#yeah I see all the disproportions

[diana-bluewolf]

Modern AU. Chris is training Misha to be Ominis’s guide dog. 

[dukeofthomas]

why does every reconciliation fic go like this

[stick-ball]

pspspspsp Kevin's trauma and his choice to stay with Thea, why her why not someone else? How does it work considering his characters as whole books/ec , does it make sense or just feel "random"

<Picks you up like a little cat and smooches your head.>

This responce has been sped up by the people who asked Nora on twitter to break Kevin and Thea up, making me see red KillBill style, so:

For me, Kevin's and Thea's relationship makes perfect sense. Maybe it's the realist in me, maybe its the idealist in me, I don't care. When it comes to Kevin's traumas, I think that since most people can't really relate to a majority of them, they get all hung up on the one they most definately can, as in, his mommy issues. When we relate to something, it becomes a really big deal. And here we go! Thea/Kevin suddenly is feared to be toxic instead of being seen for what I think it is: finding love in a hopeless place.

The main issue i see discussed is the disproportion of power at the beginning of the relationship. The main concern is the age difference. I personally don't really get the hate about the age gap between them, because if you read the extra content you will know that while they met when Kevin was 14 and Thea 18, it's not like anything happened between them at that age? First, Kevin saw her as an impressive player, when he did actually see her. That wasn't all that often bcs from what I understand from the EC, Kevin and Riko trained with the Ravens sometimes before they joined the team but a big part of their training happened without them, as well as their life growing up was more detached from the Uni students than people seem to think. And honestly, do you think Tetsuji would just let all the freshmen know they signed into the Yakuza sportsTM? Methinks not, but be delulu if you want I guess. 💋

So anyway, from the EC, it seems like Kevin had a crush slowly build up for Thea over the years, growing from his appreciation of her skill and athletism. Considering how cold that guy is, it probably took him some time to realise, after his irritation at her romances (yeah hello she was dating people her age when Kevin was mooning for here as a pathetic teenage boy, bye bye Thea haters) with other teammates started having nothing to do with the fact it could result in the teams distraction during the game, bcs of their hormones and feelings, and turned to conscious jelousy. And here I have to applaud young Kevin because he did not even realise he was distracted from the game by being jealous. Knowing how oblivious Kevin can be about non exy issues, it likely took quite a while.

So what's next? The "getting together"? Kevin and Thea only started having a sort of physical relationship when Kevin and Riko were already freshmen for Edgar Allan, at 18/19.

Whoever wants to fight me on this being a toxic age gap, what exactly is your angle?

Anyway, Kevin was the one to initiate their relationship, after Riko was done with his distraction from the game and his focus on picking fights with Thea, and told him to sleep with her and get it out of his system. (And that's how i met your mother.) It wasn't much more than that for a long time, because having a relationship on a 12 hrs day/night full of training and uni and juggling two other teams on top of that as well as celebrity status literally sounds like the most insane schedule ever, so it's insane they even managed to talk privately at all.

Now, we circle back to the question, why Thea? Why not someone else? Well, first and fucking foremost, because Nora Sakavic said so. Second of all, because Jung and Freud weren't as stupid as imternet memes would have you believe. (Read their books, read all the books please, i can rec you like a 100 psychology texts, dont be shy)

To keep it short, we do base our attraction on the role models we have, one way or another. I saw enough of my friends pick partners that have the exact character quirks that make them just slightly like an after image of their guardians. Kevin doesn't really have a father model, but his mother? She's always going to be a huge part of his life, is it really so weird and dangerous, that he got infautated with a strong, driven, 4 years older woman, who's incredibly talented and just as determined as him? I don't think so. Is it unhealthy? Is it unsafe? As much as life is, I guess, no one is perfect, but I think he could've done much much worse for himself.

Why did Kevin decide to stay with Thea? I would find it pretty obvious, because she doesn't actually need him. She built herself, but she wants him. Even if she will never have the same fame and recognition in her career that he does. Being wanted this way must be really new for Kevin, who was always a trophy to show off because of his legacy, always a property. But Thea is not competing with him, she doesnt want to own him either. I believe his mother is as much of a role model to her, as to him. So, they have sex, when they want to, they talk - when they feel like it. They don't, well fucking fine, so they don't, they fall in love anyway. It's okay if exy comes first in the beginning, considering both spent a lot of time in cult mentality, I think neither is all that bothered as long as its not obsessive (we could discuss how reasonable it was of Kevin to ghost her for over a year and not tell her about how he broke his hand but thats a whole other essay).

What's really wild to me, is that I think the power imbalance in this relationship is the opposite of what many may think.

Kevin holds all the cards. Thea joined the Ravens as a 18 years old talented athlete, she was one of the only girls on the team, and the Nest was not a place to make friends, on top of that it was a mafia cult. She had everything to prove there, and no way of being prepared for all the grooming. On top of that, she knew nothing of the Moriyamas or even of what actually went down with the whole Perfect Court thing. Kevin knew everything, on top of that, up until he left, he had nothing to prove. He ghosted her, is it so hard to believe she accepted his cold shoulder in this dynamic, in which she obviously is not at the top of the foodchain? He kept secrets from her, is it really so hard to believe she was angry? I think neither of them was ready for neither what life at the nest was like, or for a relationship when it happened, but I also think they are incredibly lucky that they have eachother, their shared passion for exy, their daughter, their dog and friends from the dog park who can't talk about exy to save their lives.

I think Kevin was incredibly lucky for finding Thea, because maybe she did not know everything, maybe it wasn't easy for them, but they understood that Rikos death wasn't a one dimensional victory, that it was just as much of a tragedy for them, for Kevin. I'm happy with the canon and I wish more people appreciated this ship, as its very soothing.

As an ending fun fact, did you know I am the only person to make a playlist for Thea Muldani in all of spotify? Pretty insane if you ask me.

[matan4il]

Thank you for spreading information and sources! I have seen so much misinformation or straight up propaganda that it seems hard sometimes to determine what is and isn’t true.

Just yesterday, in my high school library, a few people were quite loudly talking about the white phosphorous claim, and were calling Israel a “genocidal settler state”.

I tried to refute them, and the argument got pretty loud, and was attracting others. I wasn’t worried about it getting violent, and I thought that they were obviously just fed misinformation. After all, we’re high schoolers, surely they wouldn’t just choose to hate an ethnic group… right?

And then I clearly heard one of the kids watching say “Fucking kike”.

I honestly didn’t really know what to do, I didn’t know what it meant, but it was clear that it was some kind of derogatory slur.

All this to mean, I am not Jewish, I do not even “look” Jewish, and I was called a slur for simply speaking up against antisemitism. I can’t imagine how hard it must be for you and all other Jews and Israelis right now.

Please stay safe, and know that at least some of us support you!

Am Yisrael Chai!

Hi lovely! *hugs* Thank you so much for standing up for Jewish people. Especially when it is difficult and scary. I hope you're okay! And thank you again, SO MUCH, for doing what's right. I am REALLY proud of you, and I hope you're also proud of yourself, because you deserve to be! *sends even more hugs and love*

Since you mentioned the white phosphorus lie, I'm gonna add a vid regarding that for you at the end.

You're right, they have been fed misinformation, and repetitive, false slogans, that invoke righteous rage, and sound righteous when people repeat them, but which have little to do with reality. These young people are literally being indoctrinated to see Israel as the greatest of evils, even while the Iranian and Syrian regimes are butchering their own people, as just random examples of much greater evils that are currently happening in the world, and have been for a long while. Just to get a perspective, here's a graph of the bloodiest conflicts ever:

Notice that it starts at 3 million fatalities. The Israeli-Arab conflict, with all of the buzz around it, isn't even on here. Why? Because the number of fatalities altogether, counting Israelis, pre-state Jews, Palestinians and non-Palestinian Arabs, is just a little under 120,000 people. Another example of the disproportion between how many people died in this conflict, and how much attention it gets (making it seem as being far worse than it is) can be seen in this map:

So as I hope you can see, you're looking at the ratio between the number of fatalities and the internet pages dedicated to them.

I find the most interesting bit on the map being the victims at Mariupol. I've seen this website rage that white people get more attention than POC. Well, you can see that the attention to Gazans is way more than what the people of Mariupol got.

So what makes the Israeli-Arab conflict get so much more attention that it deserves, based on its severity (as measured by the number of people killed)? There's actually NOTHING unique about it, except... that it involves the one Jewish state. Attack Israel, and you get to attack Jews. Attack Israel, and you get to attack the biggest Jewish community in the world. Attack Israel, and you get to attack and de-legitimize the country meant to serve as the Jewish safe haven. And if the high schoolers you were confronting got a diet of antisemitism at home, or from their friends, or they were simply sold this "social justice" narrative, that really stems from antisemitism, then yeah, they're going to be spreading antisemitism themselves.

