skin.

Their faces were inches apart, the tension crackling in the narrow space. Gwayne’s heart hammered not just from the mission, but from Criston’s proximity. He could feel the heat radiating off Criston, smell the faint trace of sweat and worn leather. His chastising glare softened, replaced by a confusion of emotions he had tried to suppress.

Criston’s eyes searched Gwayne’s face, lingering a moment too long on his lips.

"This isn’t just about the mission, is it?" His voice was low and rough.

Gwayne looked away, the truth hanging unspoken in the air. "I don’t know what you’re talking about."

The silence between them spoke louder than words. The corridor was narrow, and there was no room for evasion. Criston's hand brushed against Gwayne's as he spoke next, voice softened.

"We can't afford to lose focus here, Gwayne…"

Their lingering gaze held promises and conflicts, a battle fought in the hush of a breath between them.

[new-tella-us]

The Mothers. Part 2

On the next episode of "Who are the barely mentioned women that raised our love interests?" We have-

Dracae   The Queen of Mystery 

Everything about Dracae is shrouded in rumors, from her legitimacy to her draconic origins. Anyone who knew how to answer even half of the questions about her were killed a long time ago. When she appeared in public, her face was covered with a hat, a veil or a mask. Her identity being a secret was the most important thing to her. What people did know about her was her military prowess was unmatched. Her guards and soldiers were some of the most powerful men and women in the Abyssal Plains. 

Such power and rumors of her draconic blood gained the attention of the Demon Lord but, unlike the other wives, Dracae was prepared. She struck first and managed to nearly back the Demon Lord into a corner. However, she made the critical flaw of being deathly loyal to her soldiers, she never expected a traitor to be among her own. With critical soldiers wounded or killed from the inside and the overwhelming numbers against her, Dracae was forced to surrender. However, she was the closest to preventing her capture. From then on, she became the quietest of the queens. Her presence only known from her bigger stature and the faint, burnt, flowery scent she left behind. 

When Aomaris was born, all the wives had been obtained. The kingdom was almost at its peak strength with the addition of Dracae’s army. This would be the era of short peace as everyone was far too afraid of the Demon Lord to fight him. All the while, Dracae maintained her air of mystery. At this point, the only two people left alive that had even seen her face were the Demon Lord and Aomaris. The former would call her “The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen” possibly to anger his other wives and fan the flames of jealousy; the latter was too young to remember his mother’s face. 

Dracae and Aomaris’s relationship was the first to actually have motherly love. Unlike Istorae and Kalipo, who saw their sons more as heirs and investments than children, Dracae focused her energy on making Aomaris feel loved and cared for. This came as a shock to the other wives. This military woman was a softie deep down. The one issue was that her unwillingness to being hard on her son would lead to Aomaris not taking her seriously. He loved his mother, but her words just didn’t make sense to him. She spoke of pacifism and kindness, despite her military history, but Aomaris was raised on violence. How can you be pacifistic in this world? One thing he did get from her teachings was the concept of equality and respect. The role “royal” was just that, a role. A role any person could do if they were trained well and raised right. Succubi got that role by default, but Dracae truly believed that was just a societal expectation, not an inherent trait. To her, your race should only decide your appearance and magic, not your role in society. 

The consequence of that was Aomaris gaining a bit of a complex. He wanted to be a good person, like his mother, but he just didn’t understand how much of her teachings were possible. Dracae was –by far- the best mother of the bunch, raising a generous man who believed in fighting for equality. Her teachings of equality and family also led to Aomaris’s unwavering loyalty to all his brothers and his respect and solidarity for Izroul. His violent streak was the work of his father, not his mother.  

When Aomaris left, it was the first time the public would truly see emotion from the dragon queen. Grief. She wasn’t loud about it but the quiet sobs that echoed through the halls could break the heart of even the most hardened of soldiers. She understood why Aomaris left; the royals’ lives weren’t optimal if they weren’t first in line. They would be married off or turned into soldiers. But even with her understanding, she missed her son. He was her favorite person. 

In Sam’s Demon War Route, Dracae is another case of being uninvolved. But, unlike Kalipo, she did stick around the castle. Deep in the dungeons, she would pray to her dragon ancestors for the power to defeat the Demon Lord. That power would come to Sam during his route. And if you decided to go down the King Sam Route (The only good King route, might I add) she might just appear again with someone new one day. 

