#i have seen conflicting reports

[tuverras]

what does grantaire shout before he dies in the us national tour??

[cowboyemeritus]

I Will Make You My Angel (Papa V Perpetua/Reader)

“So, you feel like causing problems tonight,” he asks, which, in the language of your play, translates roughly to, “Ready to suffer?”

You just roll your eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bring it.”

tags: brat taming, slapping, spanking, use of a belt, aftercare, daddy kink for a split second... dw about it

Read on AO3

Notes: this started out as a stream of consciousness post i made like a week ago... how did we get here

First, you didn’t give him a good morning kiss. Strike One.

Then, you didn’t hold his hand in the van to the arena. Strike Two.

Now, you’re ignoring him. He’s just wobbled his ass off in front of thousands of people, and you’re fucking ignoring him.

Strike Three. You’re out.

It’s late by the time the after party wraps. It’s even later when you arrive back at the hotel. Perpetua’s nerves are shot, worn thin by the long day and all the challenges it has presented. Logistical issues, technical difficulties, misbehaving ghouls; the silent treatment is the very last thing he needs. He would have liked to have had you on his arm tonight, to show you off to the sleazy music execs that had come to kiss his ass, but you’d chosen to be selfish, setting yourself down in a corner and scrolling on your phone for hours, hardly paying him any mind.

Your Twitter feed better have been interesting.

He flops down on the bed, a groan wrenching itself out of him as the tension in his body is finally allowed an escape route. You don’t acknowledge him, checking your phone again before setting it down on the nightstand and shuffling over to the closet. With your back to him, you start undressing for bed, and his blood boils just a little hotter. If you won’t engage with him, he should at least be allowed to ogle you a bit.

He should also rest, prepare himself for the next ritual, but the itch has taken hold of him and won’t let go. His skin crawls, thinking about everything that’s gone wrong today and everything that will go wrong tomorrow. This new life of his, it’s more than he ever could have dreamed of, but it’s just so much, all the fucking time. And he doesn’t ask for a lot, just that you show up, be present, give him a little support when he needs it. You’re normally so, so good for him. He doesn’t understand why-

Every racing thought in his head comes screeching to a halt when you unzip your dress, a sexy leather thing that hugs your curves just right, and pull it down. Perpetua watches carefully, pulse quickening, as the action exposes the purple silk and black lace beneath. The set is new and, as he suspected, it fits perfectly, the bustier giving your tits the perfect amount of lift while the garters and stockings make you look like something out of a 50s centerfold. It’s old-fashioned refinement; the good shit. His cock throbs at the sight, and for a fleeting moment he’s able to take pride in his excellent taste. He knows what suits you, often better than you do. Then, that feeling is replaced by seething rage.

You have the gall, the audacity, to wear his colors after how you’ve acted today?

“What is that?” He asks, heartbeat thrumming in his ears. At long last, you notice him, turning your head in his direction.

“Um, my underwear?” There is disinterest, even a little judgement, in your gaze, like he’s some old pervert creeping on you at a bar. Anger pangs in his stomach, like hunger.

“Yeah,” Perpetua says, trying to sound casual. “Looks good on you.” No response. “I wonder where you could have come across such a thing.” At this, you give an exaggerated roll of your eyes.

“I found it,” you state, the words barbed with sarcasm. His jaw tightens.

“How?” You blink at him, confused.

“What do you mean, how? I just-”

“Found it,” he questions, “with your eyes glued to your fucking phone all day?” Now you turn your body towards him, revealing more of the getup. Perpetua wants nothing more than tear it off and have you now, but there’s something to be said about taking his time, about making you really earn the punishment he so desperately needs to dole out.

“What are you, my dad?” You scoff, turning your attention back to your dress, putting it on a hanger and racking it next to a neat row of his shirts. “I don’t know why you’re being such a dick. The show didn’t go that bad.”

Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s up, stomping over to where you’re standing. He grips you hard by the shoulder, spinning you face him.

“So, you feel like causing problems tonight,” he asks, which, in the language of your play, translates roughly to, “Ready to suffer?”

You just roll your eyes again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Bring it.”

In an instant, his gloved palm is connecting with your cheek. It’s hard, but not enough to leave a mark. Still, your head jerks violently to the side as he completes the stroke, the clap echoing off the walls. A heavy silence falls over the room, and it’s only then that he considers what this might sound like to a concerned neighbor. He doesn’t have time to dwell on that, though. You hang your head for a beat, take a few, steadying breaths, and then look back up at him. Your pupils are blown wide, and the way you’re pressing your lips together tells him you’re fighting back a grin.

This, of course, had been your plan all along: to get him riled up and then let him blow off the steam. You’re far too smart for your own good. You know him too well, can read his moods too easily, and like a little pixie, you use this talent to make mischief when he most desperately needs a distraction.

“That fucking hurt.”

He’d be lost without you.

“It did?” Still in a vice grip, he marches you across the room, throwing you down on the mattress. Delight curls in his gut at the sound you make, the breath knocked out of your lungs. “On your knees. I’ll show you hurt.” You remain motionless, glaring back at him. “Come on.” He grabs you by the hips, manhandling you into the desired position. His mouth waters as he takes in the sight of you, decked out in his colors, your ass in the air like it’s a prize and your face in the sheets to shut you up. “It’s late. You think I want to be doing this at two in the fucking morning?” You shake your head sheepishly. “Yeah, of course not. But if I don’t deal with you, who will?” He peels off his gloves and then reaches for his belt buckle, noting how your thighs press together. “Who will do a fucking thing if I’m not around?”

You smirk. “Heavy is the head that wears the mitre, huh?” As he’s pulling the band of leather through the loops, you let out a little laugh. “You know, you could always switch with Copia if you don’t think you can handle-”

The belt cracks against the back of your thigh. You jolt, crying out, and it’s as much an exclamation of pain as it is a moan. Perpetua looks between his hand, knuckles blanched around the leather, and where he’s just struck you. The skin is already welting up in a fat, pink streak, a few tiny, red dots blooming over broken capillaries. It’s such a captivating image that, for a split second, he forgets he’s supposed to be angry. Then you shift uncomfortably, giving him an expectant look, and he has to fight to come back to himself.

“Don’t-” He so badly wants to kiss that bruising flesh, to soothe the wound with his tongue. It takes a long, deep breath to steel him. “Dirty your mouth with his name again, and I’ll make you wash it out with soap.” He teases the folded end of the belt up your other thigh, brushing over your core, and you shiver. Princes of Hell, you’re already soaked through. “Got that, follettina?”

“Yes, Papa.” Perpetua scoffs.

“Now you feel like showing me some respect.” He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose and encountering the warm metal of the mask. With his free hand, Perpetua reaches for the clasp at the top of his head, then, seeing you watching, decides against it. He glowers at you as his hand instead finds his scarf, pulling it loose, before undoing the top few buttons of his shirt. Beneath the layers of fabric, his skin is overly warm, bordering on sweaty.

“We go until I say we’re done,” he states, bringing the belt back to your buttocks. “You can still keep count if you’d like.” At this, you swallow hard, shuddering, and it fills him with a perverse sense of pleasure, heat flaring at the very base of him. He knows you’re just the tiniest bit afraid; in moments like this, it’s hard not to be, even when there’s desire in it. What he loves about you, though, is that you trust him, letting him guide you through the fear to the pleasure at its conclusion. That you’re willing to put your body and safety in his hands is an intoxicating feeling, and swept up in it, Perpetua finds that he’s done holding back.

He brings the belt down on your ass. You bury your face in the mattress to stifle a moan. He does it again, and this time it’s a scream. He strikes you one more time before the itch takes over and he no longer cares to keep track. Then, its blow after blow, the sound ricocheting off the walls like gunfire. His treatment is imprecise, uneven, striking wherever meets his fancy, until your ass and the backs of your thighs are red and criss-crossed with welts. You take each hit like a champion, hardly moving save for the arching of your back and an occasional buck of your hips.

He’s listening closely for it the whole time: miserere, the hard stop. You’ve never tapped out before, but maybe this is it. Maybe this time he’ll overdo it. The worry is always there, lingering in the back of his mind despite your assurances. But you’re resilient, far more so than he, and even when your yelps and moans turn to sobs, you don’t bend. You never do. You take it all, his rage, his pain, and you swallow it. You transform it into focus, productivity. Even now, his head already feels clearer.

You’re a martyr. Perpetua ought to have you canonized.

“That’s enough.” His chest is heaving, sweat beading under the mask. He’s so hard it hurts, every nerve alight with pleasure. It feels like he’s vibrating. It’s exhilarating.

You flop onto your side with a groan. You’re panting, sniffling, twitching a little, but there’s a blissed out look on your face, a grin spread wide across it. Tears stream down your cheeks, taking your makeup with them.

“Papa…” It’s all you can manage before breaking out into a fit of laughter. Oh, he’s gotten you good. You reach blindly for him, and in spite of the scene his heart skips a beat.

“I’m right here,” he coos, taking your hand and planting a gentle kiss on your knuckles. It flops back down when he lets go. Shakily, you bring the appendage closer to your face, cracking an eye open to examine it. There’s a smear of his black lipstick on your skin, and with a pleased little hum, you press your lips to the mark.

If he had a soul, surely it would leave his body.

“Oh, my love, look at you.” You’re utterly ruined. Unable to resist, he palms at himself through his pants. This does not go unnoticed, and you let out a needy whine. Perpetua snickers. “Yeah? You’re not done yet? You need me to fuck you, too?” A hungry look in your eyes, you nod. At this, he clicks his tongue, though he’s already reaching to undo the laces restraining him. “After all you’ve done today, you think you deserve that?” Your eyes go wide, then well up with fresh tears, and he feels his cock kick as he works to free it.

“Please,” you whimper, suddenly coherent again. “I’ll be so good tomorrow.”

Perpetua imagines you’ll spend most of the day recouping on the bus. There’s not much trouble you can really get into there, unless you rope the ghouls into your schemes. Lucifer save him if you do.

He lets out an embellished sigh. “How is it that you can be such a little shit, and yet I still let you walk all over me?” At last his cock springs free, flushed an angry red and pulsing with the beating of his heart. “You’re spoiled.” He gives himself a few slow, teasing strokes, making a show of pulling back the skin to reveal the head, already slick with precum. “Absolutely rotten.”

The despair on your face quickly transforms into a smug, satisfied grin. You giggle, batting your eyes coquettishly. “I know.” Perpetua just grunts, planting his free hand on your hip and shoving you onto your stomach. He makes quick work of unclipping the garters, then hooks his fingers under the waistband of your panties and tugs them down. You shimmy a little, assisting him in the endeavor. Letting go of his cock, he drapes himself over your prone form, planting his knees on either side of your body, and you hiss a little as the coarse fabric of his pants rubs against your skin. One hand threads into your hair, pulling your head up off the mattress, while he holds the other to your lips.