And as I promised, the vid about the white phosphorus lie (it's a lie that I've heard every time Israel has been fighting Hamas, BTW. It's a lie every single time):

Hope you're taking care of yourself! And thank you again! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[bi-zemo]

curiousity - tate langdon x male reader

tate hates that students moved into the house, but the guy that moved into his room may be able to help him with something.

based of the british concept of student houses (aka bunch of students rent a shitty house together while in uni) idk if americans have those but idc, reader takes drugs btw, bottom tate

crossposted on ao3

The house being turned into a student house was a decision hated by the ghosts, young people moving in and out every year bringing with them mess, drugs, drinking and parties. The ghosts had no privacy and the students were so busy or so high that they couldnt be haunted out. Tate was of the opinion he had gotten the worst deal, yes he enjoyed being out in the open during the many house parties but the current resident of his room was arguably the worst yet. Every other night, every night when there was a break from college, the resident of tates bedroom would bring someone, or on occasion multiple people, into what tate considered his space. They would take pills or drop acid or snort something and that was when tate would leave, right as a tie or sock was slung over the doorknob. It pissed him off, that sort of thing happening in his room, he wasn't exactly the virgin mary himself but the amount of guys going in and out of that room was disgusting. The fact that it was men really didn't help the students' case in tates eyes, there were enough dead queers in the house without alive ones moving in. He was curious though.

I walked through the house, squeezing past people in the stairwell and struggling up the steps as the tab I had dropped nearly an hour ago made each step warp and move. “Need some help sweetheart?” I relaxed my grip on the bannister and turned to the familiar voice, the guy who I had been seeing occasionally standing behind me. “I'm good, i think, you’re free to come up if you want though.” I smirked slightly, trying not to laugh at how the taller mans usually beautiful features had become disproportioned. my arm was gently grabbed and I was led upstairs, the people thinning out as we headed to the bedrooms. “Let me guess, acid” “Yeah only a tab tho-” I turned only to find he had disappeared, the darkness feeling so much more terrifying with the psychedelics fucking with my vision. “Looking for someone?” I whipped around facing down the landing again, except now there was a man staring darkly at me, his figure somehow still in the ever changing room. “My friend, he was just here..” “Probably just drunk, or on something knowing this place, you going somewhere?” “Yeah, was going to bed,” I felt uneasy in the darkness, especially with the man's dark eyes staring into me. I longed to be back in the party downstairs. “I can walk you to bed if you want” “I think i can manage” i was becoming less sure of that, the man somehow amplifying the effects of the acid while still remaining perfect. “You sure about that love? Whatever you've taken seems to be making it hard to walk” “It's just,” i attempted to walk a straight line “the floor keeps moving, that's all” The guy grabbed my arm where my friend had before and led me along the hallway, stopping right outside my door despite the fact that i hadn't told him where it was. I was caught off guard by how quickly we had traversed the seemingly lengthened hallway. “You can uh, you can come in, i think i have some wine under my bed, or like some beer maybe” The man smiled and opened the door, stepping in like he was already at home in my small room. He settled on the mess of quilts and pillows that was my bed, almost lounging. “I’ll have whatever, don't think you should though not sure how it'll interact with,” he gestured at my current state. “Yeah, lemme just,” I got on my knees, rooting around under my bed until I found the bottle of cheap wine I had hidden from my housemates under there. “Didn't expect you on your knees so quickly,” he joked, making me feel less uneasy around this almost stranger. I laughed quietly handing him the bottle. “You owe me, its my last bottle.” “Ill be sure to bring one next time i'm here.” “Good to know you’ll be back” The guys eyes glinted at me as he uncorked the bottle and took a swig, his adams apple bobbing as he almost chugged it down. “Thirsty?” “Just tryna catch up with you.” I stood up flipping on my leds with the remote from my bedside table and tugged my hoodie off, chucking it on a nearby chair. “Why is that?” I settled on the bed next to him, slouching down and staring at the ceiling as colours swirled around my bare lightbulb. I felt him shift and his face came into view. “Well from what i know about you, being fucked up makes this better.” And with that he kissed me, soft inexperienced lips almost aggressively connecting with mine. I wound my hands into his soft hair, the acid making his short breaths deafening, and he crawled on top of me, his knee moving between my thighs. His movements were stunted, my heightened senses picking up how his hands only ghosted my clothed skin. I moved my other arm to slide the fingers under the hem of his shirt to where a stretch of skin was revealed from his shirt riding up. I felt his breathing stop for barely a second when my fingers brushed his lower back, that second taking much longer than it should. Our lips parted, a string of saliva breaking after a moment, and I opened my eyes to see him staring at me again with those black eyes. “Tate stop bothering him,” He jolted and I saw a girl standing in the doorway, her figure having the same effect of not moving as the doorway swayed around her. He quickly moved off me, adjusting his shirt hastily. “I guess I should go.” I felt almost disappointed, oddly cold without his touch. The girl had disappeared. “Whose she? You don't have to leave.” “Violet, she's uh, a friend.” an ex then, “I'm gonna go.” “You still owe me that wine.” “I know”

It was the next day and my mind was tired, the comedown not treating me well. I was pottering around the kitchen making pasta when I heard a voice. “I brought that wine” It was the guy,tate I recalled from that fever dream of a night. “How did you get in?” “Door was unlocked.” He handed me a bottle, one of the cheap brands my household favoured, and I tucked it under my arm, grabbing my bowl of pasta. “Wanna come upstairs?”

Tate could barely hold himself back, an invisible thread pulling him to the man he had only kissed for a moment yet felt like he knew entirely. The bottle of wine had been discarded on the bedside table and the guy was talking wearily about his classes or something along that vein. “So what do you study” Tate realised he should answer. “Oh, i don't go to college, dropped out of high school” The lie slipped out easily, something he had told previous owners of this room. He hadn't planned on talking to the guy again, just kissing him the night before out of curiosity, but it had felt like a bolt of electricity had hit him the moment they touched and he couldn't help but want to feel like that again, like he was alive. He found himself shuffling closer as they talked, turning his head right as the other turned his. The animated talking stopped immediately as their eyes locked.