As for the people Dracae liked and disliked. 

She obviously loved her son.... but did you know that (in this version) she had a daughter? Yes, she had twins. That’s the “someone new”. What happened to her? Well, Dracae isn’t dumb. The Succubi world is a matriarchal society, so the rules of the heir are backwards. Dracae’s daughter would be first in line, even outshining Raestrao. And no one would be happy about that. Especially not Istorae. So, to protect her child, the daughter was sent away before the Demon Lord would even know he had a daughter. When I said Dracae was the queen of mystery, I truly meant it. 

Dracae has... mixed feelings about the Demon Lord. At least pre death of Izroul’s mom. She, of course, didn’t respect his methods of getting new kingdoms or wives but, at least before he went totally apeshit, she wanted to believe that there was some kindness in him. But after seeing just how horrible he treated his harem girl and son, any hope for him died. 

Surprisingly, Dracae doesn’t hate any of the wives or the harem girl. She sees them all as victims of circumstances just like her. While none of the wives truly liked each other, Dracae and Istorae were the most respected of the wives. Istorae for being the OG wife and Dracae for her genuinely kind behavior. 

The only person Dracae despises is the “pig faun”. She doesn’t really know why. He just makes her mad. 

Oh boy! The last wife- 

Aezera The bitch  The Pure-Blooded Succubus 

As a young woman, Aezera was better than who she would become but she wasn’t perfect. She was a noble to one of the last two pure blooded succubi bloodlines, making her an extremely powerful woman and she knew it.  

She had a younger sister that she didn’t treat the best. She would attempt to outshine her younger sister at every point and was heavily jealous at her parents’ favoritism of the younger sibling. But her sister showed her nothing but kindness. Back when Aezera had sanity, she would feel bad for the way she treated her younger sister, but it wouldn’t matter in the end. Her sister got injured and was dying. And why? Because of an attack. 

 Surprisingly, it was not from the Demon Lord, but rather a tertiary kingdom sent to kill off the heiresses. The younger sister died protecting a teenaged Aezera. This would make Aezera’s guilt over how she treated her sister skyrocket. If only she could have been a little nicer. This shifted Aezera’s thinking to a far more family-oriented way of seeing life. It didn’t make her any less spoiled or insecure, but the idea of what family meant was drilled into her head from then on. 

Eventually, the Demon Lord did attack, but his war efforts would be for naught as Aezera surrendered immediately. In her eyes, with his massive army, joining his forces would be a net positive. Aezera was not happy being the fourth wife, but she would accept her role and hopefully rise through the ranks once she produced him an heir. 

When Zecaeru was born, the name she chose for him wasn’t picked randomly. Her younger sister’s name was very similar. Maybe this was Aezera’s way of honoring her sister via her son. It also explained why she was the most doting of the mothers. 

Aezera and Zecaeru’s relationship was one of codependence. What started as Aezera being kind to her son to make up for how cruel she was to her sister became a dependency on her son for happiness. Zecaeru distracted her from how guilty she always felt and how miserable she truly was being in this kingdom with these women she didn’t like. Especially after Izroul’s birth and her losing her body.

She needed her son and thus made it so he would always need her. She would slowly become more and more controlling and particular about every aspect of her life and the people around her. Everyone that served her or belonged to her had to wear and say certain things to avoid her wrath, including Zecaeru. Zecaeru would attempt to calm her down with toys and animals, which worked for a time, but she would go back to her irate self in about a week. It was clear to anyone paying attention that Aezera was going mad. Zecaeru was in denial about it but deep down... he knew. 

The consequence of that was Zecaeru feeling a need to prove how "adult" he is. He was treated like a child needing guidance and control well into his adult years and he hated it. He didn't want to prove it by giving up his fun loving ways so, instead, he proved it by being reliable. Starting from even when he was a child, Zecaeru went out of his way to help people, including and especially Izroul. He felt the need to grow up but wasn't completely sure how. By the time he gets to Mika though, he's figured it out more. On the good end however, Zecaeru is the most emotionally mature and stable of all his siblings. He got to feel the full range of emotions without judgement from his mother or interference from his father.