“Spit,” he commands. “It’s all you’re getting.” With perfect obedience, you probe around in your cheek with your tongue, gathering as much saliva as possible, before letting it dribble out into his palm. Perpetua takes his shaft in hand again, slicking himself up with a few lazy strokes, then adjusts his position so that he can drag the tip through your folds.

“Baby,” you whine. You try to spread your legs enticingly, but you’re trapped under the weight of him, pinned to the bed like a butterfly. “Plea-” Perpetua cuts you off, burying himself to the hilt with a single, punishing drive of his hips. The sound that comes out of you cannot possibly be human, halfway between a moan and the yowl of a cat in heat. Still, he gives you no quarter, no time to adjust, before he begins jackhammering into you, chasing his pleasure with reckless abandon.

“I’ll fuck you, alright.” He tugs on your hair and groans, feeling your cunt ripple. Somehow, even after all this time, he’s still never quite prepared for the way you two fit so perfectly, like puzzle pieces clicking together. “But don’t think for a second that I’m letting you finish like this.” You let out a delicious sob, your entire body convulsing beneath him. Even through his clothes, he can feel the heat radiating from your mortified flesh, and the mental image of what your backside will look like in the morning is like a punch in the stomach. Pace faltering, he comes to the jarring realization that he’s not going to last very long. You must be able to sense it as well, because you press your ass into him with each thrust, trying to meet him halfway.

“God, you fucking-” He groans, gut twisting as you clench around him. “You little fucking whore, always causing problems.” The day’s events rearing their ugly head again, Perpetua feels his temper flare. Burying his face in the crook of your neck, he takes a deep breath, the sweet scent of your hair grounding him. “I missed you tonight.”

“I’m sorry,” you pant. “I’m so-” A particularly brutal thrust has the head of his cock punching into your cervix. You gasp beneath him, fists balling in the sheets.

“You should always be by my side. Always.” There’s never a moment when he doesn’t want you near. It’s maddening at times, how badly he craves you. “You looked so fucking good tonight. I wanted to take you right there, in front of all those fucking imbeciles, but you kept yourself from me.” He’s rambling, as he tends to do when his end is closing in. “How dare you. How fucking dare-” Suddenly, he’s tumbling over the edge. Hips jerking, his vision goes white, the ecstasy searing down his spine as he spills into you. It’s like every negative feeling he’s had over the last twenty-four hours is purged at once, leaving blissful nothingness in its wake.

He really, really needed this.

When the world comes back into view, Perpetua heaves a sigh. The fatigue in his bones is making its presence known again, a heaviness washing over him as the last traces of his climax ebb away. Feeling wobbly, he disengages carefully, rolling onto his back so that he doesn’t collapse on top of you. He lays like that for a moment, eyes shut, hands folded over his stomach. Fuck, what a night. What a day. What a week. What a life. He knows he needs to get up, drag himself to the bathroom and get the ointment for your ass. He needs to wash off his paints and the sweat that’s accumulated under the mask before he breaks out, but he’s so fucking exhausted, and sleep is already wrapping it’s velvety tendrils around his consciousness, pulling him down, down, down…

Your lips ghost against his hairline, and then the tip of his nose. Perpetua cracks his green eye open and finds you hovering over him, smiling gently as you brush a few locks of his hair away. He’s just beaten your backside black and blue, but there’s nothing in your gaze but adoration. Your eyes are still puffy from crying, your makeup smudged and running down your face, and he swears you’ve never looked more beautiful.

“Feel better?”

What you’re still doing with a nasty, selfish old thing like him, he’ll never know. In the beat silence that hangs between you, he thanks the Old One, any power that feels like listening, that you’re here.

“I do,” he says, propping himself up on one elbow to press his lips to yours. It’s the first time he’s properly kissed you all day and it hits him like a drug, a newfound energy coursing through his veins. “Thank you.” You chuckle softly, leaning in for another kiss. Your hands find the clasps at his temples, and under your experienced fingers they click open easily. When you pull the mask away, placing it gently to the side, it’s like a weight has been lifted off Perpetua’s shoulders. With you, he doesn’t have to perform, to be Papa. Himself is enough.

“Of course.” Another quick peck on his cheek. “Now, let’s get you to bed.” You start to get up but he quickly stops you, one hand finding the back of your head and pulling you in again. He nips at your bottom lip once, twice, before he’s licking into your mouth with a pleased little hum. You groan, squirming next to him on the bed, and when he ultimately pulls away, there’s a thread of saliva connecting you.

“Not just yet,” he purrs. You swallow, eyes darting over to the clock on the nightstand, then back to him.

“It’s late, babe. You don’t have to-”

“What kind of man would I be if I left you needing like this?” He barks out a laugh. “If the Clergy found out, I’d be excommunicated.” Perpetua sits up, putting a hand on your shoulder and guiding you to lay on your back. Then he slinks down to the ground, kneeling on the carpet as he grabs your hips and pulls you a little closer. “Relax. Let me take care of you.”

You nod. “Okay.”

Satan below, your cunt is a sight to behold, all slick and pink and throbbing just for him. His arousal echoes distantly at the sight, and for a moment, he laments the limitations that come with his age. A rivulet of his spend is already leaking out you, and the animal part of his brain screams that this is unacceptable. If he were a younger man, he could easily fuck another load into you, but those days are long gone. Time has given him experience, though, and he has other ways of keeping you full.

With his hands on your knees, he parts your legs a bit wider. Finally, he touches the tip of his tongue to your clit, giving it an experimental, little kitten lick. Your entire body tenses, like you’ve been shocked, and it sends a thrill through him.

“Oh! That’s…” He doesn’t give you time to finish the thought, sealing his lips around the bundle of nerves and sucking. Your hands fly to his head, fingers twisting in his hair as your hips buck up into his mouth. “Fuck, that’s good. Fuck, baby.” He doesn’t need the encouragement; the taste of you — both of you —  has him hooked already. Perpetua draws a few circles around your clit before he descends, prodding at your opening to coax out more of his seed. With his tongue he scoops up the mess, and when his eyes flick up, he finds you fixated on him, your lower lip caught between your teeth. Grinning, he opens his mouth, letting you see the evidence of his climax, and you shudder. Then, he works the appendage inside you, fucking his cum back where it belongs. The tip of his nose bumps against your clit while he does this, and the noise you make will surely result in a complaint, but he couldn’t care less. Anyone who takes issue with this can eat shit and die.

Eventually, he replaces his tongue with a finger. Your body accepts it greedily, pulling him in like you’re trying to become one mass, and so he gives you another. He crooks the digits just right, delighting in the way you sing for him, heady and full of want. You’re fluttering already, the cocktail of pain and pleasure helping you along nicely. A lock of his hair falls into his face, and before he has the chance, you brush it away for him. Perpetua’s heart swells. It’s a simple gesture, but the gentleness of your touch stands in such stark contrast to the earlier violence, it makes his head spin.

“You perfect thing, taking it so well. You’d let me do anything to you, wouldn’t you?” You hum an affirmative that quickly turns into a moan. He plants a sloppy kiss on the inside of your leg, leaving a smear of cum, spit, and paint behind. “My darling girl. Sei la cocca di papà, vero? Say that you are.” For all the needless bullshit the Clergy has put him through, he will be forever grateful to them for making him learn Italian. It’s become his secret weapon, a surefire way to have your toes curling in a matter of syllables. As expected, your back arches off the bed, thighs squeezing around him.

“I’m yours,” you gasp. “I’m your girl.” He rewards you by attaching his mouth to your clit once again, suckling and teasing it with his tongue while he attacks your sweet spot with his fingers. Your manicured nails dig into his scalp a little harder, battered legs quivering. “Oh, fuck. Fuck me, fuck-” With a breathy cry you come undone, thrashing wildly against Perpetua’s face. He works you through it, unrelenting until you tug on his hair, whining. One last kiss on the softest part of your thigh and he pulls away, his knees protesting as he gets up off the floor. Your chest is heaving, beads of sweat sparkling on your flushed skin, and Perpetua suddenly wants to take back his earlier declaration. The sight of you like this, a beautiful, fucked-out mess, should be for his eyes alone. Not even the Devil, he thinks, is worthy of such a privilege.

Your tired eyes flutter open once your breathing finally evens out. Catching his gaze, you smile, eclipsing the sun in your radiance. You start to sit up, but Perpetua is quick to push you back down.

“Stay here,” he requests. “I’ll be right back.” You nod, flipping onto your stomach while he tucks himself back into his pants. Then, he shuffles to the bathroom and gathers the necessary equipment: a wet washcloth, a glass of water, your makeup wipes, and the healing ointment. When he returns you’re naked and half asleep already, the rest of your undergarments strewn about on the bed. The bruising on your backside is beginning to set in, decorating your flesh with splotches of deep blue and purple. He stares at it for a few moments, face pulled into a grimace. Maybe he did take it too far.

“‘M just fine,” you mumble, reading his mind. “Really.” Snapping out of it, he makes tending to you the focus of his remaining energy, lest he spiral further. He hands you the glass and you accept eagerly, draining it in one long, slow sip. Then you take the wipes, attacking what remains of your makeup while he gets to work on your lower half. With the washcloth he cleans the mess of his release, paints, and your slick from the inside of your thighs. He’s overly careful, as if you’re made of glass, reluctant to inflict any more pain now that the scene is over. When that’s done he takes the tube of ointment and squeezes a generous amount onto the tip of his index finger, the herbal scent of it filling the air. You start a little with the first touch, but quickly relax as we works the balm into your skin, sighing with relief as it takes effect.

By the time Perpetua is finished, you’re asleep. He’s about ready to collapse next to you but forces himself up, dragging his feet back to the bathroom. He does a half-assed job of removing his paints, his eyes still rimmed with black as he strips off the rest of his clothes. Both of you (him especially) reek of sweat and sex, but a shower can wait until the morning. You have to hit the road early, but he’ll be a diva and make the whole crew wait if he has to. He has his priorities.

You grumble a little when he moves you to the head of the bed and tucks you under the covers, but otherwise don’t stir. After hanging up his shirt and jacket he flicks off the light, stumbling in the dark to join you. He’s finally able to indulge in the closeness he’s wanted all day, pulling you into his arms. The weight of you on his chest is a comfort after the long day you’ve both had, and soon, he’s slipping into the realm of sleep as well.

Without a doubt, tomorrow will have its own set of challenges, new problems for him to deal with. For now, though, he’s content, knowing that whatever comes his way, you’ll have his back. You always do.