I almost didn't realise we were kissing again, one minute tates dark eyes were staring straight into mine next his lips were on mine, more aggressive than the night before, all signs of inexperience gone. I melted into him, hands moving to grip the front of his shirt and pull him into me. This time when we drew apart we barely paused before he dug a hand into my hair and pulled me into him again. The initial shock had worn off and I started an attempt to be in charge again, slipping my tongue into his mouth and moving my hand down to his waist. I pulled away and moved to his neck, hearing barely there gasps as I gently bit below his ear. At this point I had pushed him against the headboard of my bed, my thighs straddling one of his. “Fuck” I chuckled lightly at the word, barely mumbled after my hand had slipped under his shirt and started gently caressing his waist. I could feel his breathing pause when I moved along his sensitive v line and teased the waistband of his jeans. Each touch had a physical reaction and I found myself addicted to finding a new sound or twitch. “I want to fuck you.” His dark bambi eyes looked up at me when he heard the sentence, cheeks flushed and lips slick with spit. I couldn't tell if he was batting his eyelashes on purpose. “Go ahead.” My hand went from fiddling his jeans button to unbuttoning them, pulling them down past his erection that was trapped behind his baggy boxers, he had pushed his shoes off when he sat on my bed and so his jeans slipped off easily, leaving his plush thighs to start pebbling with goosebumps from my cold room. He began pulling off his own t-shirt as I began slipping off my sweatpants and hoodie. The moment we were both almost naked I reconnected our lips, my hands exploring his warm thighs and ass, pulling him up to rest on his knees over my lap. “You're beautiful tate.” He flushed, the blush spreading down his chest. “Just fuck me already.” Such dirty words coming out of his timid blushed form made my cock twitch, and i couldn't help but follow what he said. I pushed Tate back, hearing the headboard bang against the wall as he thumped onto the bed, and tugged his boxers past those beautiful thighs, leaving kisses as I went. His thighs were soon hooked around my head, almost suffocating me as I lapped at his ass, preparing him gently and teasing out those gaspy moans. He had seemed unsure when I initially dove down but his heels pressing against my back and pulling me closer eradicated any fear that he wasn't enjoying this. His hands tugged my hair drawing me closer still. Without looking up I grabbed the lube from my bedside table, only coming up for air to read the label. I had grabbed the flavoured luckily. I squirted it onto his taint, watching him shiver as it slid over his ass before sliding a finger in and letting my mouth join it. The sweet flavour suited him. He winced slightly but still let out a groan and pulled my now sweaty hair to the point where it almost hurt. Another finger slipped in easily and I felt his legs squeeze as I started moving them gently. I moved up, still fingering him to force out the whines, and let him pull me up to kiss him. I hastily pushed off my boxers with my free hand and leant over to grab a condom. I withdrew my fingers with a squelch, causing Tate to open his eyes and look at me through his blonde fringe, his eyelashes fluttering again. I rolled the condom on and lined myself up, leaning into tates cold neck as I pushed in. The noise he made was unforgettable, like a combination of a gasp and a deep groan, i rocked my hips slightly as i eased in my full length. A moment later I grabbed his left thigh and pushed his leg up, allowing me to bottom out with a sigh. “Fuck, holy fuck” His head was thrown back as he said this, his throat bared and his eyes shut gently. I pushed his other thigh back until he was almost folded in half and began thrusting, my breaths coming out in pants as his ass squeezed around me almost too tight. I could see his cock hard against his stomach, oozing precum onto the pale skin. “You’re taking me so good honey” He blushed and I saw his cock twitch at the praise. “Such a good boy.” And with that I pulled out almost my full length, thrusting back in as hard as I could and making him moan loud enough that my housemates would most definitely ask about it later. I tried the best I could to keep up the speed, enjoying watching tates beautiful reactions. He was gripping the headboard above him at this point, tears forming in his eyes and drool slipping from the corner of his mouth. “Can-” he could barely talk from moaning so i slowed, “can you take the condom off, i wanna feel-” he blushed. “You wanna feel what baby.” “I wanna feel you cum inside.” He must've felt my dick twitch then, his words coming out desperate enough that if i had been any closer i may have come. I shouldn't have, he could have an std for all i knew, but i slid out and removed the condom. Pushing back in caused tate to hiss as i hadn't lubed up a second time, but when i paused he begged me to keep going and moaned loudly as i bottomed out. The warmth was almost burning now that I could feel it fully. I moved slowly at first before the friction subsided and I could go faster again. “Fuck, tate, im close” He whined, blonde hair sticking to his sweaty forehead, and I gave one final thrust that almost pushed him up the bed before cumming. As I rode out my orgasm I felt him clench and shudder as he came over his chest. I kept going to help him through before my softening cock slipped out and I collapsed onto the bed next to him. “I didn't realise it would feel that good” His words came out hoarse and breathless, I turned with mild surprise. “You haven't had sex with-” “With a guy, no.” I was too exhausted to comment, just rolling over and pulling him to my chest. “You took it well.” I felt him hesitantly snuggle into my chest.

Tate felt the others' breath even out and instantly made himself disappear, pulling on his clothes and moving towards the door, stopping only to fix his hair in the mirror and wipe the dried spit from his mouth. “Didn’t take you for a queer.” Tate rolled his eyes, pushing past violet. “Didn't take you for a voyeur” He ignored that he could feel the other mans cum beginning to run down his thigh.

[jesterpunk]

yo a they/it agender ex-tittitian? im kinda in the same boat (also they/it agender), as in, dont exactly know how to feel about my physical appearance (i dont mind it, but i still wonder). Makes me curious, dya regret the surgery? or is it more like a general grievance? akin to a loss

hell yeah !! def don't regret the surgery but definitely still feel a loss or grievance. I'm gonna reuse a half on an answer I sent someone else privately:

I miss having them. I see non-binary transition and being agender to be a messy and imperfect process. there's no guidebook for us for how to look, we are just given the checklists our trans men and women counterparts tend to be given (facial hair? breasts? low voice? softer skin?) and we pick and choose which aspects we like and dislike.. a binary choice for each option.

you and I don't have a binary way to answer, "do you want breasts?" somedays it's yes. somedays it's no. I decided to go with No by default but yes when I wanna put on my breast forms, as opposed to the other way around. you don't have to do the same as me. I don't regret it at all, but I do miss my tits and I am still grieving them. it's a lot to lose a part of you but it's also euphoric being able to present in a way I was never able to before .

and specifically about being agender and how that affected my decision:

two things I was sure of for myself regarding my chest: I didn't want a reduction (I liked being stacked and since my booty isn't that thick I liked the disproportion) and if I got the surgery I did not wanna keep my nipples (I didn't want a """"male"""" chest, I wanted a freak chest) and as U know, I went with the latter. I am agender, and I really love showing as much as possible that I'm not a man or woman, so even if my scars eventually fade, the flat nippleless chest is such a blatantly genderless move, that I'm really happy about choosing.

my biggest take away as an agender person is that there's no right decision. There doesn't need to be a decision and it doesn't need to be right or logical, so I went for it knowing my body isn't what makes my gender to begin with or end with. at the end of the day, idk how I feel about my body either, but I thought I looked hot in a crop top when I had DDs and I still think I look hot in a crop top with a smooth flat chest, so in that sense, you win some, you win some 😎

(same shirt before & after)

[magnificentcenturyfics]

Unremarkable People

Merry Christmas, lads and lassies! I've been writing fanfiction sporadically for the entire time this blog was in a state of hiatus, but the problem is, I never managed to FINISH any of it untill now, and even then, this one is pretty short. It's a plotless little thing meant to simply flesh out two background characters, basically just a pile of headcanons shaped like a fic. Very many thanks to Alex (@hurremsultanns) for inspiration! Trigger warning include, uh... I guess mentions of suicide, Hürrem hate and Hürrem fangirling. Enjoy!

Edit: God, this is so embarasing. I messed up the name of one of the characters and now some of y'all are probably thinking this fic is about Nazli and an OC - yeah, no, I just misremembered Esma's name as Selma, God knows how and God knows why I didn't realize my mistake untill I posted this thing. I am so, so sorry!

***

Over the years, Nazli had attended quite a few weddings, and on none of them the bride took her sweet time like on this one. True, knowing Esma, she probably just had an attack of stage fright in the baths; in fact, after a while, Nazli started to feel guilty for her initial annoyance. In fact, as the minutes dragged, she had to fight the feeling that she should, perhaps, go check in on dear colleague – despite knowing that doing so would go against Hürrem sultan’s explicit orders to go to the common room with the children and wait for their mistress there. And if nothing else, Esma’s designated helpers for the day were certainly in a better position to calm her down.

After all, it’s not like calming Esma down was that difficult of job.

Nazli did not consider herself a sentimental type, but it was hard not to get attached to Esma. Sultana’s children certainly had, which made it all the more impressive that Hürrem had graced her with manumition and a good husband, despite the protests of especially her daughter (whom Nazli hated an entirely disproportional amount considering she was only thirteen – then again, so did most of the other servants). Nazli was quite convinced that had His Majesty been present at the time, this wedding would not take place, but the girl’s mother was much more immune to the girl’s incessant whining. After all, though her sons were certainly sad to see Selma go, they had other servants to be fond of, and Selim and Bayezit relied on Mehmet’s judgement enough to in the end make peace with Selma’s departure. As of now, Nazli heard something about Mihrimah locking herself in her room in protest – then again, it’s not as if princess would’ve been missed on a wedding between servant and sipahi.

Where was Mehmet she did not know; her and Aysima’s charges were the younger boys, a task on which Firuze just somehow came to participate because of her attachement to the youngest. All around not the most unpleasant company to be in – Nazli harbored an instinctual antipathy towards Firuze, just because of how easily she was able to endear herself to everyone for seemingly no reason (she most certainly did not consider some potentially fraudulent sorcery an adequate reason, hence her coldness towards Firuze’s „successes“ in aleviating Cihangir’s pain). But she at least was mostly ignorable; Hürrem sultan didn’t have much use for her besides caring for her youngest anyhow, even if she still seemed infuriatingly fond of her.