When Zecaeru left, Aezera broke. She just couldn’t understand why he would leave. She was the kindest she could ever be. He was her everything. She gave him everything, prepared him to impress the Demon Lord and was even ready to risk possible banishment or execution if it meant that she could get rid of all Zecaeru’s competition. So why did he go? Why would he leave her here to rot? She justified it to herself as Zecaeru having a plan, needing to prepare to become the next Demon Lord. She didn’t truly believe her own words, but it was better than believing that her own son, that she loved more than life itself, would abandon her. 

In Matthew’s Demon War Route, Aezera was heavily involved. She was the only wife to stick around. She respected her marriage even if the Demon Lord did not. She didn’t fully understand what her husband was trying to prove by mind controlling their son, but her strong sense of familial bond and her need to get her son back overrode her suspicion and anger at her husband. She would lend him her power for her physical form back. 

In the bad end, she never intended for the Demon Lord to remain alive. Once all the heirs were dead, the Lord would fall too, making way for a new king. However, her plans would go awry when the human her son was supposed to slay escaped. But that’s a long story. I’ll save that for a “King End” deep dive. 

In the true end, when it was revealed that ...this human, was to be her son’s bride, the madness in her truly shone. There was something about the way she stood, the power and confidence radiating off this human as if she was royalty and not lower than slaves. It was just like that bastard child that ruined their family. It pissed Aezera off. The human was not family; she wasn’t to be respected as an equal. She was to be killed off or to be used for energy like a good harem girl. Oh, how madness made Aezera so hypocritical.  

The human dared to reach out, to extend a hand of “mercy”, she even talked so sweetly about the wedding they were planning. Aezera was convinced that this bitch was mocking her, she had to be! She even dared to reach out the hand that held the ring that Aezera gave to her son long ago. For her to stand so confidently and mock a queen as powerful as Aezera, this human had to have extraordinary power. Now she understood why Zecaeru left. He was bewitched! Tricked for his power! It was the only thing that made sense.  

Or at least, it made sense to Aezera. To anyone else in the room, Aezera was spiraling. Matthew tried to reach out, to save her mother, but she wasn’t listening. Mika tried to calm her down and explain, but she wasn’t having it. Diana was the only one to accept that Aezera was a lost cause. So, she fought. Aezera was a hard person to beat and even with Saero’s summoning, this would have ended in a stalemate if nothing was done. 

In the end, Matthew had to kill his own mother. Even if it shattered his heart to do so. Aezera truly didn’t understand. She drained his energy; she took control of him. From her perspective, any spells the human cast should have been null and void. It was null and void. So why? Why would her son attack her and so fatally? Did he not love her anymore...? 

She would get her answer when she would hear footsteps approaching her, she looked up, not to see her son but the human he chose over her. And in a moment of clarity, she finally saw the human in earnest. She wasn’t mocking, bragging, there was no hint of happiness on her face. She just looked sad, like she failed. She was being genuine this whole time. Is... that the reason why Zecaeru chose her? Aezera would have no time to ponder as she died. 

For the extra people that she liked or hated. 

Aezera generally hated everyone in her new life. She was envious of Istorae’s role, she didn’t care about the middle two wives, the sons were all competition for her son’s crown, she despised the harem girl for sleeping with her husband and giving him a fifth child, she hated said fifth child and believed that he was what’s wrong with their family, even blaming him for why she lost her physical form, she hated Mika for trying to marry her son. She hated a lot of people. She’s very spiteful. 

The only three people she held any affection for were her sister (after she died), her son and her husband. And even with that last one, she intended to kill him. 

TL:DR

Dracae is best mom and actually tried to raise her son like a son. Also there might be a new face I am drawing that relates to Dracae and Sam.

Aezera is deathly loyal to family but being around the Demon Lord too long drove her mad. She died realizing that she was kinda being a crazy boy mom. But hey! At least she treated Matthew like a son.

[obsidianpen]

Just caught up on B&G. You are SO incredibly talented. Your artistry is unmatched. I don’t do “ships”… I just try to take each story at its merit. I think you could turn so many elements of B&G into its own standalone story in a world outside of HP (like Senlinyu is doing with Manacled and official publishing.) That’s not to say you should be doing that — or that is the goal — just that your writing, imagination, character building and plot is GOD TIER. Your Tom genuinely fucking terrifies me. He’s unpredictable and as a reader you truly BELIEVE. I always thought she had the upper hand on him and now I’m like…. Fuck… What does he know?! How did he find her in that shack? What did he mean by most cunning…. Arrrghhhhhdmdmdmskksnsnssnmask.