[alicentflorent]

It looks like 4/5 of the main six adults don’t know what’s going on with writing Juliette made it known even walking of stage, Christina made comments for ages including this year, Lauren and Simone this year and I think tawny even mentioned it including the teens timeline lack of talking and tai / Shauna friendship disappearing 

Exactly. The only person who hasn’t made negative comments (as far as I’m aware) is Melanie. If you removed the teen timeline and only focused on the adult timeline it’s.. not good. You also have to remember these are seasoned actresses who have had good careers, who are still capable of getting work and they didn’t sign up for mediocre plotlines or being reduced to comic relief and shock value reveals because the writers didn’t have a plan for their characters past season one.

The teen actors on the other hand, have had good material to sink their teeth into and for most of them it’s their first big job and a good one to show off their acting abilities. I’m sure everyone’s noticed that most gifs and discussions are surrounding the teen timeline, which might not be perfect like you mentioned the lack of conversation and building on friendships/relationships (and in my opinion trying to shoehorn Melissa into the plot because they wanted Hilary Swank to replace Juliette as one of their 90s stars) is an issue but overall the teen timeline is good, it’s keeping us engaged and the deaths have been done well in comparison to the adult timeline. If you look at Steven’s interviews, he’s satisfied with how his story went because it was done well, Ben was a complex we’ll developed character. Now compare this with the interviews of Simone and Lauren who are clearly disappointed because they never got that development, they never got that well rounded, satisfying character arc and were likely sold a completely different narrative when they took the role.

[headknight-oh]

Just noticed that there hasn’t been much, if any, coverage on the mangione trial in like a month. Like since he plead not guilty, there hasn’t been any major coverage on the proceedings. I just tried to look up anything about the past month and I genuinely cannot find anything. Nothing about it they’re still in jury selection, nothing about any rulings, nothing about the defending attorney or even opinion pieces. Like I know why there’s not much coverage, but nothing at all? Like we got CONSTANT updates about the depp/heard case when it was happening, but now that it’s something about an important issue that would have been the case of the decade in times past, it’s radio silence.

It’s so incredibly disturbing that they’ve filtered it out of the media and that people don’t care enough to demand it be covered. People treated it like a trend and aesthetified it to the point that an actual act of resistance means nothing now.

Also there’s like no concrete evidence in this case. It’s all circumstantial. I feel that everyone forgot that, and because of it, the idea that “innocent until proven guilty” as a precedent is very much in the process of being undermined

Edit: Putting this here again because I keep getting people misinterpreting what I’m trying to say: You guys, I know there’s nothing new to report on. What I’m saying is that when something like this happens, everyone talks about it. Every talk show and opinion columnist and political analyst will talk give speculation and reaction and opinion on it. Like when columbine happened, every news outlet talked about it for months before the trial ever happened. It happened in 99 and the rulings didn’t come out til 01 or something. And even if they never directly mentioned columbine, they would talk about gun violence and bullying and how police weren’t trained for situations like that. They talked about the surrounding issues. Like yeah there’s nothing new that the media has access to rn, but no one is making opinion pieces about the judges conflict of interest, no talk show is having a 20 min segment about gun violence or the state of healthcare. Twenty years ago, it would have stayed in the news cycle at least passively until the case moved forward. But now it’s been phased out almost completely. And I know coverage will pick up when the trial starts. I know courts move slowly. I’m not trying to push conspiracy. I was simply making an observation that it was strange that there was almost no talk about it, that it’s been phased out of news cycles, and how there’s no widespread conversation about the issues surrounding the shooting.

Also, I only used depp/heard in the original because it was the most recent case I could think of. And because I was tired and thought this post would be seen by like 20 people max, so I didn’t bother wording it as precisely as I could have. Columbine and the OJ Simpson case are better examples to work off of.

I just wanted to clarify what I meant so I stop getting comments that misinterpret what I’m trying to say and people being rude about it

[wilwheaton]

We still know much less than we should about who’s actually running this show. There’s mounting evidence that even more than we know is being directed by Elon Musk and his private-sector employees, who are now fanned out across the government. He appears to have taken control of the federal payment system which allows his operatives to stop checks to any private individual in the country and/or examine all their personal financial information. According to The New York Times, Musk has tasked engineers with figuring out how to cut off the flow of funds from the Treasury to programs and priorities he believes conflict with the brief he received from Donald Trump. He has also taken control of some portion of the federal agency computer systems, allowing his operatives to lock federal workers out of key computer systems. We need a lot more reporting on just how he is exerting this power, specifically under what authority and who the people are he’s installed at these government agencies. Some have simply been appointed to new roles the old-fashioned way. But the best information we have about how “DOGE” is working suggests many are employees from his private companies operating with no legal authority at all.

Who Can Stop Elon’s ‘Team’ Wilding Its Way Through the Federal Government?

No legal authority at all.

No legal authority at all.

AOC is the _only_ Democrat I have seen or heard talking about this. Where the fuck is leadership? Where are the lawsuits?

He has NO LEGAL AUTHORITY AT ALL to do what he is doing.

[heritageposts]

Google-translated, posted October 8th

This piece Manoel wrote in 2020 should also be mandatory reading for all Western "leftists," especially now as the Western illusion of military invincibility is being shattered

[...] Another factor that is very common in the western left is to treat suffering and extreme poverty as elements of superiority. It is very common in Western leftist culture to support martyrs and suffering. Everyone today likes Salvador Allende. Why? Salvador Allende is a victim, a martyr. He was assassinated in Pinochet’s coup d’ etat.

And, on Western leftists support of Palestine (pre Al-Aqsa Flood — Manoel, writing in 2020, was clearly underestimating the military capabilities of the Gazan resistance)

Palestinians are a people who are deeply oppressed, in a situation of extreme poverty, that don’t have a national economy because they don’t have a national state. They don’t have an army or military or economic power. Therefore, Palestine is the total incarnation of the metaphor of David vs Goliath, except that this David doesn’t have a chance of beating Goliath in political and military conflict. Therefore, almost everyone in the international left likes Palestine. People become ecstatic looking at those images -- which I don’t think are very fantastic – of a child or teenager using a sling to launch a rock at a tank. Look, this is a clear example of heroism but it is also a symbol of barbarism. This is a people who do not have the capacity to defend themselves facing an imperialist colonial power that is armed to the teeth. They do not have an equal capacity of resistance, but this is romanticized. Western leftists like this situation of oppression, suffering and martyrdom.

If you're a Westerner, I think it's worth investigating to what extent this image Palestinians as 'defenseless' or 'defeated' (I've seen some of you talk about Palestine in the past tense) factors into your support of Palestine as it is now, under occupation.

Because there will be an after.

Everyone supported Viet Nam when it was under attack, being destroyed and bombed for over 30 years. Viet Nam beat Japan in WW2, then had to fight France, and then had to fight the United States. It passed 30 straight years without being able to build a damn school or hospital because a bomb would drop, first from France and then the United States, and destroy it. When the country was finally able to beat all of the colonial and neocolonial powers and have the opportunity to start planning, to build highways, electrical systems, schools and universities without having bombs land on them the next day and destroy everything that was being done, the country was abandoned by the majority of the left. It lost its charm, it lost its enchantment. There is a fetish for defeat in the western left. It is an idea that defeat is something majestic.

[pucksandpower]

Clickbait

Toto Wolff x Ferrari team principal!Reader

Summary: in which a reporter learns not to mess with the power couple of Formula 1 … the hard way

Based on this request

The bustling newsroom of BusinessF1 magazine hums with activity as Graham Lowell, a junior reporter with more ambition than scruples, hunches over his laptop. His fingers fly across the keyboard, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he types out what he believes to be the scoop of the century.

Conflict of Interest in the Pit Lane: Ferrari and Mercedes’ Love Affair

Graham leans back, admiring his handiwork. He’s certain this article will catapult him to journalism stardom. Little does he know, he’s about to learn a harsh lesson in the dangers of sensationalism.

As the article goes live, the Formula 1 world erupts into chaos. Social media platforms light up with speculation and outrage. Within hours, the story spreads like wildfire, reaching the very subjects of its scandalous claims.

In the Ferrari motorhome, you stand before a group of wide-eyed team members, your voice steady despite the storm raging inside you. “I assure you, these allegations are completely false. Our team’s integrity is not, and will never be, compromised.”

Your phone buzzes incessantly in your pocket, but you ignore it. You know who it is, and you know you’ll need to face him soon enough.

Across the paddock, in the sleek confines of the Mercedes garage, Toto Wolff paces like a caged lion. His usually calm demeanor is nowhere to be seen as he barks orders into his phone.

“I want our legal team on this immediately,” he growls. “This is slander, pure and simple. They’ve gone too far this time.”

As the day wears on, the pressure mounts. You find yourself fielding increasingly hostile questions from reporters, their microphones thrust aggressively in your face.

“Is it true that you’ve been passing Ferrari’s secrets to Mercedes?” One shouts.

“How long have you been manipulating race results?” Another demands.

You maintain your composure, but inside, you’re seething. The blatant sexism in their questions is not lost on you. They seem all too eager to believe that a woman in your position must have achieved it through nefarious means.

As you push through the crowd, a familiar voice cuts through the chaos. “That’s enough!” Toto’s commanding tone silences the mob instantly. He strides forward, placing a protective arm around your shoulders.

“My wife and I will be making a statement shortly,” he announces, his steely gaze daring anyone to object. “Until then, I suggest you all refrain from spreading baseless rumors.”

The crowd parts reluctantly, allowing you both to escape to the relative quiet of a nearby hospitality suite. As soon as the door closes behind you, Toto’s fierce expression melts into one of concern.

“Are you alright, liebling?” He asks softly, cupping your face in his hands.

You lean into his touch, allowing yourself a moment of vulnerability. “I’m fine, Toto. Just ... frustrated. They’re so quick to believe the worst of me.”

Toto’s jaw clenches. “It’s disgraceful. But we’ll fight this, together. I promise you, they won’t get away with it.”

A knock at the door interrupts your moment. Toto’s assistant pokes her head in. “Sir, the lawyers are here.”

What follows is a whirlwind of legal jargon and strategy discussions. You listen intently as your shared legal team outlines the plan of attack.

“We’ll issue cease and desist orders to every outlet that’s republished the story,” the head lawyer explains. “And we’ll be filing a defamation lawsuit against BusinessF1 magazine and the reporter responsible.”

Toto nods approvingly. “Good. I want them to feel the full force of our response. This ends now.”

As the lawyers file out, you turn to Toto, a hint of worry in your eyes. “Do you think this will be enough? The damage to my reputation ...”

Toto takes your hands in his, his gaze intense. “We will rebuild it, stronger than ever. I won’t let them tarnish everything you’ve worked for.”

Meanwhile, back at the BusinessF1 office, Graham Lowell is beginning to realize the gravity of his mistake. His editor storms into the bullpen, face red with fury.