Nazli’s thoughts were interrupted by a familiar call. „Attention! Her Majesty Hürrem sultan is coming!“ And indeed she came, gorgeous and impeccably dressed as usual, with her famous crown sitting proudly on her head and a few choice servants accompanying her. Right after her, the lucky bride entered the room, and Nazli had to compliment her helpers on a job well done. Esma looked quite fetching in a small red cap rimmed with a braid of fabric, dress of the same colour with open, semitransparent sleeves and kaftan with a tasteful little white embroidery. On her neck, Nazli noticed one of several wedding gifts Hürrem sultan gave her the night prior; then again, extreme generosity towards her servants was par for the course for the sultana. She was evidently nervous and not as happy as the occassion would warrant, though at least she didn’t seem to have cried, which was a good sign. She kissed the hem of sultana’s dress, and sultana spoke out, somewhat melancholically. „Go, hatun. Go, and be happy.“

Esma threw a last, quick glance to the side, to Nazli, Aysima, Firuze, Fatmanur, Muhsine and the others. There were no more words to exchange between them, no tears to shed. All the goodbyes were spoken as the music on her kina gecesi faded and dawn was breaking. „What will sultana’s children do without me?“ she told Nazli once she was no longer sobbing, but her eyes were still wet with tears. „You must promise me you’ll take special care of them and those that are supposed to replace me. I simply cannot trust anyone else.“

This shocked Nazli a bit. „Not even Firuze?“

„Certainly not as much as you! I mean... I don’t want to say anything, she is a very nice girl, very helpful... But she has only been here for a short while, and I’ve known you since forever...“

All Nazli could muster was an „Oh dear.“ and a tight hug. „Allah, I am going to miss you so badly. I am happy for you, but also mad that you are leaving me here with these idiots.“ she whispered in her ear.

Esma chuckled. „Oh, stop it. You like them and you know it.“

„Depends on who’s „them“, I guess.“ With these words, she let Esma go.

Esma sighed. „If you hate them so much... Well, sultana offered you a way out too.“

Nazli smirked. „She didn’t really mean it. Haven’t you seen how quickly she conceded to my begging? Besides, a way out of what? I’d only go from serving the greatest sultana the world has ever known – and, by proxy, His Majesty the sultan – to serving some fat merchant and perhaps a brood of his children, whether mine or his previous wife’s.“

Esma shrugged with one shoulder. „Well, my husband is not a fat merchant.“

„No, but Melek’s was. And Gülnihal’s... Well, he wasn’t fat, but he was damn old. I can’t imagine living with him was very pleasant.“

„At least he wasn’t long for this world.“ Esma said with a melancholic expression – and then she covered her mouth, shocked by her own words. „Oh, I am sorry, I...“

Nazli gave her a generous, but sardonic smile. „We’ve all been thinking it since we heard of his passing. And at least she has a new husband now – a much younger and prettier one, I’ve heard.“

Esma sighed. „I hope I can meet her again.“

„You think your husband will let you travel to Bursa?!“

She looked at Nazli with one of her patented sad gazes – why oh why must’ve Almighty given the girl such big, innocent eyes? Was it purely for dramatic appropriateness? „No, but... A girl can dream.“ She sighed. „I never got to thank her.“ Gülnihal was the one who recommended Esma to Hürrem sultan, and without her, the great sultana would certainly never take Esma into service, since before that, they didn’t get along much. Having been there at Gülnihal’s wedding, Nazli knew the only reason Esma never got to say her thank you, farewell or really much of anything was because of her own crippling shyness. But she managed to bite her tongue; this really was the time for teasing and bickering, however well-intentioned.

She never really understood what were women supposed to get from marriage, anyway. Perhaps if she could choose a husband, as she would back in Rohatyn, when she was just a daughter of a petty merchant... But as much as Nazli adored Hürrem sultan, after hearing what husband she picked Gülnihal, she did not trust her matchmaking skills. Well, she suspected that waiting a few years untill his young, beautiful wife tires the man’s poor old heart so much it gives out, then letting her enjoy the life of a rich widow had been the plan all along. And if Gülnihal was willing to stick it out for those couple of years, then good for her, but there was nothing Nazli hated more than the image of some ugly, sweaty man in her, on top of her, everywhere around her...

She could not stand such a thing even for a short period, was what she meant.

Of course, that was not a problem Esma would ever have to deal with. Hürrem sultan selected a husband for her favourite servant with special care, landing on one Hakan agha, a young sipahi with especially good looks and excellent reputation among the ladies of the city. Of course, Esma would not see that beautiful face very often, as even now he was discharged only for a short honeymoon, and was supposed to return to the Persian front right after that. In Nazli’s opinion, that didn’t sound so bad, being left to run one’s household as she pleases, but she had to admit, love – and unlike Nazli, Esma was a sentimental type, so it was likely that with such a husband, infatuation could set in very fast – changed the equation somewhat.

Either way, she could only pray for Esma’s happiness; after all, if there was anyone who deserved it, it was Esma.

---

If there was an occassion that Esma feared more than anything, it was dying for something not worth it. She felt quite fearless in face of chilbirth, as brining a child into the world was indeed a matter worth giving your life for. So far, she had born two boys, though the younger one left this world as quickly as he came to it. Dying of an illness, that too wasn’t that bad of a death, as Esma thought of such matters as simply God’s will, just as her late father did on his deathbed. No, a truly unbearable thought in Esma’s mind had always been dying just because one got tangled up in the powerplays of the harem. Then again, she supposed Nazli would’ve seen it differently.

Today, she did nothing but pray for her soul, because she suspected noone else will. News of her demise reached Esma via her regular correspondence with Gülnihal, who in turn stayed in touch the same way with none other than Hürrem sultan. Details of the incident that cost Esma’s old comrade her life were quite murky. According to Gülnihal’s telling of Hürrem’s words, sultana uncovered some letters, the content of which could’ve been used to drive a wedge between two sisters of sultan Süleyman now living in Istanbul. What this conflict was even about wasn’t entirely clear, but whatever the case, their response was entirely disproportionate – they chose Nazli as a scapegoat, tortured her into confessing that she forged the letters, and after she broke under torture, guilt of „betraying“ her mistress soon drove her to suicide. Well, at least that was Gülnihal’s telling; the implications were worse still, because Nazli was a woman of steel nerves and unwavering loyalty to Hürrem. Whenever Hürrem needed assistance in some sort of shady enterprise, she called on Nazli before anyone else. If they actually broke her, Esma could not even imagine the things she must’ve been put trough to achieve that. Even still, Hürrem herself wasn’t entirely certain her friend’s death was a suicide, as the only evidence she had was the testimony of Hatice sultan, who would’ve been a prime suspect had Nazli simply been silenced. And all that for the monumental sin of... Trying to drive a wedge between two sisters, which as child Esma and her three little sisters could attest was something that would under normal circumstances scarcely need more than a gentle push. Now, in Esma’s experience, it was entirely possible that Hürrem simply covered up details that made her look bad; perhaps she accused one of the sisters of some terrible crime? Well, maybe, though she also knew Hatice was becoming more and more vicious in her hatred of Hürrem, and according to Gülnihal, she only got worse since the passing of Ibrahim pasha. In sum, as much as Esma wanted to blame Hürrem for the tragedy, she simply did not have enough information.

Well, not that she came out of the whole affair completely innocent either way. Whatever the measure of their fault in Nazli’s death, Hürrem, Hatice and that other woman (what was her name, anyway?) all held some amount of culpability. And unfortunately, no matter what the truth of the matter was, the incident seemed tailor-made to only confirm Esma’s deepest prejudices about faithful servants and their foolishness. Because, though Esma wasn’t a traitor by nature, she had to admit to being somewhat cowardly, and if she ever found herself under the same pressure as Nazli, she was under no delusion about her ability to resist it.

Then again, such a thing was always quite unlikely – Esma’s main asset for surviving the harem had always been the façade of a pleasant, weak-willed girl, which like all the best façades held a kernel of truth, made to look like the whole of the ear. Indeed, when she first came to the harem, she was nothing more than a scared young girl, broken by the loss of her loving (though poor) family. After she adjusted to the conditions in the harem, she did try to stand up for herself a couple of times, but unless one was of some rank and status, such efforts generally weren’t appreciated. And for Esma, achieving rank and status seemed night-impossible. She certainly wouldn’t cut it as a concubine, both because of her comely dark features (to think she for a moment hoped that in the harem, where women were supposed to shed their tribe and homeland, she’d at least be able to stop being a Gypsy) and her fear of intimacy (which was quite ironic, since as of now sex and children were the only pleasures she was able to get from this marriage – what with her husband being, unfortunately, a quite unpleasant character). She had hoped to at least reach for the title of a kalfa trough her service to Hürrem sultan, which is why she first expressed interest in it to Gülnihal. Esma could still remember how her heart skipped a beat when Gülnihal said. „As of now, what Hürrem sultan needs the most is someone to take care of her child.“

Esma dropped her gaze in a gesture of half-sincere modesty. „Well, as it happens, I had seven younger siblings – three of them much younger than me, and our father died when I was only ten, so my mother needed all the help she could get. So I’d say I do have some experience with raising children. Also, I just... Love kids.“ She blurted out the last sentence quickly, only realizing how stupid it sounds as it was leaving her mouth.