RIP Abraxus.

(Also side note… I love reading the comments on that fic. I feel like that “get on your fucking knees” did things to half of us and makes me chuckle seeing it)

this made me so happy to read 🥹 funnily enough, my sister (who is in the writing/ff world but stays far away from the problematic shit I personally write lol) recently asked me if I knew ‘what was going on with the dramione writers’ to which I said no, because even though tomione is pretty close to that??? Sort of??? I still didn’t know what she was talking about… and she told me all about how that writer is getting published and people were getting mad that they were taking their ff down eventually…? So drama about people printing senlinyu’s story and binding it and selling it??? ON ETSy? So other dramione writers are pulling their works in solidarity??? Some super ridiculous stuff!!

anyway, thanks so much for this, especially the bit about not ‘doing ships’, honestly so refreshing to read that 😆 and yes I loved writing that line of riddle and am glad it hit its mark 🙃

[kitty-pelosi]

All things are in motion and so much could happen in the coming years. I am terrified and in awe of what is to come, and glad to be of an age where I might die in a different world than I was born.

But that world still needs to be born.

I think of the student protests on university campuses and I think of history, recent and far past. In America, the state has implemented a solution to unorganized civil unrest, and it is the carceral system. In America, we have the most robust domestic surveillance and carceral system that has ever existed in human history. The number people we have imprisoned and enslaved per capita is truly unmatched across the entire planet. Generations of potential world-changers that we have ensnared and destroyed.

These students are admirable people. They have used clever tactics to resist the police and have interacted with media in productive ways, ways which have cut through illusions present in our society and opened wounds in a system of lies. But that system is older and stronger than all of you as individuals. It has eaten previous generations and is completely capable of consuming you as well.

I am desperate for organization. There is no infrastructure in place to protect us. The social media we use to spread information about resistance is absolutely in the hands of capital, set up to null all potential victories by way of data collection. Subversive? You are logged. A language model can comb through a database of devices attached to names and produce a profile on you - of who you are, where you are, what you believe in and what you have done and may yet do. The tools of capital are more advanced than ever, and the people have never been less organized.

Because of these tools, because of the carceral system, activism is risky. A generation was consumed in the 60’s and 70’s. Revolutionary potential extinguished for a half-century, effectively and meticulously at the hands of the US government. This is an effective cycle. Every half-century there will be a new crop of youth with ideas for change, and every half-century the state will employ new tools for the reaping. What’s happening is not new nor fundamentally different.

Disorganized protests are easy to quell. Disorganized movements that succeed in overthrowing their government seldom produce just post-revolutionary systems. 2020 was a year in which the US saw widespread civil unrest. A police station was immolated. Cops and protestors died (the former rightfully so). A white child gunned down some people and became a fascist celebrity. And then after a year, everyone went back into the box. The safety valve of binary elections worked, and people felt tired again. Because there was no true protection - no actual organization responsible for helping resistance. Anything that popped up was swiftly co-opted by the government, or disrupted - and those who were true revolutionaries have been destroyed.

At the hands of the carceral system.

And so why is it that the prison industrial-complex has not itself been targeted? Why do protestors not storm jails and prisons and release everyone? There exists no justice under this system, everyone who has been arrested here has been apprehended unjustly. Why do we not have solidarity with prisoners? Has the cultural fear of criminality as an abstraction truly separated people from those labeled as criminals? I assure you the government does not have the manpower to both defend the carceral system from attack while simultaneously using the carceral system to protect the carceral system. It is the fundamental strategy of asymmetric warfare. And this is war. If the tools of your enemy are so much more powerful than your own, then attack those tools directly. Render them agonizing to use. Destroy them, and you have weakened your opponent. The paradigm changes, and you adjust.

There is no just Revolution without prison abolition and total disability integration. Not in America. I will explode with hope and joy should the protesting children of the bourgeoisie find solidarity with prisoners. I think this is the key to the end.