“Lowell!” He bellows. “My office, now!”

Graham follows meekly, his earlier bravado evaporating with each step. As he enters the office, he sees his editor isn’t alone. A grim-faced man in an expensive suit stands by the window.

“Sit down,” the editor growls. Graham complies, his legs feeling like jelly.

The man by the window turns, fixing Graham with a steely glare. “Mr. Lowell, I’m representing Mr. and Mrs. Wolff in this matter. I’m here to inform you that you and this publication are being sued for defamation.”

Graham’s mouth goes dry. “But ... but I had a source! They told me-”

“A source you failed to verify,” his editor cuts in. “Did you even attempt to get a comment from either party before publishing?”

Graham’s silence is damning. The lawyer continues, his voice cold and precise. “The damages we’re seeking are substantial. Your reckless journalism has caused significant harm to my clients’ reputations.”

As the full implications of his actions sink in, Graham slumps in his chair. His dreams of journalistic glory crumble before his eyes, replaced by the stark reality of legal consequences.

Outside, the F1 paddock buzzes with new excitement. Word of the impending lawsuit spreads quickly, and suddenly, those who were so quick to believe the scandal are backpedaling furiously.

You and Toto stand united before a sea of cameras, your hands clasped tightly together. Toto speaks first, his voice resonating with controlled anger.

“The allegations made against my wife and me are not only false but malicious,” he states. “We have always maintained the highest standards of professionalism and integrity in our respective roles.”

You step forward, your head held high. “I’ve worked tirelessly to earn my position as Team Principal at Scuderia Ferrari. To suggest that my success is due to anything other than my own merit is not only insulting to me but to every woman fighting to make her mark in this sport.”

The press conference continues, with you and Toto presenting a united front against the baseless accusations. As you field questions, you can see the tide of public opinion beginning to turn.

Later that evening, in the privacy of your hotel suite, you finally allow yourself to relax. Toto wraps you in a warm embrace, pressing a gentle kiss to your forehead.

“You were magnificent today,” he murmurs. “I’m so proud of you.”

You smile up at him, feeling the tension of the day start to melt away. “We make a good team, don’t we?”

Toto chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eye. “The best. Although, I must say, I’m almost disappointed we don’t actually have any juicy secrets to share. It might make things more exciting.”

You playfully swat his arm, laughing despite yourself. “I think we have enough excitement in our lives, thank you very much.”

As you settle into each other’s arms, you know that whatever challenges come your way, you’ll face them together. The storm may rage outside, but in here, in this moment, all is calm.

And somewhere across the continent, in a small, cluttered apartment, Graham Lowell stares at his laptop screen, watching his career and reputation crumble in real-time.

Social media is ablaze with backlash against him and support for you and Toto. As he scrolls through the endless comments condemning his shoddy journalism, one thought echoes in his mind.

“I am so, so screwed.”

[bestalbertcamuslover]

Password Sharing?

↳ Masterlist

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ pairing: Franco Colapinto x Reader ✯

✯ content warnings: none✯

 ︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

They were not exactly dating, yet it was something a little more than friends with benefits, however had never discussed exclusivity since he was away most of the time. The TV show they were comfortably watching on the couch of his place while cuddling, had one character in conflict due to their partner wanting to share passwords. 

“That is such a toxic thing to do,” she commented, referring to the password sharing.

A smirk spread across his face. “So, you’re saying you wouldn’t want my phone password?” he asked, his voice teasing but laced with mischief.

She glanced up at him, raising an eyebrow. “Absolutely not,” she replied with a playful edge. “Especially not yours and your slutty antics.”

His hand flew to his chest, a mock look of shock on his face. “Wow. That’s what you think of me? That I’m out there flirting with everyone?”

She grinned, leaning into his dramatics. “I don’t think it, Franco. I know it. I’ve seen the interviews. ‘Oh, it’s always a pleasure to talk to you,’” she mimicked, rolling her eyes.

He tilted his head, his smirk growing wider. “What can I say? I’m just naturally charming.”

“Yeah, sure, naturally charming,” she echoed with sarcasm.

Franco leaned back against the couch, his arm still draped around her as his smirk softened into a playful grin. “Harmless flirting,” he said, drawing out the words with an air of exaggerated innocence. “It’s all part of the job, you know. Keeps the reporters entertained… nothing serious.”

She shot him a skeptical look, though the corners of her mouth twitched. “Harmless, huh? That’s what they all say until someone starts calling you mi amor in the paddock.”

He let out a laugh, the kind that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Mi amor? Wow, that’s a step up. I must be better at this than I thought.”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she quipped, nudging him lightly with her elbow.

“Come on,” he teased, tilting his head to look at her. “You know none of that means anything. It’s just words, smiles, the occasional wink—”

“The occasional wink?” she interrupted, mock horrified. “Oh, I feel so reassured now.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “What I’m saying is, it’s harmless. You, on the other hand…” He paused for dramatic effect, his eyes narrowing slightly but with a glint of mischief. “Are you keeping things harmless, or do I need to worry about you sweet-talking to other guys?”

She laughed, swatting at his chest. “Seriously, Franco? You’re the last person who should be asking that question.”

“I’m just saying,” he replied, his tone dropping to something almost earnest. “I might be a shameless flirt, but I don’t exactly make a habit of sharing my couch with just anyone.”

Her teasing expression faltered for a split second, replaced by something softer, though she quickly masked it with another smirk. “Oh, so I’m special now?”

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance, though his eyes gave him away. “Maybe. Depends. Are you treating me like I’m special too?”

The question hung in the air for a moment, playful yet with an undercurrent of something real.

“Guess you’ll just have to trust me,” she said finally, her voice light but her gaze steady.

He grinned, leaning closer. “Fair enough. But if you ever want my phone password, just ask,” he added, his tone dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

She rolled her eyes, though her smile widened. “Please, Franco. I wouldn’t know what to do with all that ‘harmless flirting’ evidence.”

“You’d find a way to forgive me,” he teased, his arm tightening around her as they both laughed, the banter giving way to a comfortable silence that said more than words ever could.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶︶⊹︶︶

✯ authors note: English is not my first language, and I hope you liked it <3

[ladyloveandjustice]

I saw a post in the My Adventures with Superman tag claiming that Lois "finally" has a character. I really like the show and it's version of Lois too, but I want to make this clear: Lois Lane has been around for over 80 years and she's always been a distinct, dynamic character with a lot going for her, every bit as admirable as Superman. This isn't a new thing!

Like any character Lois has had some bad adaptations, but she's been a great character from the beginning, and I wanted to show off some panels from comics over the years so anyone new to Superman lore can see why she's a beloved character and the MAWS portrayal is building on that, not starting from scratch.

Lois in the golden age comics (1939 through the 1940's) was shown to be a career-driven woman who didn't take shit from anyone. This was an era where a lot of women were entering the workforce because men were serving in WWII and there was excitement and change in the air, and Lois was meant to be a reflection of that. She fought against the sexism of her boss sticking her with the advice and gossip columns because she was a woman, and she was go-getting reporter out to get a real story. From the beginning she was fearless (sometimes reckless), driven, and had no patience for Clark Kent's (feigned) cowardice (and was always full of sick burns). She never let anyone push her around.

And she's been pretty consistently like this her entire run as a character. Of course, there were some bad writers, and there was a time in the 50s when all female characters had to be marriage obsessed (Lois wasn't the only one hit with this, Wonder Woman was too), but she reverted back to her firebrand self in the 60's and 70's, and when the 80's came along, characters started getting more filled in backstories, including her- this was where we started seeing stuff about her home life, her childhood moving around as a military brat, and her troubled relationship with her father and sister. She had an interior life, inner conflict- and she still kicked ass and always got the last word in. As someone invested in journalism, she is THE coolest fictional journalist to me.

This was also when comics started focusing on Clark being who Superman WAS rather than a pure act, and we got to see their relationship really grow and Lois fall for Clark, not Superman. So here, have some panels of Lois being great and see the scope of her own personality.

Lois also has lots fun little quirks and hobbies comics readers know about- she takes her coffee a certain way, she doesn't cook much because she's so on the go (so Clark is the one who cooks in the fam), she likes to sit on Clark's desk when they're talking (this happens in other Superman media too), she REALLY likes monster trucks and Clark REALLY doesn't but will support her anyway:

Also, she's always seen through to who Clark really is:

Anyway. Have more of my favorite Lois panels because I have a lot:

also this one because I'm gay:

[moonmaiden1996]

Love at First Sight (According to Nagumo, Anyway) Part Four

The day started like any other.

You clocked in, greeted your colleagues, and settled into the rhythmic hum of the office. The air buzzed with the usual symphony of monotony—keyboards clacking in uneven rhythms, the soft rustle of paper as reports shuffled from desk to desk, the occasional ring of a phone slicing through the background noise. The fluorescent lights flickered with a faint buzz, casting a sterile glow over the workspace, draining everything of warmth. There was a steady hum to it all, a constant reminder of the predictable grind that you’d grown so used to. You could almost hear the collective sigh of resignation in the air.

But something felt... off.

For once, it didn’t feel suffocating. There were no passive-aggressive emails lurking in your inbox, no last-minute assignments dumped on your desk like an avalanche, no looming sense of dread clinging to your shoulders like a phantom. If anything, the office felt... calm. Too calm.

People worked efficiently, their movements smooth, their interactions void of the usual tension. No whispered complaints in the break room. No lingering glares exchanged across cubicles. The unspoken power struggles that usually brewed beneath the surface had vanished overnight. It was unnerving. There was no edge, no undercurrent of stress. Just... quiet.

It was unnatural.

But you weren’t about to question it. For the first time in ages, you weren’t drowning under an unbearable workload. The constant, crushing weight had lifted, leaving you with an alien sense of ease. You even found yourself enjoying the silence, savoring the rare sensation of peace that filled the office. The work felt manageable, the day stretched out before you, almost idyllic. And for once, you didn’t feel like an imposter just trying to survive.

Then, without warning, your boss called an emergency meeting.

The office gathered hesitantly, confusion thick in the air. Your boss stood at the front, gripping the edge of the desk as if it were the only thing keeping him upright. His normally composed demeanor had cracked. His face was pale, his jaw clenched, and his eyes darted to unseen corners of the room, as though something lurked just out of sight, waiting for the right moment to strike. A chill settled in your gut. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

“I—” His voice cracked. He swallowed hard and tried again.

“I’m resigning. Effective immediately.”

The words landed like a thunderclap. The room went deathly quiet. The fluorescent lights above flickered, the buzz now almost oppressive as your colleagues exchanged confused glances. You barely had time to process what was happening before your boss’s shaky hands wiped across his brow, his eyes wide, as though he’d seen something none of you could. “I—I can’t do this anymore,” he stammered. “The stress, the atmosphere... it’s too much. I need to put my health first.”