At the moment, Gülnihal only shot her a confused look and changed the topic, but soon thereafter, Nigar gathered her and a few other girls to tell them they had been chosen for Hürrem sultan’s household. Esma was surprised to find out that said household consisted mostly of girls that spoke Rusyn, especially those that have been taken in the same raid on Rohatyn and the surrounding area as Esma, Hürrem and Gülnihal. Why it was so Esma wasn’t sure; as the years went by, Hürrem spoke Rusyn with them less and less, though she always seemed to have more trust in girls from her homeland than those from other parts of the world she hired as her household expanded. When it came to Esma herself, she always found said trust somewhat misplaced, as from the start she thought Hürrem moody, petulant and in general not a very admirable person. This was in contrast to Nazli, who seemed genuinely fascinated by Hürrem ever since she won the Thursday night from Mahidevran. „I am just saying – she must be doing something right, no?“

At that, Esma furrowed her brow in doubt. „And you want to copy her method or something?“

Nazli defiantly stuck out her lower lip. „Just so you know, I’d never dream of being a favourite! I mean, what are the chances sultan himself would even look at me, anyway?! Impossible! I’d be extraordinarily lucky to even have him send for me...“

„With your face? Certainly!“ laughed one of the girls they sat at the table with – she was named something long begining with Fer-, Esma didn’t remember her exactly, since she didn’t exactly seek out her company (Fersomething was always like that).

Years later, when the work has long since brought them together, Esma asked Nazli to elaborate on her feelings towards their mistress. Nazli only smiled dreamily. „Can’t you see it? She has such a... Fiery spirit. It is as if there was a star in her soul, shining brightly...“

Esma rolled her eyes. „She’s just a bit of a bitch, that’s all.“

„Oh, if only she could hear you! She’s proud, that’s what she is. Proud and defiant...“

„The kind of personality that you’d think would get her killed, and it very nearly did a couple of times...“

„And yet it didn’t! Not only that, but sultan loves her more and more each day. Of course, some of it must be because of how extraordinarily beautiful she is...“

Esma only shrugged. „Well, I guess that’s true. I mean, if you want to know my opinion, Mahidevran is even more beautiful, but I am not a man, let alone sultan, so...“

Despite that qualifier, Nazli looked at her as if she was about to punch Esma good and hard. However, she continued talking instead. „Hürrem sultan is also very clever.“

„Not clever enough to not get in trouble constantly!“

Nazli seemed unfazed by this comment. „As I’ve said, she’s proud and free-spirited. Cannot suffer mockery or some other kind of degradation from anyone.“

Esma only rolled her eyes once again. „Sure.“

This really seemed to send Nazli over the edge. „Listen, if you’ve served Hürrem sultan for so long and cannot see her virtues...“

„I can! I just don’t like her that much, you know? I mean, I spend most of the time with her children anyway...“

„And she’s a kind, caring mother too!“

„I mean, she’s not that bad of a mum, I’ll give her that, but I don’t think she’s especially caring or something considering how much time we have to spend with them.“

„At least she is smart enough to entrust them to you! You’re great with kids!“

Esma suddenly felt blood rushing to her face, unused as she was to compliments – especially from Nazli. This one completely silenced her, ending their conversation, and Esma never really asked about Hürrem’s appeal ever again.

Around the time of Bayezit’s birth, Nazli confessed to Esma to having an unspecified „daliance“ with a girl named Hanzade, and Esma later did see them sneaking off to the laundry room at an ungodly hour, though considering how diligent Nazli was in her duties, Esma couldn’t imagine this daliance must’ve been very intense. There were also rumors going around that Nazli might’ve recommended one of their colleagues, Aysima, to Hürrem solely because she was smitten by Aysima’s beauty – though this time, Nazli herself didn’t tell Esma anything, so who knows. Either way, over the years, Esma became convinced that Nazli has caught the occupational dissease, caused in many harem girls by living so far from the laws of man or God, steered solely by the wills of their masters and superiors: tribadism. Not that Esma judged her too much – she never understood the temptation, but then, before her early thirties, she was completely unfamiliar with sexual desire as a whole, and romance unfortunately evaded her to this day. In fact, she misliked even thinking of such matters, prefering to ignore them whenever possible, and since Nazli never expressed any interest towards her, Nazli’s little misdemeanors were very ignorable. That said, it was probably the best explanation Esma ever found for Nazli’s strangely intense admiration towards Hürrem sultan, though she held her friend in high enough esteem to take her explanations as also constituting part of the truth. Nazli did indeed find Hürrem worthy of genuine awe, it’s just that the character of this awe might’ve been tangled up with other feelings also.

It must be said that Esma knew plenty of other ladies, many of whom had a significantly less intimate knowledge of Hürrem as a person, whose adulation of Hürrem was just as unquestioning, especially once she achieved the impossible by marrying the sultan himself. Perhaps, she told herself at the end of her ruminations, Esma herself is the odd one for being unable to ignore Hürrem’s flaws, quirks and foibles. Perhaps acknowledging her extraordinary feats and nature is simply the done thing for most normal people.

At the same time... Why should this exceptional existence matter to average people like her and Nazli?

And was Nazli even all that unremarkable to begin with?

Or just unlucky to be born how she was born and placed where she was placed by the whims of fate?

 Esma wasn’t quite sure. All she knew was that she herself actually was unremarkable, and that was the way she wanted to be. The only traits she consciously developed were her ability to stay silent unless she truly needs to speak, as oposed to simply wanting to, and her love and understanding of children. Esma’s ambition to become a kalfa had always been somewhat limp, and as the years went by, it faded away completely as she became more and more thoroughly consumed by her love and devotion to Hürrem’s children. She still missed them terribly – Mehmet’s kind nature, Mihrimah’s keen mind and strong will, Selim’s diligence and hard work and Bayezit’s sweet, but shy demeanor. Nothing bothered her more than the thought of never knowing anything about what Cihangir will grow up to be like, perhaps besides the thought of Selim allegedly becoming more disobedient since her departure. She was only able to admit it after she left them behind, but despite her best efforts, she did find a favourite among them, specifically in little Selim.

Of course, Esma had another Selim she dedicated her life to now.

The boy had her eyes and face shape, though otherwise he inherited his father’s features and much lighter colouring. He was lively and sometimes mischievious, but she still loved him with the kind of intense, boundless love her otherwise somewhat cynical heart was able to only give to children. Though thinking of Nazli and the rest of her former colleagues, she had to admit to sometimes finding surprisingly strong bonds with adults also.

One day, when her Selim is old enough to understand it, he is doubtless going to be curious about the time his mother spent in service to the most famous sultana of all time. And when that time comes, she will take great care that the stories of her comrades will be told.

The world is a dark, cruel place, after all. A man, and a woman especially, need to take their humanity where they can get it. And while Nazli found it in servitude, Esma did so in a place that she herself found altogether more dignified.

Well, at least that was her humble opinion.

[becomingpart2]

@thenewbuzwuzz you know, I wasn't going to respond to your replies, especially the one above, because you apologized and was nice about it but it doesn't escape me how your actions here really attest to the hypocritical nature of the btvs fandom I was talking about.

First, to address your points: the "right lol" I responded could be about any part of the ask but you zeroed-in on the "bashing" interpretation because that's what bothered you the most. I don't think something can be considered "bashing" when you have to squint to see it. It's interesting though that you say you're better at "scrolling posts that you dislike" and yet the slight suggestion that I could be bashing buffy/giles was enough to get you here, sending me multiple replies.

Second, I do think Buffy/Giles is a significantly more "controversial" ship than any of those listed, especially bangel, so yeah I'm not surprised that it gets the eventual "hate" but you cannot argue against the disproportional hate bangel gets in comparison to all the other ships, let alone something like buffy/giles, which is especially telling considering that the arguments used against bangel could be better suited for a ship like buffy/giles.

Third, it is also very telling and funny to me that you took issue with my post where I didn't even tag any ship's name, called it "bashing" and said you "report" bangel hate that you find in the tags but you're one of the admins on @sunnydale-digest, a blog that reblogged this post. A post that is literally complaining about people in the bangel tag not liking that bangel hate is being tagged "bangel". LOL

[nethxibis]

This is an idea that I saw on @high-dragon-bait Tiktok. Basically, imagine if in the next Dragon Age game you were able to choose your protagonist's parents from a roster of past protagonists and romanceable companions. I was thinking about some banters/conversations one might have with their companions and came up with some answers to the first question that may be asked of the new protagonist: "Soooo how was it growing up as a child of [Protagonist/Companion]?"