[dionysus-complex]

'There was something especially devastating about the wave of anti–“PC” journalism in the absolutely open contempt it displayed, and propagated, for every tool that has been so painstakingly assembled in the resistance against these devaluations. Through raucously orchestrated, electronically amplified campaigns of mock-incredulous scorn, intellectual and artistic as well as political possibilities, skills, ambitions, and knowledges have been laid waste with a relishing wantonness. No great difficulty in recognizing those aspects of the anti–“PC” craze that are functioning as covers for a rightist ideological putsch; but it has surprised me that so few people seem to view the recent developments as, among other things, part of an overarching history of anti-intellectualism: anti-intellectualism left as well as right. No twentieth-century political movement, after all, can afford not to play the card of populism, whether or not the popular welfare is what it has mainly at heart (indeed, perhaps especially where it is least so). And anti-intellectual pogroms, like anti-Semitic or queer-bashing ones, are quick, efficient, distracting, and almost universally understood signifiers for a populist solidarity that may boil down to nothing by the time it reaches the soup pot. It takes care and intellectual scrupulosity to forge an egalitarian politics not founded on such telegraphic slanders. Rightists today like to invoke the threatening specter of a propaganda ridden socialist realism, but both they and the anti-intellectuals of the left might meditate on why the Nazis’ campaign against “degenerate art�� (Jewish, gay, modernist) was couched, as their own arguments are, in terms of assuring the instant, unmediated, and universal accessibility of all the sign systems of art (Goebbels even banning all art criticism in 1936, on the grounds that art is self-explanatory). It’s hard to tell which assumption is more insultingly wrong: that the People (always considered, of course, as a monolithic unit) have no need and no faculty for engaging with work that is untransparent; or that the work most genuinely expressive of the People would be so univocal and so limpidly vacant as quite to obviate the labors and pleasures of interpretation. Anti-intellectuals today, at any rate, are happy to dispense with the interpretive process and depend instead on appeals to the supposedly self-evident: legislating against “patently offensive” art (no second looks allowed); citing titles as if they were texts; appealing to potted summaries and garbled trots as if they were variorum editions in the original Aramaic. The most self evident things, as always, are taken—as if unanswerably—to be the shaming risibility of any form of oblique or obscure expression; and the flat inadmissability of openly queer articulation.

These histories of anti-intellectualism cut across the “political correctness” debate in complicated ways. The term “politically correct” originated, after all, in the mockery by which experimentally and theoretically minded feminists, queers, and leftists (of every color, class, and sexuality) fought back against the stultifications of feminist and left anti-intellectualism. The hectoring, would-be populist derision that difficult, ambitious, or sexually charged writing today encounters from the right is not always very different from the reception it has already met with from the left. It seems as if many academic feminists and leftists must be grinding their teeth at the way the right has willy-nilly conjoined their discursive fate with that of theorists and “deconstructionists”—just as, to be fair, many theorists who have betrayed no previous interest in the politics of class, race, gender, or sexuality may be more than bemused at turning up under the headings of “Marxism” or “multiculturalism.” The right’s success in grouping so many, so contestative, movements under the rubric “politically correct” is a coup of cynical slovenliness unmatched since the artistic and academic purges of Germany and Russia in the thirties.'

(Eve Kosofsky Sedgwick, "Queer and Now," in Tendencies, 16-17 - published 1994)

[sitraachranovel]

An excerpt from the book; A History of the World After & Its Denizens by Noctua Quill

"(Pages from an untitled codex of illustrations recovered from the late Zagan Era, circa 4795, Epoch 341934.) The illuminated lettering around the edges of the pages reads as follows starting from left to right:

[left most vertical] The Patron Devil of Thieves

[top horizontal] Master of Ephemeral Arts

[right vertical] The Many-Tailed Thief

Opposing page

[right most verticle] "Materials For Summoning:

A Few Gold Coins

Three Bottles of Fine Wine

One Book of Stories

Nine Drops of [the Summoner's] Blood

[bottom left] BEWARE. IMPORTANT UNIQUE GLYPHS.

(These are unique glyphs used in the summoning of Lord Valefar. Each Goetic has their own set that must be included in the Summoning Circle otherwise they either may not appear or will appear but be not contained to the circle, which, in many cases, would be undesirable, let alone fatal, to the summoner. The meaning of some of these symbols have been long forgotten, being used only in these instances, but Valefar's, loosely translated, reads: "No Tricks, No Trade". Thereby binding the Patron Devil of Thieves and preventing him from conjuring any illusions or making attempts at résistance. Not mentioned here for unknown reasons, is that all Summoning Circles must be drawn in a radius of 2 or more meters. It should provide sufficient space for the Demon to remain comfortably seated.)