A murmur rippled through the room, unease creeping into everyone’s expressions. People whispered, but no one dared challenge him. The atmosphere?

Sure, work had its fair share of stress, but lately, things had been running almost too smoothly. No disasters. No major conflicts. Nothing that should have driven a man to the brink. Yet here he was, pale, trembling, abandoning his position as if something had hunted him out of it.

Your stomach twisted. A prickle of unease slithered down your spine, slow and insidious, worming its way into your thoughts. There was something you were missing.

Before you could fully process what had happened, your colleagues turned to you.

“Congratulations,” they said. “You’re in charge now.”

The words barely registered. Your mind reeled from the surrealness of the situation, processing the events in fragmented moments. You didn’t know what to feel. Was this some kind of joke? You blinked, trying to reconcile the surrealness of the situation with the new reality settling over you.

But as the reality settled in, something unexpected flickered through the unease.

Pride.

You had worked hard. You deserved this. You were officially in charge now. The promotion was yours, whether or not it made sense. Whatever had happened to your boss—whatever unseen force had rattled him to his core—wasn’t your problem anymore. It was your moment.

The rest of the day passed in a strange blur. People were still cooperative, still unnervingly respectful, but there was something else now. Something just beneath the surface. A silent shift in the air, like an unspoken rule had settled over the office. No one questioned your authority. No one challenged you.

It should have felt like a victory.

And in some ways, it did.

By the time your shift ended, you felt something dangerously close to happiness. A rare thing. A feeling you hadn’t had in a long time. The weight of the day, the stress, the worry—it had all melted away, leaving you with a sense of lightness you couldn’t remember ever feeling. You decided to stop by Sakamoto’s convenience store on the way home—a small indulgence to celebrate. Wine, something sweet, maybe your usual coffee. You didn’t even care about the weird vibe from that odd guy you’d seen there before. Nothing would ruin this perfect day.

The store’s bell chimed softly as you stepped inside, the familiar scent of warm bread and instant ramen greeting you. For the first time in a long while, you felt light. The rhythmic hum of the store was like a balm, washing away the tension still clinging to you from the office.

And then—

“Ah, my love, you’re back again.”

The voice was smooth, teasing—dripping with amusement. It hit your ears like a faint, unwelcomed melody.

You turned towards the counter.

And there he was.

Nagumo.

Leaning against the counter like he owned the place, his sharp eyes locking onto you the moment you stepped in. His smirk widened, like he had been expecting this moment, like he knew you’d walk in at just the right time. The same sense of confidence that both irked and intrigued you.

And—

For the first time—

You smiled at him.

Just a small thing. Barely there. But real. A flicker of amusement in your expression. Maybe it was the pleasant mood of the day, or maybe you were just too tired to argue with him. Either way, there it was—a smile that you hadn’t realized you were even capable of.

Nagumo’s eyes gleamed. His smirk twitched, curling into something smug and undeniably pleased.

“Well, now,” he mused, pushing off the counter with an easy, lazy confidence. “Look at you. Practically glowing.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no real bite to it. “It’s been a good day.”

He hummed, tilting his head in consideration. “A promotion, was it?”

You blinked at him, startled. “How did you—”

He grinned. “I pay attention to my darling’s life, of course.”

Something stirred at the back of your mind. A shadow of a thought, a fleeting recognition of something you should have been piecing together. But before you could grasp it, Nagumo leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a light, playful lilt.

“Well, my dear,” he purred, “since you’re in such high spirits, why not let me take you out on a proper date?”

The teasing lilt was expected. The casual arrogance. The confidence.

What wasn’t expected was your reaction.

Because you—

Didn’t immediately refuse.

You hesitated. Just for a second. A moment too long.

Nagumo noticed. Of course, he did. His eyes gleamed, the satisfaction in them unmistakable. He had won. You were a step closer to whatever game he was playing.

And then—

“…Sure,” you said, smiling no less.

Nagumo actually blinked. Like he hadn’t expected you to say yes. But the shock was fleeting, vanishing almost as soon as it came. His grin stretched wider, delight dancing across his expression.

“My, my,” he practically purred. “Finally coming to your senses, are we?”

You scoffed, shaking your head, but you still didn’t take it back. Maybe it was just the good mood. Maybe you were too tired to argue. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t entirely hate the idea.

Then—

“OH, HELL NO.”

The moment shattered.

You turned just in time to see Shin Asakura pointing an accusatory finger directly at Nagumo.

“You—you did WHAT?!” Shin shouted. “I thought Aoi said not to start threatening peopleeee!” Shin was practically vibrating with disbelief. “You scared off her boss, I am pretty sure that was on the list of things not to do!”

The store fell into a stunned silence.

Your breath hitched. The words didn’t make sense at first.

Scared off…?

Your boss. His pale face. His shaking hands. His darting eyes, like something was hunting him.

The eerily cooperative colleagues. The unspoken wariness. The unnatural smoothness of your day.

Realization crashed over you, ice-cold and suffocating.

Before you could respond, Sakamoto sighed heavily, grabbing Shin by the collar and dragging him toward the back.

Shin flailed. “WAIT—I’M RIGHT! I’M RIGHT, DAMN IT!” His voice echoed in the shop, but Sakamoto was already pulling him further into the back.

Sakamoto ignored him, muttering under his breath. “Great. Now I’ll never get rid of him.”

And just like that, they disappeared into the back room, leaving you with him.

You snapped your gaze towards Nagumo, searching his face for some kind of denial.

But Nagumo—

Didn’t even bother lying.

He just smirked, utterly unbothered, slipping his hands into his pockets. Nagumo chuckled softly. “Whatever you say, my love. Shall we go? I know a good noodle place with amazing coffee. You will love it.”

SOOOOOOO? What you think?

[stellarmeira]

Vedic Astro Observations - Some Nakshatra placements

I set out to study the nakshatras from Scorpio to Pisces, from Anuradha to Revati. The focus was on planetary positions, transit effects, general traits, and some unique observations gathered along the way. Every detail was recorded carefully with an eye on well-known views to ensure a clear and deep understanding.

In the study of Uttara Bhadrapada, it was found that when Rahu is in this nakshatra, it brings together a strong desire for worldly success and a deep inner insight. People with this placement often try very extreme paths early in life. For example, they may chase fame or money with great energy. Over time, Saturn’s influence helps to keep these ambitions grounded and creates a balance. Many eventually become unique helpers in their communities. Their energy is light and flexible, allowing them to take on many roles, even though they remain hard to define. Rahu seems to encourage letting go of ego and illusion, turning these people into supporters of the common good. Occasional bursts of ego or a wish to escape may appear, but Saturn usually guides the energy into healing work.

Ketu in Uttara Bhadrapada appears to mark a soul nearing the end of its karmic journey. People with this placement show clear detachment and wisdom from a young age. They often feel complete on their own, much like a lone animal that thrives independently. This placement reduces the desire for material things and naturally leads to a simpler life focused on spiritual practices, meditation, or healing. Many seem to have natural talents in spiritual arts, and life events tend to push them toward roles as guides or teachers. A tendency to spend long periods alone, in nature or in quiet prayer, is common. Ultimately, Ketu in Uttara Bhadrapada means a life of closing old chapters, forgiving past wrongs, settling old debts, and passing on hard-earned wisdom to the next generation. The legacy left behind is a gentle mark of peace in the community.

The moving planets in Uttara Bhadrapada often bring feelings of resolution and healing. For example, when Saturn moves through this nakshatra, which happens about every 30 years, relief often follows hard times. This shift can help stabilize situations after a recession or bring peace after conflicts. It is seen as a time when the hard energy of the past is gently finished. In the same way, Jupiter moving through this area often sparks new spiritual insights and boosts efforts to help others, making generosity more common. When Rahu and Ketu transit this nakshatra, it signals the end of old ways and opens the door for more caring leadership. On many occasions, these periods have marked moments of closing old chapters, such as leaving a long-held job, settling old disputes, or paying off a big debt. Practices like meditation, therapy, and inner work have helped many let go of heavy burdens. An increase in intuition and meaningful dreams is often reported during these changes. These planetary shifts serve as chances to find deep peace and satisfaction for both individuals and society.

Uttara Bhadrapada is represented by a caring animal that stands for giving and tenderness. People born under this nakshatra often have a light and calm look. Even those who seem tough on the outside may hide a sensitive heart and a pure inner nature that shows up over time. Loyalty comes naturally to them, and they tend to be devoted friends and partners. Being the last of the 27 stars, many with this placement often take on roles as elders or mentors even when still young. They seem to have a knack for understanding who is genuine and for guiding others out of dark times. In this way, Uttara Bhadrapada is like a gentle rain that soothes dry land, bringing stability, care, and guidance to a world that has experienced many hardships.

Turning to Revati, which covers 16°40′ to 30°00′ in Pisces, this nakshatra is known as the Wealthy or the Nourisher. It is seen as the final stage of the journey and appears to be the most advanced of all. Revati is ruled by Mercury and has Pushan as its deity. Pushan is a protective figure who watches over travelers and souls. He stands for prosperity, safe travel, and spiritual care. Revati is shown by either a pair of fish or a drum. The fish represent fertility and the natural flow of life at the end of the Piscean phase, while the drum shows the passing of time and the joyful end of experiences.

People born under Revati are gentle, kind, and optimistic. They have a free spirit and are often very lucky because they are not too attached to material things. This lack of attachment seems to attract abundance in money, spiritual growth, or natural talent. Their relaxed, playful, and generous nature makes them easy to be around, and many allow life to take its course without worry. This often leads to dramatic changes such as rising from humble beginnings or even being born into good fortune.

Pushan, the deity of Revati, adds to these traits by giving a sense of protection and care. Those with Revati tend to be very protective, especially toward animals, children, or anyone vulnerable. A lasting care for family and friends is common, perhaps because lessons from earlier stages have been well absorbed. Even though there may be times when the company of others is missed, there is also a strong inner strength and self-reliance. This mix of being loving and social while also standing strong on one's own is one of the interesting qualities of Revati.

Creativity and music play a big role in Revati. With Mercury’s influence and the image of the drum, people of Revati have a good sense of rhythm and clear ways of expressing themselves. Many excel in music, dance, or poetry, and even those with a naturally cheerful personality seem creatively gifted. Their intuitive skills sometimes border on the psychic, with vivid dreams or a sense of having been here before showing a deep connection with what is to come. This quality brings natural hope and trust, helping them stay positive and find help when needed. Revati shows open minds, kindness, and a spirit that does not judge.