1. Alistair/Elissa baby: *annoyed groan* How do you imagine? Growing up as the child of two legendary grey wardens, practically a miracle baby, the only heir to the throne of Ferelden? With a mother who slayed an Archdemon and lived to talk about it?

Companion: Forget I asked...

2. Handers baby: Ohh, you know... We lived mostly on the run since my parents blew up a chantry and started a war. And I couldn't tell my dad if anyone bullied me, because his spirit would try and protect me from injustices in a VERY disproportional way.

Companion: Your dad's what?

Handers baby: Yeah, my dad is an abomination, joined with the spirit of Justice and Vengeance.

Companion: Riiiight...

3. Fenhawke mage baby: Fasta vass "How was it?" HOW WAS IT, they ask. Do you know how many times a day one can survive their dad warning you of the dangers of blood magic and spirit possession before one goes crazy? SEVENTEEN. Mum had to threaten to send me away for everyones sake for him to finally shut up. As if I'm stupid enough to entertain that.

Companion: I'm sure he was just looking out for you.

Fenhawke mage baby: *sigh* Yeah, I know. I love him lots. He did teach me to use my staff as a melee weapon so I can defend myself even without my magic.

4. HoF/Morrigan baby: Mostly, it meant growing up in the shadow of an older brother, with his old god soul business. And moving to weird places so we could avoid my grandma, possessed by an ancient elvhen goddess of benevolence and retribution.

Companion: Why were you avoiding your grandma?

HoF/Morrigan baby: Well, she could turn into a dragon. And mum was convinced she wanted to force the spirit to possess her in turn.

Companion: Like... A high dragon dragon?

HoF/Morrigan baby: Yup.

5. HoF/Zevran baby: It was full of learning to recognise the looks my parents gave each other, so I could make myself scarce in time. *imitates Zevran* "Love is a beautiful thing, meant to be expressed and shared with the world, no?" That is all well and good, dad, but I don't want to see you snogging mum 24/7. Neither do my 6 siblings.

Companion: Wait, isn't there a contract on your dad? From the Crows?

HoF/Zevran baby: Yeah, but nobody tries anymore. Dad may be getting old, but he's still dangerous. And so is his family.

6. HoF/Leliana baby: With lots and lots of songs about love and heroes. My mum was the best at telling them, and when the mood took her, she would sing too. We sometimes went camping in the middle of nowhere, just to look at the stars - and she had stories about those too.

Companion: That is lovely!

HoF/Leliana baby: Yes, it really was.

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

Do you intensely dislike Garten of Banban?

I think this may surprise some of you guys, but I actually dislike Poppy Playtime way more than Garten of Banban. And I have my reasons for that!

Yes, GoB is... Dubious, to say the least. Awful, even. Poorly optimized, the gameplay is no fun, I have no idea what the story went but I heard it's a bit wonky, as all mascot horror stories should be (yes, should!!!!! But also it depends what type of wonkiness we're talking about but that's a discussion for another post/ask), it is indeed a cash grab. But also:

Poppy Playtime is, too, a cash grab. And fewer people complain about it, because it has a nice and shiny coat of paint and better optimization than GoB, but we cannot deny it's still a cash grab!!!!

I made GoB jokes when it was first released, but after hearing and seeing how the internet was treating the devs, I felt dumb. Like, yeah, I don't like that game, but the hate it received was way disproportional to what it actually deserved, and I wasn't helping the devs by being a whiny hater. My dislike for GoB turned into a big old "oh alright!", so nowadays I'm more neutral towards it (thankfully!). I mean, at least the devs don't make YouTube Kids content farm videos ON PURPOSE. Y'know, like another, super popular mascot horror game that took over this blog due to it reverse-engineering my brain back into writing and drawing...

Garten of Banban is yet another poorly-made mascot horror game, but calling it the death of mascot horror or the worst mascot horror game out there is just dumb. There's more harmful and worse games out there! I still don't like nor dislike it, but I'm always wary when someone in a video is hating it, because it's something easy to hate. It's easy to say bad things about GoB and that's why so many people made and STILL MAKE content about just hating that game. Poppy Playtime, on the other hand...

Anyways I love that stupid purple bird. I hate the way it stares at the player and I hate those eyes. It's so stupid I would unironically have a plushie of it. 10/10 it's so dumb it turned endearing.

[solar-halos]

okay i need to stop posting in the middle of the night bc the last two times i did that i was doing entirely too much in the tags + posted a torso reveal (as if i’m not a pic of snoopy walking around going 👍) but i need to keep talking about lucy grays rainbow dress. so here’s an unasked for progress check + the inspo for the top i wanna crochet in case i wanna connect the skirt to the shirt to actually make it a dress lol:

okay i put a cutoff here bc i wanna rant but don’t wanna put such a long post on anyone’s dash <3. but for the top it was a toss up between a puff sleeve and a corset but i decided to go with the puff sleeves for a few reasons

1) it’s giving 1890s. not to sound like a nerd but i had a huge historical fashion phase when i was younger and i’m in love with the idea of lucy gray’s puff sleeves representing a different era (since, yk, ballad in general represents a diff era)

2) i’ve never crocheted a puff sleeve top before so it would be fun to try hehe (but i have crocheted a corset top and it does not Stay Up so, in the event that lucy gray was performing in an all-yarn outfit, that would not be very practical for her)

3) okay wouldnt the sleeves subtly fluffing around as she performs be kinda cute? obviously they’re not gonna be super fluffy or anything (just the amount of floofiness in the pic) but it’s kinda like a less intense version of the skirt ruffling

speaking of the skirt:

ohhhh my good. i alternate between loving and hating the white panels but tbh there’s nothing i can do unless i wanna drop an ungodly amount of money on a skirt that’s not even my style. but good thing it’s my sisters style (actually it might not be she looked at it and went “omg omg it’s so cuteee <3” and when i asked if she herself would wear it she went “o.o welll..” so maybe i’ll just have to do my hair and makeup entirely different to sell that this is in fact my style bc no way am i not wearing something i spent literal money + time on). sorry that was a tangent but it’s around knee length rn and i think i have enough yarn (of the rainbow color scheme and scrap yarn) to make it a bit longer. i’ve always envisioned lucy grays dress as a maxi, so maybe i’ll get one more skein of yarn at the end of the month since they’re having a sale. but the whimsy when it comes to wearing this skirt is unreal. like when i put it on i always gotta do a little spin to see the ruffles shift. and that’s actually another thing that makes me convinced that lucy grays skirt is a maxi bc making it into a mini skirt was atrocious. and that’s saying something bc if my entire ass isn’t hanging out of a skirt then what the fuck am i even wearing it for. but it just looked a bit strange and i thought it was bc there was SO much volume on top and it made me a look a bit disproportional, but once my mom stopped going “that’s a lot of colors going on” she had an answer that (while very crude.. and maybe a bit problematic) explained things:

“you look like a pedophile’s dream”

yeah. to be clear i don’t agree that women who dress in ruffles and pastels and things that are considered “childish” are trying to appeal to pedophiles, but keeping the skirt so short and colorful and ruffly made it look very Young. also making it longer added to the whimsy since there’s more fabric that swooshes around when you spin

okay i think i’m done. so thankful that i have tumblr now bc where else was i gonna rant about rainbow dress omg. but tbh i think i’m gonna take a break from making this before i get burnt out and finish a chapter for a fic bc the hg grind never stops. bye!!

[mclwcc]

I think the disproportion in show of affection from lando and carlos comes from the age difference, lando is young, and soaks up attention so he’s being pass around between djs, streamers and close knit friends and just has so many ppls around that for him it’s (just may be) like whtvr, yeah carlos is my friend like many other friends I have.

Carlos being more mature now and centered, more low key, seems to cherish and take care of the ppl he considers close to him, respect is a really big thing to him and so if he respects you, you automatically have a place in his life and would get out of his way (as much as he can) to help I somehow.