[right bottom] (Valefar's Summoning Circle. These must include the aforementioned glyphs as well as the Demon's Sigil. The blue markings invite the summoner to "place offering here". Thus, the objects mentioned in the above list of summoning materials will be placed in the designated spots. The tilt to the circle is important as mathematics have as much significance to the Goetia as words. These coordinates designate that Demon's unique position in the universe - essentially a tele-wire number. Misplacing the Circle can result in the absence of the Demon's manifestation.)

The small text is Ingris-Lorician and reads as follows:

"Duke Valefar retained his title of Third among Twenty-Three Dukes for as long as anyone can remember. Secretkeeper to Her Royal Highness, King Beleth of the Third Circle, he acted as a trusted advisor and loyal consort for many hundreds of years.

Before his death, Lord Valefar was renowned for his mastery of illusion and thievery, and was unmatched in his ability to shapeshift. His unique talents among the Goetia had him simultaneously respected and cautiously regarded despite his gregarious nature. He was otherwise a known trickster and miscreant, who relished in sowing chaos among the Court.

This Reputation extended to those outside of the Goetia, and well into the World Before, where those who wished to summon him would have done so expecting a blessing of charisma or good fortune in whatever devious exploits they intended. Otherwise, Lord Valefar was often called upon in matters of thievery, charlantry, or reconnaissance, and was, perhaps somewhat paradoxically, respected for his penchant for fairness in all dealings. However, it was the convalescence of these qualities that in turn ultimately led to his downfall.

Regarded as the catalyst for the event now know as the "Akashic Purge", Duke Valefar accomplished this by besting Fifth King Purson in a bet that he could steal his Horn within three days. Having done so, the pompous Duke decided to announce his success by blowing the instrument, which has the power to herald the End of Days. While he was stopped before the call could be completed, the damage had been done, and for his crime he was to be drawn and quartered. His Nine Tails, source of his power, were excised from him and distributed among the Eight remaining Kings by King Beleth Herself as a sign of solidarity against the events that were to come.

The whereabouts of Lord Valefar's Tails, and whether their Power was used at any point, remains unknown. For his disgrace, his name was to be stricken from the Infernal Court, his seat left vacant, albeit conditions resulting from the Purge have instead, made him something of a folkloric figure in the four hundred years following."

(Notice that the amount of time used to calculate Valefar's absence is expressed via the human calendar. While the author of the text is unknown, this gives an inherent clue as to their identity.)

What this text does not describe is King Beleth's enabling of Lord Valefar's antics, and it is of this Scholar's firm belief, that in doing so, she may have inadvertently coaxed these events into place. Not to speak ill of Her Diligence, but the King's soft spot for her Secretkeeper was plain for all to see, and was something she had been repeatedly cautioned against, as she had become somewhat over-reliant on his more distinct talents in order to compete with the egos of the other Kings. Her Majesty was as much the "Truthteller" as she was the "Truthkeeper". Her inability to lie coincided with her ability to detect lies in all things said and all gestures performed. Valefar's powers were futile to her discerning eye, but less so to others. She was wise for keeping him close, but in the opinion of this Scholar, foolish for being so lenient on him and allowing him to enjoy immunity for his crimes against others up until his own hubris cost her everything. In truth, it was remarkable that she was not subject to the same fate by the other Kings even with her gesture of sacrificing her consort's body in the hopes that they may aid in the mitigation of the coming disasters. One can only hope that the King's gift of foresight extended to anticipating the nature of her subject, and that her willful ignorance bore consequences she was willing to accept in order to indulge in his affection. Alas. Duke Valefar would have most likely become amused at the overall futility of his sacrifice. Irony being a favorite form of comedy. And his undying love for his King would doubtless hinder any compulsions of vengeance or violence, the Duke being as helpless to forgive those he loves as Her Majesty.

What might be seen as a source of vexation for many, Lord Valefar almost always interpreted as a challenge to enjoy, much to the dismay of those around him. However, even should his Soul find its way back from the World Before, he would surely find the reunification of his lost parts a daunting task. This assuming that there will even be a world to which he may return as the Purge continues onward, a fact which the mortal population seems to remain blissfully ignorant or, altogether, uncaring.