The positions of the planets in Revati reveal many influences that shape the people born under this nakshatra. With the Sun in Revati, warm, kind, and sometimes playful personalities tend to emerge. These individuals often do well in creative or helpful work, leading through kindness rather than force. They have a strong sense of who they are without being full of themselves. Many are drawn to work with children, animals, or the arts, naturally offering gentle support and setting a good example.

The Moon in Revati enhances qualities of care, imagination, and protection. Those with the Moon here tend to be very forgiving and seem naturally lucky. Their feelings are soft and nurturing, giving them an almost magical quality. Strong bonds with animals are common, and there is little fear of exploring the mysteries of life and death. The main challenge is learning to set good limits while still remaining open and kind.

Mercury in Revati makes for clear and friendly speech. People with this placement speak with humor and clarity, often becoming excellent storytellers, writers, or advisers. A love for language, poetry, and music is evident, and advice is given with good timing and understanding. Although focus can sometimes be a challenge because of the dreamy nature of Pisces, the insights offered are both helpful and inspiring.

Venus in Revati brings a loving, kind, and artistically gifted nature. Individuals with this placement are capable of deep, heartfelt love and may make significant sacrifices for those they care about. They often show a dreamy, free spirit that adds to their charm and sometimes brings unexpected wealth. Generosity is common, and love is shared openly with both animals and friends. Caution is needed at times to avoid overlooking faults in others.

Mars in Revati shows a balance between strong drive and gentleness. Those influenced by Mars work hard for causes they care about, especially for those who are less fortunate, and rarely come across as aggressive. Their energy is channeled into caring actions and works well in rescue efforts or other forms of support. Although passion for defending the vulnerable is strong, it is usually expressed in a calm and kind way, with a preference for working together rather than engaging in conflict.

Jupiter in Revati is one of the happiest influences. As the planet of wisdom and growth, it brings a thoughtful and generous outlook. Those with Jupiter in Revati often receive unexpected good fortune or timely help when needed. A mentor-like role is taken on naturally, and there is an enjoyment of travel and learning from different cultures. The view of the world remains broad and welcoming, though caution is sometimes needed to avoid giving too much of oneself.

Saturn in Revati teaches the skill of letting go and trusting the natural flow of life. Those with Saturn here may struggle at first with setting limits or might give too much of themselves, but with time wisdom grows. This patience eventually leads to a stable and secure life, with many finding fulfilling work in healing or helping others. Later years often resemble the calm of an elder sitting quietly by a river, having learned to close old chapters and start new ones.

Rahu in Revati adds a touch of imagination and unusual ideas. People with this placement often develop unique spiritual thoughts or find new ways to blend modern tools with their faith. Their caring nature grows even stronger, and they often participate in work or creative projects that attract admiration. There is a need to be careful, however, because a tendency to get lost in fantasies can appear. This influence is strong, but it is usually balanced by the natural positive energy of Revati.

Ketu in Revati is one of the strongest spiritual influences. It often shows a soul that has already settled many worldly desires in past lives. Those with this placement tend to show detachment and are drawn to spiritual or healing work from an early age. Their intuition, which sometimes seems nearly psychic, sets them apart. They usually live a simple life that values inner wisdom over praise from others. Many are seen to leave life with a deep sense of peace, suggesting that the journey toward freedom is nearly complete.

The transit effects in Revati are usually calm and helpful. When Jupiter moves through Revati, which happens every 12 years, a wave of optimism, financial relief, and a new focus on helping others often follows. Similarly, when Saturn moves through Revati, which occurs about every 30 years, it often marks the end of hard times and brings a period of recovery. This phase may lead to peace agreements or efforts to help the environment. Eclipses during these times signal the need to close old chapters, and many end bad habits or relationships while starting fresh beginnings. These periods have often proven to be good for forgiving old hurts, finding new spiritual ideas, and allowing creative projects to grow.

In final thoughts, Revati's energy is like a spiritual sunrise. It signals that the long, dark night is ending and a new day is near. The name Revati means wealthy or prosperous, and those born under this nakshatra often experience big changes in their fortunes. They may rise from humble beginnings or be blessed with abundance. Their appearance is often gentle and attractive, with a natural sense of timing that shows in every part of life, including art. Because Revati is linked to spiritual freedom, its influence brings a calm, old-soul feel mixed with a playful, almost saintly humor. In the end, Revati stands as a symbol of completion and contentment, showing all the lessons learned through the journey of the nakshatras and gently leading into the next cycle with care and wisdom.

[popipopipopipopipo000]

Okay, i need to get this out of my system. I’d LOVE if someone who actually knows how to write uses this as a prompt.

We all know that Jason loves to read, specially the classics. He loves Jane Austen with all his might.

But what I have not seen in fanfiction is the fact that he’s also a writer. I don’t think he’d be a published one, but he definitely would love to write whenever he got the chance.

He used to love writing reports, doing homework, studying in general about everything and anything, specially about the arts. He was a great writer until—you know, he died.

I don’t think that habit stopped for him. Jason isn’t good with vocalizing his feelings and thoughts, but he’d be great at doing so writing them down, ink and paper. Whenever he feels conflicted, angry, sad, happy, expectant, nervous, scared… he’d write it down. It would help to canalize his feelings, specially since the majority of his life after being brought back was spent alone.

Remember that time Jason wrote a letter to Barbara confessing his feelings in one of the comic runs? (Then it fell down and got sweeped away lol) Well, imagine he did that with someone he really REALLY loved.

He’d write love letters, countless love letters to the one he loved but he’d always keep them in secret. He’s too shy and scared to let you read them because you might think he’s being childish. He’d write everything he loves about you, his thoughts on you, on himself, what he would do for you, what you mean to him. Confessing his love in each one of them, again and again, with the type of vocabulary you’d find in pride and prejudice. Some poetry would be thrown in there too, using metaphors to explain your beauty in and out.

Jason is short on words whenever he has to say them, he thinks it lacks the same redundancy as them written. They lose their true value because they’re lost to the air, lost to the memory after a certain period of time. But ink doesn’t fade away as easily, it can last for centuries and be intact if well maintained. Just like his love for you. He wants it to last, to not be lost in time.

[drdemonprince]

Read the cop post you reblogged. Apologies if I’m being too literal. I’ve had ppl break into my house before. What am I supposed to do in that situation? Shoot the person? Let them shoot me? Genuinely asking for an alternative bc I don’t want to call the cops ever. It just feels like it’s often ppl who don’t live in areas with higher crime who post stuff like that and it feels out of touch with the reality some are living in. Most ppl in my neighborhood don’t want to abolish the police. It’s white liberals, leftists, anarchists who get to live that out more. Idk if this makes sense, but would love to hear others thoughts.

I have also had people break into my home, I've heard drills run on my block multiple times in just the past year, I've witnessed multiple shootings, violent domestic assault outside my home, etc. I also live in a racially diverse area and speak regularly with my neighbors and yeah, a 70-year-old Black grandmother in Chicago is far more likely to be a pro-cop Trump supporter than she is to be a radical anarchist. Your average person of any identity group is unlikely to be an abolitionist or anarchist... because those are still extremely fringe political positions in this world. Now it is also experience that the majority of actually committed abolitionists are Black & brown people, but that doesn't mean a majority of people from those identity groups in general are abolitionists at all. The white leftie abolitionists...mostly aren't actually abolitionists in practice from all that I've seen. Give them a roommate who doesn't pay the bills and has a mental health episode and they'll wield the tools of the state just as readily as anybody.

And that kinda brings me to one of my questions. Has calling the cops worked for you when you have had to deal with a home invasion, robbery, attack, etc? I just mentioned this in another post, but in my case *threatening* to call the cops has helped sometimes. The existence of the police state as a threat did help keep my stalker from going further when he broke into my apartment. But when a person (especially a person in a non-wealthy, majority-nonwhite area) calls the cops, how often do they show up soon enough to be helpful? How often do they confuse the attacker and the victim? How often do they blame the victim and refuse to file a report? How often do they attack or kill the wrong person? How often does their presence escalate things and cause people to panic, causing more violence?

I'm not trying to be a little shit here, I know that the answer is not "100% of the time". Sometimes, in the present world, a person is overpowered and in danger and they have no support network around them and they call the cops and the sirens or the sight of big dudes with guns scares their attacker away. I have, once or twice, witnessed some version of that too. It didn't do anything to get the victim away from their abuser or prevent harm from happening in the long term, but it did cause people to scatter.

Of course the long term abolitionist answer is that we need community networks of support to keep one another safe, to prevent crimes motivated by need, to deescalate conflict, and maybe even to secure justice and safety by scaring abusers and rapists etc off. In the absence of those things formally existing, I think we should all do what we can to build those networks of support in our communities, and thinking about how we can address problems without using the police. I wrote about some examples of that I witnessed and lived through here:

I don't think there are many great options right now if a person is attacked. I know that I minimize my involvement with the police as much as I humanly can. Again, only you can decide for yourself what you believe, what you can do, what you need, what you think is right.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Some Dad!Cod Character Scenario and Appreciation Post

Characters In Mind: Simon "Ghost" Riley, John "Soap" MacTavish, Kyle "Gaz" Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra, Alex Keller, König, Keegan P. Russ, Gary "Roach" Sanderson.

The original creator of the picture, they also have so many works that are used in so many fanfics as well so please credit her. I found her account here on Tumblr (@ave661) and here is the post.

AFAB!Reader and used pronouns are "you"

Apologies if this is a bit too short but;

ꕥ HOPE YOU ENJOY! ꕥ

A/n: I've had a good but also bad week (good thanks to @puff0o0 and other extremely sweet mutuals), it's neutral, I'm not here to rant of any sort but my personal life has not been good. I understand that not everyone will like me but it feels as though everyone hates me, most of those people happen to be at school. Sure I'm not really going to do anything about it because I prefer avoiding conflict but those same people are trying to flip the story around as if I'm the one who hates them when in reality I don't and by being mean to me they're giving me a reason to dislike them. Sure I'm average academically, sometimes I have difficulty pulling my weight in group works and I'm not outstanding in reportings but we all have our difficulties. I just don't understand people who love to hate on others because they have nothing better to do.

This is a word of advice to everyone, don't let others let you feel insignificant, you aren't and you have many talents that make you different from them. (I don't really practice what I preach because I love self-deprication, however I don't want people to feel the way I do because I know what it can cause)

Disclaimers/warnings: OOC??, Pregnancy, Implied birth, Children (Pretty sure that was obvious from the title), People who don't want/hate children be warned.

Short note: This is also a dedication to all the Mistki and Hozier fans out there <3

He was so used to the smell of hospitals, the smell of medication, it always indicated death for him but this was a whole new feeling. It was the opposite of what he has seen most of his life

So much so that he refused to hold them, afraid of potentially hurting the fragile little one. He looked at you as if you were crazy when you tried to hand him the baby, "Come on now love, you can't just avoid holding them forever" you said to him as of it was a life or death situation.