Also in the interview he does say that he saw the mercs getting closer and that if they passed lando who has similar tire wear to him, they would def pass him so he decided to help lando and in doing so help himself. I’m not saying that the one behind him being lando didn’t absolutely contribute but he’s also not that consumed by emotion.

oh yea sorry if it sounded if i implied carlos's emotionality clouds his judgement in the car - hes one of the drivers where ive genuinely never seen that happen (and we've all witnessed it with others). its just that i do actually rly like to hear drivers admitting that the way they think inside the car is slightly different to the macho tough utra-rational mentalities a driver is usually expected to present. carlos saying he does treat lando and fernando slightly more gently, lewis in 2018(?) saying he engages w max more carefully during wheel-to-wheels, lando often explicitly mentioning how scared he is in certain situations or at certain tracks (singapore and monaco specifically), etc. i find it refreshing, relatable, and like also very true in a delightful way

aside from that - i did see that interview, and im aware 99% of carlos's strategy was dictated by the circumstances that happened to b behind him, and i do believe he wouldve done that with whoever else wouldve been in p2 if lando wasnt there. that said, i do ALSO believe he thinks its nicer or more special bc lando was the one in p2. thats what i was trying to say

and yea i deffo think carlos and lando treat friendships differently - maybe its stages in life, or personalities, or a combination of the two. carlos has always been big into respect, & i rly think he respects lando a whole bunch, and thats deffo never left him. meanwhile lando - "he’s being pass around between djs, streamers and close knit friends" is v funny and also quite true. i think after the pandemic left him like, quite lonely, and maybe in a bit of a panic abt how lonely he was, he made an effort to solidify an old and trusted group of friends around him, which he's basically now settled into. and now he's in a phase where he's kind of exploring his boundaries beyond that, going on vacations w martin garrix n his friends or whatever. also like, lando is very gen z in ways carlos clearly isnt, and that means a lot of his socialising is done online (to the point where when he was living w max they sometimes texted more than actually talking to each other). so that inherently means that sometimes the friends who have access to landos time and energy arent those he chooses to prioritise, but like those who happen to be online on discord - whether that be angryginge or filly or matt gallagher or bankai or whoever, ykwim (and max) (usually max lmao). which means carlos will naturally have a disconnect w lando in that area

but yea i get what u mean for sure. its also like, 2019-2020, carlos and lando's interactions were not only v much facilitated by them being teammates, but also in huge part filmed or televised, which means that we had so much more of a grasp on what they were like w each other. now its genuinely just guesswork, ykwim

[noratheelk]

Forever angry that a bodily function I never wanted makes my existence shitty for a week every month

Angry because periods are the worst, I dread it so fucking much. every time, I feel like crying. It's the phycological equivalent of being continuously stabbed but no one else can see and you’re embarrassed about it. society and your own mind tell you it’s gross and if you talk about how uncomfortable it is or how you're in pain, you're deemed "emotional" or "hormonal" (yeah, man, you try having all your fucking hormones thrown out of whack because that's just how you were fucking made) and thus not worthy of attention or empathy. There's this insinuation that if you're hormones are unbalanced than nothing you say is reliable and you're reactions to things are disproportional. (This is made worse by its partial truth, it's very difficult to maintain your usual presence and impact when you don't feel the same, it feels like you're being ripped to shreds and if you complain, you're overreacting)

Stay silent and suffer alone.

Say something and you're:

Ridiculed by ignorant pricks.

Judged by ignorant pricks.

Or worst of all: someone thinks you're gross.

I don't have words strong enough to explain how it makes me feel when someone who has never bled says periods are gross. It's a violent rage, I very rarely feel violent but towards the people who make me feel gross (about something I already hate about myself) I want to hurt them, I want them to understand what they are doing to others because it's more disgusting than anything my body does.

[the-firebird69]

Van Halen - The Seventh Seal (RESTORED VIDEO)

So he said we're all tiny and it really has not materialized I don't know what he's talking about there's only a few areas we can't go to like half the planet so we don't know what it is and they don't know what is it's a good game.

tormmy f and this chaos iw as to use. and wont happen. due to the rigamarole of bja and his cowardice loud mouthed losers then i am despicable me after dr evil shit ok damnit

ahhahaah lol shut up ok

There's a few more things going on. Noticing is Trump and BJ a are disproportional but Trump has some sort of plan and it goes along with what he is saying but not exactly and that's a problem he says he can't claim it to be his and he intends to and he is the guy in Terminator playing cheeseman. And it's not going well for Trump he's trying to get the math. There's other things too-

- We have another thing to do is to go find out what's going on with these people and their big mouth no it's to come in here and make sure it's secure it's gonna get a little crazy. Everybody's tired of listening to these idiots they told their plan to be like 1,000,000 times. Things are going forward huge armies are gathered and it is their time to face the music.

- Huge changes are gonna occur here fast and yeah the pseudo empire is included in this little move over there and the max too but not as much as one would think they can't stand them anymore they want to use it as a threat provoking and cause it they go in there and they can't do it There's too many that can't get the job done even in Trump's areas it's like being surrounded by heinous Simeon. Now this is not new but it's a terrifying situation there are way too many back in the day.

- There's also other people say they'll get our son and so forth but you're fighting each other but we're gonna protect him 'cause you're too heinous and we're just gonna kill you yelling and screaming all the stuff out loud anyways cause you don't see that you shrunk and it's less than 47% now it's more close to 40%. And you say it's too many to do the job but really the minority morlock are not yours and they're about 15% so yeah you're at 27% roughly and that's what he said earlier and it's going down very soon.

- There's gonna be a lot of fighting right now BJA is at about 14 very large stashes and caches and he's a top side and below and he hasn't blown the next for you he is getting another round ready and that round is going to be about 8. And he needs all of it at once he says. This other parties that are going to move in if he just sits there and they're saying it too get out of our country you're sitting there doing nothing you're a lazy **** **** ****.

- There's more happening donald Trump is unhappy they're getting ready to hit the **** and they're gonna use nuclear weapons and BJ plan for this to happen and he needs less of them a lot less and it's true though he has probably 70% of the cities and Trump has the rest it's going to be a fight but BJA is rigging those cities. And he has rigged palotto some of them and he's going to use that he says. And we know about it.

- The Pseudo Empire claims to know it all and can say they have triggers and stuff and we actually don't believe them and we know they don't

- More shortly but armies are forming to go after BJ and they are trumps and armies are forming to go after the remaining stashes and caches of Trump and some of the ones that BJA is just sitting there on. They're very dissatisfied at how long he's taken to do anything.

Thor Freya

Olympus

Zues Hera

[farfromstrange]

I should go to sleep. Instead, I just had an idea while listening to my Harry Styles sleep playlist.

Hear me out:

Already Home Bridge. Matt and Eliza. Foreigner’s God.

(But also the entire song screams them.)

In alleyways –

“Has anyone ever told you that your anger is disproportional to your size?” he asked.

Eliza licked her lips. Dangerous territory. ��No one’s been stupid enough to say it to my face,” she said. “Until now.”

What had she said about him being genuine? The anger suffocated every last bit of gratitude underneath a pile of rocks.

“Of course. Look, it’s my job to protect this city. I’m not leaving. If you know what’s good for you, you stop pushing your luck.”

The lower part of his face was infuriating. He smirked like the cocky bastard he was; she wanted to scratch the skin off his face and feed it to the dogs.

“You think so highly of yourself, it’s ridiculous.” It was her turn to smirk and she did it broad enough for him to see. She hoped it burned into his brain like hot iron. “I’m not letting you ruin this for me.“

“What?”

Eliza raised her hands. The smoke came back to dance choreography around her fingers.

“I’m sorry,” - she let the smoke rise - “but this one’s mine!”

The sensation was different than a punch. Energy surged through him, pushing him back in one fast wave, almost like he was floating. The ball hit him in the chest, hard, and it carried him into the door set in the middle of the rooftop, leading into a stairway down the building. Heavy as he was, his figure disappeared down the stairs. Thuds followed until he was too far down to care.

Eliza stretched her fingers. The red in her eyes persisted.

“Nothing personal.”

And fire escapes –

“God!” He tightened his fist around the handle. “You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?” he said.

Eliza gnawed on her lip. “Yeah?”

He slipped back into his gloves. “Tomorrow night,” he pointed at her, “I’ll come to you.”

“What,” she said, “you’re gonna throw rocks at my window?”

He slipped through the crack. “If you don’t stop acting like an idiot, I’m gonna throw a brick.”

“Wow.”

“At your face.”

“Wow!”

Even when she believed him to be gone, he proved her wrong once again. He peeked his head through the window, standing on the fire escape. To be fair, she didn’t see it coming and it was his fault she almost banged it down onto his neck.

“Thank you,” he said.

corridors, I see your face // From aeroplanes to the bullet trains // summer skies to the pouring rain –

“It means that I am unconditionally, irrevocably, head-over-heels in love with you!” Eliza burst at the seams. “I have been from the day you first kissed me. Hell, I think I’ve been in love with you since you stepped into that stupid interrogation room to bail me out. It’s because you came back. No one’s ever done that for me before. I was stupid and so scared of love that I pushed all of my feelings down. But you’ve occupied every thought I had ever since you left, and I can’t seem to get you out of my head. You’re always there, everywhere I go. Everything reminds me of you and it hurts to know you’re not there. I wondered why… this is why!”

Matt folded his cane, dropping it on the doorstep.