Hesitantly letting you guide him through the proper way to hold them, he felt his breath hitch at the sound of cooing. The first time the baby opened it's eyes, the first thing they saw being their dad.

The moment he looked at the baby sealed it, he was going to protect them their whole life, he would go as far as feeling all the guilt of having blood on their hands again if it meant your baby would be protected and cared for.

The baby was so small that it's little head was practically the size of his palm, he didn't know initially what to do when the baby cried and shocked himself when he managed to make them stop.

Once the baby was old enough to crawl, he'd let the baby crawl all over him. The little one babbling non-sense while he just chuckled and replied as if he understood what the baby was saying. Gods be damned if he misses an important milestone such as their first word or their first time walking.

You'd often wake up to seeing him shirtless snoozing on the couch, the tv playing only ads for home appliances late at night while the baby only in a diaper having skin to skin contact with their dad, his huge hand big enough to support the little one from falling.

He almost cried the first time your baby reached for his face an touched it, resting it's tiny little fingers on his cheek, giving him a gummy smile. His little one unaware that they just healed something they never broke.

He NEVER wants to ever see your little one grow up, though sure it makes more memories with them, sometimes they just wish time stops for a second so they can enjoy the moment longer.

Initially was terrified that he'd pass his trauma down but he realized that wouldn't be possible and he will NOT ever let them go through what he did.

Eventually chose to resign from his work because the risk was far too much, what if he died? He'd leave you and your child to grieve over him? He won't be there for them growing up and he'd miss everything.

Sure he's worked most his life to get where he is now but nothing is ever worth more than spending a lifetime with you and your child together. He's been lonely almost all his life until he met you.

You are his family, his everything. He promised that whatever happens, he'll crawl home to you...

[sayruq]

Hamas propaganda is so much more effective than Israeli propaganda despite not having the support of seemingly every western news organisation. It's simple, clear, cohesive, easy to understand, and therefore believable.

For example, Hamas will film themselves handing over healthy looking hostages to the Red Cross and then interact with them right before they leave to show how friendly the captors and captives have gotten. You watch the videos and you understand everything that is being conveyed immediately.

And it worked. Even the people in my life, who aren't watching the conflict as closely as we have, have seen these images and have spoken in varying levels of surprise at how 'nice' and 'hospitable' Hamas was to the hostages. Keep in mind that these videos came out after weeks of billions of people witnessing the brutal and systemic murder of Palestinian people. The contrasting gentleness of the hostage exchange stood out greatly.

Israeli propaganda is chaotic, it conflicts itself, it's complicated. Look at this for example

In order to explain why the hostages were so friendly with their captors, first, it was because the hostages had Stockholm Syndrom. Naturally, social media, their second greatest enemy, was awash with people refuting the existence of such a syndrome. So, it became that the hostages were actually being held at gun point. While, there were guns present during the hostage handovers, no one was pointing them at hostages in the videos that we all have available. No one was being hostile either. Now, we have the sedative explanation which again can be easily refuted by the videos we all have access to because the hostages didnt seem particularly drowsy. So, we have hostages with Stockholm Syndrome, who had guns pointed at them, and who were sedated. That's just too much. How can Stockholm Syndrome coexist with being held at gun point in front of the Red Cross? Why would they need to threaten the hostages if they're sedated? Which explanation can the average zionist go with? Which one can a neutral party accept?

The same goes for the war propaganda. On one hand you have American officials insisting that Israel would never harm Palestinian civilians on purpose but on the other hand, you have soldiers filming themselves shooting recklessly and with wild abandon into thin air with the implication being that they're battling off screen Hamas. You also have Israel insisting that hospitals, schools and refugee camps are secret Hamas bases but all we are seeing is civilians getting murdered in protected areas. When it comes to war reports, they can't decide if they've killed 1,000 or 5,000 Hamas fighters. No wonder even Israeli commentators have given up on the promise of the complete eradication of Hamas.

The Palestinian resistance have also released war propaganda. Simple, well edited videos showing their fighters actually battling Israeli soldiers and tanks, sometimes very up close. The videos are similar despite featuring different confrontations in the battlefield over a period of time. It's easy for anyone to spot an Al Qassam or Al Quds video. It's even easier to accept their daily war reports because we've seen them back up their claims. The numbers they give are consistent with their capabilities as well as various indicators such as Israel being forced to decommission their older tanks for the war in Gaza. Would they be doing that if they weren't losing their top line tanks fast?

Many zionists have spent the past 2 months confused as to why the whole world has seemingly turned against Israel. I'd point the finger at Israel if I were them, both due to its actions in Gaza and its inability to continue fooling the world.

[whowrotethenote]

Warnings // Suggestions and talk of smut // Talk of murder, violence, genocide, rape, sexual abuse & sexual assault // Profanity // Slight grieving // Angst

Word Count // 5.8k

Inspo // No real inspo. It was just something about Roman in a cage that did something to me. And I rewatched Presumed Innocent on Apple TV and got in my detective bag lol.

A/N // I tried to not to be too graphic as I know a lot of people can’t stomach certain things. If you can watch an episode of Criminal Minds or Law & Order, then you should be good. Happy reading bitches!💗

Chapter Two // Disclaimer // The Tribal Killer Masterlist // Roman Reigns Masterlist // Join My Taglist // Main Masterlist

“We’re gonna be right here the whole time. Listening to everything." Juno's direct supervisor and mentor, District Attorney Leah Williams, assured her nodding toward the numerous screens beside them. All with different angles of him. He hung from the top of the cage's bars, doing pull-ups from what she could see. She quickly averted her eyes back to Williams, not wanting to fixate on him too long. It was pointless as she was minutes away from being in the room with him face to face.

"Okay."

Williams rested loving hands on both of Juno's arms like a mother sending her child off on the first day of school would. Her eyes went big to make sure her apprentice heard and digested every word. "Its gonna seem like you're alone, but we're right here."

“I know,” Juno matched her head movements, nodding.

“He makes you uncomfortable—if he tries anything, you pull the plug. You understand?”

“This isn’t her first rodeo, Williams.” Both women smiled at one another. “I hand picked her myself,” Hunter Blanch, the Attorney General vouched for her. “She’s ready.” He threw a wink her way and her smile deepened. 

Her mission was simple. Get him to confess. To trip up at the very least. And if he didn’t? If he gave her just one reason to believe he was innocent? She was going to do what Juno always did. Follow her heart.

She’d have to make the impossible decision of whether or not she would represent him. Being the newest and youngest to join the Oakland County Prosecuting Attorney’s office, the answer should’ve been clear. Hell no.

Not only is it a conflict of interest, given her current role as an Assistant District Attorney, supposed to be representing the state; but she also didn’t know in her heart if she was even capable of defending the opposition.

Fresh out of law school two years ago, after getting eaten alive in the courtroom on one of her first cases as a Defense Attorney, she vowed to never switch teams again. It scared her right into working for the government, where she deemed it safe. But safe was just so unfulfilling.

And with this particular case and this particular suspect, she already knew. It was suicide. She couldn’t afford for her fresh career, working with the government now, to take such a hit. They’d lose. Get blown out. Her career would be over before it even started and no one would take the young, black, female attorney seriously ever again.

On the off chance that they did win, with all the attention the case has already gained, she’d be branded a legend at just twenty-eight. Her mind rewound back to just minutes ago, walking up the steps of the holding facility, trying to finesse her way through the crowd of reporters and protesters alike. National and local news stations with cameras and microphones shoved in her face. Blanch gave a brief statement.

“The Oakland County detectives have been more than diligent in finding the monster who’s responsible for the death of nineteen young women, right here in Michigan. The DA’s Office plans on doing the rest. Thank you, everyone.”

Juno fantasized about what it would look like to defend him. They’d talk about this case for years to come. Like the OJ trial. Casey Anthony. They already seen her face and knew her name. Juno Accardi. The young apprentice going in to slay the beast. But what if she was the young apprentice going in to tame it? Free it?

It was a textbook serial killer case. He was the perfect suspect. Roman Anoa'i. Thirty-eight year old, semi-truck driver, who grew up right in the heart of the area where the murders took place. He knew the area. He knew most of the girls. Even grew up with some of them.

Never married. No kids. Lived a very isolated life. Spent most of his days on the road. Routine deliveries in and out of the city, across other midwestern states, and more importantly in and out of the Isabella Reservation, where all of the victims lived or were from.

Elise White. She was the first victim found over half a year ago. A Saginaw Chippewa tribe member who was born and raised on the Reservation, Sheriffs found her body on the side of I-75 after an anonymous tip. She was completely naked, covered in her own blood, and her silhouette was outlined with red orchids. Almost like the kind that you’d find on a Lei. She was stabbed over ten times and the coroner found evidence of sexual assault occurring before and after her death.

Nineteen. That’s the number of girls he did this to. They were almost always the same. Indigenous from the Reservation, unmarried, and anywhere between the ages of nineteen to thirty-seven. The Tribal Killer. That’s the name the public had branded him before he was even caught.

It took a while for the detectives to connect the dots, but they did. He was almost always alone, so he never had a solid alibi. He already had a record. The semi-truck was the perfect location to spend time alone with the victims. He fit the description of the anonymous man that everyone recalled seeing a number of the victims with. And the things the detectives found while raiding his home and truck, sealed the deal. He was guilty before they ever even considered him innocent.

It was an easy win for the state. So, Williams handed it down to Juno, hoping to help get her feet wet and make her mark. But a young and ambitious Juno saw it differently.

The night before, Juno stayed up almost until she saw the sun. Switching between a mug of black coffee and a glass of white wine. Files on top of files decorated her living room floor, the coffee table, her kitchen table and even some on the couch. All with the most minute, dark, gory and salacious details of the entire case from the very beginning. Victim one all the way to victim nineteen.

She read all of it. Once—twice—five more times, until it was burned into her memory like a fraternity member getting branded. Pictures of the victims pale-faced, naked and bloody all over her small high-rise. ME reports telling horror stories of the murders.

She didn’t know why, but she could feel it. She could feel them. All the women he killed. She dreamed about them. Saw each and every one of their faces clearly. Heard their voices. In some way it was like they were asking her to solve the case. Almost as if they were telling her that they had the wrong guy.

Williams always did warn her. She said every lawyer would get that one case. The one that would stick with them. The one that would make or break their career. They’d obsess over it. It would consume them. That’s exactly what was happening.

Juno could feel it in her bones. Whatever decision she made next would change the entire course of her life. For better or worse, was still unclear.