“I’m in love with you, Matthew Michael Murdock, and it feels so fucking good to finally say it out loud. Everything makes sense now. It feels like I can finally breathe again; after all this time of walking in the darkness, I’ve finally seen the light at the end of the tunnel, and I’m choosing to walk toward it,” she said. “And I know that I’ve hurt you, I’ve hurt you badly, and there is a very big chance I might not be able to fix this… there is a chance that you have fallen out of love with me, that you don’t love me anymore because of what I’ve done, and I’d understand that. I’d understand if you rejected me or told me to go to hell, but please, say something before I make an even bigger fool out of myself. I really can’t find any more words to say that would make sense to anyone but myself. I mean, I’ve already embarrassed myself, so I guess it can’t get any worse, but...”

“Eliza?” he said.

“What?”

“Shut up.”

She gasped audibly when he grabbed her by the waist, pulling her into him with a strength that remained unmatched, and crashed his lips into hers.

[…]

He breathed into her mouth, “It’s gonna rain soon.”

“I don’t care,” she said.

They got completely lost in the feel of each other. As predicted, the sky soon opened up to release its tears onto them. Eliza had cried enough for a lifetime and Matt probably had, too. She didn’t even want to know how much he suffered at her hand and what it made of him.

The past mattered no more though. They were together, in each other’s arms, where they were supposed to be.

All the future plans we will never make // from a beating heart to the farthest place –

She loved him, she did and admitting it took so much weight off her chest, she forgot what else had happened the past hours and days. Eliza didn’t care about Natasha or the others, she didn’t even care about the drugs. At that moment, she craved only one thing and that was him in any way he could give himself to her, and she would give herself to him freely too, just so he could do whatever he wanted. She wanted to touch him while he touched her. Kissing wasn’t even remotely enough.

[…]

She wasn’t sure why but she associated the rain with him, not because it was cold or wet but because it had such a tragic beauty about it.

Growing old with someone required dedication, devotion, discipline, and most of all undying love for the other. They weren’t quite there yet, but she was sure she wanted more with him than just making out in the rain. She wanted more than suffering through trauma together, more than sex, and more than meaningful hugs. She wanted that, of course, but also the rest that came with love. The pretty and the ugly, the loving and fighting, the giggles, the laughter, and most of all, the happiness. She wanted to learn what it was like to be in love because she had no idea how to love, but she was willing to try, for him, because she was already in it. She was in love with him.

You’re already home // You’re already home

Anyway, thought this was beautiful, although the bridge is kinda sad but I thought about the love confession scene and wanted to do a little recap of my favorite scenes, so… have that. Good night!

Gonna tag the biggest Foreigner’s God supporters out there (so you guys see it first):

— @mrs-areallygoodlawyer @serenitroseyy @stilldreaming666 —

[undiscovered-horizon]

Imagine being a warrior who grew up on an alien planet. One day, you become Doctor's champion in a trial by combat: a bizarre beginning of a relationship that will shake the universe in its time. - Part 2

Author's note: I'm thinking of giving this series(?) a proper title. "The Dancer and her Doctor"?

(Part 1) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7)

_______________________

The Emperor had a bitter look on his face. He was holding a shiny cup with wine, trying to mask his evident displeasure as distaste for served wine. In that little megalomaniac world of his, he could become an even grander figure if it was during his reign, his personal order, that the Doctor is defeated. Doing so via trial by combat, a fair and recognized method of judgment, was simply a good PR strategy.

The thralls working in the Emperor's gallery remained silent and loyal, although the older of them felt a mix of anger and relief; they remembered what had actually happened all those decades ago. None of their negative emotions was directed at the man from Gallifrey. They served food and fanned the Emperor and his right hands, all the while trying to see what was going on in the arena. Few of the younger ones looked at each other fearfully, as they have heard about Doctor's actions only from stories, and not all of them were true to the facts. The rebellion, or liberation, was not a favored talking subject.

On the scorching grains of sand were three characters: (Y/N), the Doctor, and the giant they had to, somehow, fight. Theoretically, Doctor shouldn't be taking part in this battle but both he and (Y/N) knew the Emperor and his infamous talent for playing dirty. The woman fixed her grip on the two swords. Even though she was local, used to the merciless climate of Tartaya, her hands were sweating: whether it was due to heat or stress, she would never reveal.

"You do have a plan, right?” The Doctor asked.

"Oh yeah, a creature this size may be strong but they're slow and stupid.” (Y/N) answered while still eyeing the giant she was about to willingly duel. ”Ever heard of the viperian manoeuvre?”

”No, I don’t think I have.”

"Good, cause I just made it up.”

”You what?!”

But before she could answer, (Y/N) was marching forward, right in the range of the seven meters tall giant.

"Before the trial begins," a man next to the Emperor began. His white tunic had a red cloak attached to cover his left side. There was a nest of gold wires on his head: a symbol of high social status and responsibility, no doubt. "The champions have a right to the last word."

It was a custom introduced in case of death or lack of bravery: the last word could be a prayer, an apology, a word of gratitude, sometimes a threat, or even a champion's catchphrase.

"Does the Emperor's champion desire to say his last word before the trial begins?"

All eyes were on the giant. His enormous, sweaty chest steadily rose and fell with each breath. Above all, he was completely calm. After a moment of silence and anxious staring, the champion set down his mace. The thud echoed throughout the grave-like silence in the colosseum. A wave of sand was thrown in the air. (Y/N) and the Doctor had the displeasure of being in close vicinity of the mace and so the sand got into their eyes and noses. Both of them coughed a few times.

With his mace set down, the giant lowered his head, presumably staring at the Doctor and (Y/N) for a while as if he was gathering his thoughts or maybe silently laughing at the disproportion in strength

"Death does not discriminate, War Dancer," the giant said. His voice was low and deep, the tone hoarse and somehow grunt-like. It is important to state that, traditionally, War Dancers are elite warriors, sometimes said to be anointed by Tartayan Gods themselves. With that belief in mind, defeating a War Dancer as a regular mortal was equal to a beggar defeating an imperial general: a feat only heard of in legends and pipe dreams.

Upon hearing the threatening words, the crowd cheered loudly. The Doctor looked at the Emperor, who, surprisingly, was also looking back at him with a cocky smile on his face. The ruler was sure he had already won the mental battle as well as the physical.

When the cheering stopped, the man in a red cloak took the floor for the last time:

"And you, Doctor's champion, do you have any last words before the trial?"

Yet again the eyes were focused on only one person present. But this time it was different than when the giant spoke. From him, the crowd was expecting something to entertain them, something that would reassure their bias against the Doctor. However, when it came to (Y/N), the crowd was trying to measure just how much weaker this champion was as if they were simply expecting the War Dancer to give up right then and there.

For the second time that day, the Tartayan crowd had to be disappointed.

"The Gods favor the brave and the savage!" She yelled out towards the crowd, although her predatory stare was focused on the Emperor. Then she raised her swords and did something commonly called The Dancer's Call: she clashed the blades together three times. In myths, this action was called The Death's Call as hearing this peculiar sound warned the enemy troops that a legion of elite warriors was running against them: not many made it out alive to tell the story. After (Y/N) clashed her swords, she put them back in the sheaths on her back, which resulted in an eruption of confused whispers among the crowd.

Another man standing close to the Emperor raised a horn and put it against his mouth. The horn sounded twice to mark the beginning of the fight, which will end only if a single long sound echoes throughout the arena.

The fact that the Doctor was still handcuffed and in the arena was proof of the Emperor's lack of respect towards his own laws and traditions. In his mind, he hoped that the Doctor would, maybe, accidentally lose his life in the chaos of the battle. That would immediately end the fight and put a death sentence on the champion. It was another form of securing the Doctor's death and the Emperor's evening plans.

"Come here, little rat," the giant said as he swung his arm to grab (Y/N).

She was right about one thing: although the champion was standing at a whopping 7 meters tall, his size also worked to his disadvantage: his movements were remarkably slow. Moreover, the War Dancer had spent her entire life learning to be fast, strong, and agile; to think before she swings. The other fact worth mentioning was the difference in experience: although (Y/N) was a stager in combat, she had very scarce experience in fighting such huge creatures. The giant, however, had fought calf-sized humans for years.

The War Dancer ducked and the giant's hand missed her but as his arm was easily available to her, she quickly held onto the giant's forearm, planning to climb up his limb.

"Didn't expect a little rat infestation, did you?" She yelled at the giant right before he started to aimlessly swing his arm to shake the woman off. Her grip, however, was impressively strong, probably due to her years of climbing buildings in Viperion when she was younger.