She hadn’t informed her colleagues, and especially not Williams her mentor, of the decision she dangled in her mind. She’d talk her out of it. Her position in the office would be in limbo for sure. No one likes a turncoat. Even the government and sleazy politicians despise that.

"Ma'am we ask that you stay at least six feet from the cage at all times. He shouldn’t be in the possession of any items, but in the unusual case that he is, we ask that you do not accept any items from him, nor offer any to him…" The armed guard recited like a robot. Juno zoned out after a while. She had heard all of these warnings before while visiting suspects. None like him, though. She didn’t know exactly how, but she could feel that he was different from the others.

After his speech the guard unlocked the steel door, but didn’t open it yet. Juno closed her eyes and breathed deep. In through her nose, out through her mouth. "Breathe, Ju," she coached herself. "He's just a man."

When she opened her eyes, the guard looked at her expectantly. She nodded, giving him the okay to open the door. Walking through it, the heels of her black stilettos echoed on the dark epoxy coated concrete like bombs.

The room was cold and black. So dark she couldn’t see how wide or far back it stretched, but every echo of her steps let her know she'd have serious ground to cover if she had to get out fast.

All she could see was him. A single light casted over the steel cage they had him confined in. The heavy door she came in slammed shut, causing her to jump and stop in place. Checking behind her for the guard was no use. She couldn’t see shit. She waited for the dramatic music of a horror film when the white blonde called out, "who's there?" It was fitting. But all she got back was the sound of her own heartbeat.

The man in the cage was unaffected. His rhythmic grunts continued as he pulled himself up and down from the bars atop of the cage. His tanned upper body shone from sweat, as it was uncovered, leaving his orange jumper falling around his waist. The entire left side of his body was burdened with the dark ink of tribal tattoos.

Juno pressed her mouth shut when it went agape watching the muscles in his back dance every time he pulled himself up. She took the last step to the cage that she felt she needed to, then took an extra step back to account for the six feet. On cue, he let go of the bars and landed on his feet with a slight thud.

A man his size looked unnatural behind bars. He was built like a superhero that could bend the bars to his will and escape if he wanted to. His muscles had muscles. Veins thick, protruding from his hands to his neck. His left hand shook and his towering frame turned in her direction, making her forget to breathe for a second.

He looked much different than the pictures the news had showcased for the past two weeks. His hair wasn’t as long, it was now shoulder length. His beard no longer clean cut, but thicker, untamed and scruffier. Still, it was like seeing the inside of the Vatican for the first time. He was beautiful. Almost in an ancient and haunting way.

“When they said they were sending in an attorney from the state,” he poked his plump lips out while shaking his head. The damp curls moving with him. “You are not what I had in mind, baby.”

He used the dangling sleeve of his jumper to wipe off his forehead and large hands. "I was thinking more like a man with a bald spot in a too big suit. Much like that piece of shit who came in here yesterday and said he would defend me."

His voice was hypnotizing. It was rough and somehow soothing. He was just above a whisper and still commanding. Juno hadn't realized how long she was watching his mouth until she saw his top lip curl into a smirk.

"Huh?" She asked, not even knowing if he said something else.

The light chuckle that left him, made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. "What is your name?"

"…Juno… Juno Accardi."

"Italian?"

"My father is, yes."

It was unnatural the way he disarmed her that quickly. Just a minute ago she was planning an emergency escape route and suddenly he finessed her name and heritage in under thirty seconds. She snapped upright, reminding herself of not just the circumstance, but just how charismatic and charming serial killers could be.

She squatted to drop the briefcase she forgot she held at her feet. She could feel his eyes sticking to her with every move as she pulled out the file that had all the most recent details of the upcoming trial and stood back at full height. Flicking through the papers, she gave herself a silent pep talk. It was showtime.

“Are you aware that they’re fighting to give you the needle?” He nodded. “So, then you know the severity of this case?”

“I’on really understand what all the fuss is about.” He crossed his muscular arms over his massive pecks, leaning a broad shoulder to the cage’s steel bars. “Now all of a sudden they care what happens to the indigenous? Just a few centuries ago a whole group of them came and did the same things. Raped and pillaged an entire culture.”

“Are you saying you chose Native women because you knew you’d get away with it? That no one would be looking for them anyway?”

He chucked to himself dodging her first attempt of an accusative left hook. “No, baby. I’m saying whoever did, knew no one would give a shit really. That they’d be able to get a few down before it ever caught any traction. Imagine their surprise when they see their work on CNN. Whole world in a frenzy about a bunch of indigenous women raped and murdered, when that’s always been the case. Fucking America.”

“You seem very passionate about the topic. Genocide.”

“I just pay attention, is all.”

“Attention to detail is a shared trait amongst most serial killers."

He laughed out loud this time. “Where’d you learn that, huh? That fancy law school teach you that? Oh no, wait. Maybe that expensive historically black college?”

His revelation of where she spent nearly five years studying criminology shook her. She kept her slim face unmoved as best she could. Still, an unspoken dance of cat and mouse lingered between them. He was limited to the bars of the cage, but it couldn’t be more obvious who was in control. Her thoughts were loud to him. He could see the exact moment he knocked her off her square.

“Like I said. I just pay attention.” He gestured his head slightly down and shot eyes to her briefcase that laid on the floor by her feet. The dainty HU’19 charm hung on the side. A gift from her mother who was also Howard alumna. She’s had the briefcase for years now. Latched the charm on the hook of the strap proudly. Still, she forgot most days that it existed there.

"So," he continued placing two large hands out on the bars in front of him. "You're the pretty bitch that’s gonna prove to everyone that I killed those girls." She wasn’t sure if it was a question or a statement. "The one that’s gonna get me killed." Juno didn’t even flinch at the name she was called. She had heard far worse in her line of work.

"Actually…" She licked her lips that somehow became dry. "I wanna help you."

Blanch crossed his arms, locking eyes with Williams. The lead detective on the case, Rich Wheatley, squinted at the screens before him. "What is she doing?" Wheatley asked them.

“Easy, boys. She’s just building rapport. Trust tactic,” Williams assured Blanch and the officers watching the screens with her as the energy in the room became uneasy. Although, in her mind she feared the young girl had gone rogue. She was always too ambitious for her own good. She silently prayed that all her guidance and wisdom was enough to steer her in what she saw as the right track. She had handed Juno, a fellow black woman in a white, male-dominated field, the perfect opportunity. She had no idea Juno had plans to fumble it.

Roman raised a thick eyebrow. Juno tried her best not to stare at the distracting, protruding veins on his arms, still visible from his workout. "That’s not why they sent you in here."

She shook her head. "No. No its not. But I'm doing it anyway."

“You don’t think I did it.” He stated more than inquired, like he already knew the answer.

“I don’t think you’re entirely guilty. But I also don’t think you’re innocent either.” Something between a scoff and a chuckle left him.

“I like you Juno.” He spoke her name like he knew her all his life. His darks eyes lazily scanned her entire silhouette, eliciting goosebumps to form on her skin.  She silently thanked her past self for choosing the long-sleeved button up. He wasn’t hiding the deliberate hard stop on her semi-exposed breast. A thick tongue snaked out to lick his pink bottom lip. “You’re the exact type I would go for…”

“Go for?” Her brows pinched together.

“To fuck,” he clarified. Her heartbeat quickened. “Late night at a bar. Young, ambitious, studious woman unsure of herself, that likes to bite off more than she can chew.” He set the scene for her and every word he spoke had her hanging off the edge of her seat, ready to lean into the steel bars. There was underlying sex appeal in every word he spoke. Everything about him was erotic. “Your line of work gets pretty hectic. Long days and long nights. Probably in there just trying to let a load off. I’d come up and offer you a better way to relieve the tension.”

Juno couldn’t help but to visualize the picture he painted of them. "I wouldn’t take you to my house. Nah, I wouldn’t be able to wait that long for it. I'd buss it down right in the parking lot. Bend you over on the side of the building." Williams shook her head as she fought the urge to pull the plug herself.

“You have a very nice face. Big eyes. Naturally pouty lips,” he told her before biting on his own. “I'd have to turn you around just to watch it. Wouldn’t wanna pull out but I would. Finish right on that pretty face.”

Juno swallowed the lump in her throat and nearly choked from it being so dry. Such vile words surely shouldn’t have aroused her. But no client had ever elicited these kinds of emotions from her. A murderer. It was forbidden territory.

In school she’d read about girls falling for these kinds of men. Writing them love letters as they rotted in a dirty cell. Showing up to trial in skimpy clothing to get the accused’s attention. Bundy had a whole fan club. An eighty year old Manson got married while incarcerated for some of the most heinous crimes America has seen. Women can be very strange. The things they become attracted to can change the entire course of their life and alter their psyche.

Although eliciting an most foreign feeling, Roman’s words were not foreign to her ears. She’s heard worse. Clients getting frustrated and threatening her. A prisoner she visited to conduct research having a manic episode, giving her a play by play of how they would slit her throat and then have their way with her dead body.

Ignoring the friction of her now stiff nipples on the fabric of her lace bra, she cleared her throat before speaking up again. “Is that how you got Laura Bernard?” Victim number eleven. A young single mother left her only son with her sister to go out to a bar for a drink and never came back. A week later her body was found stabbed multiple times with evidence of sexual assault. Her silhouette outlined with red orchids. Just like the ten unlucky victims before her.

The bartender and other patrons in attendance recalled seeing her talking with a large man. Not pale enough to be Caucasian, they said. They were seen leaving together. No one could remember the mystery man’s face or any other distinct details about him. The eyewitnesses were unreliable anyway. They had all been intoxicated the night of the incident.

The significance of Laura Bernard to Roman? He admitted to the officers that brought him in, that he had slept with Laura before. Just not the night of the murder. And still, he was not budging on the declaration that he did not kill her.

Juno studied his every move, waiting for a sign or some type of reaction from hearing the victim’s name. But there was no glint in his eye from reliving the murder. No twitch of his eyebrow. No rubbing of the hands. Not even that devilish smirk showed itself. Nothing.

“I’ve told the story before.” His head shook, already growing bored of reciting the same confessions. The same monologue. It was rehearsed at this point. “I met Laura at a gas station. I was making a stop to fill the semi up. She was looking for a ride into the city. I gave it to her. Told her it was free of charge. Still, she offered to give it up. I’m a grown ass man so I took it.”

“And Alyssa Haskie?” Juno pushed. Victim number eight. Nineteen year old college student home for the holidays. Went out for a late night jog and never made it home. Same fate as the others. Stabbed repeatedly with signs of sexual assault before time of death and postmortem. Corpse decorated with red flowers.

“That little bitch lied to me about her age. I don’t fuck girls who's age ends in teen. I prefer grown women.” He looked down with just his sly eyes. “The ones that wear stilettos to work.”

She shook her head, trying to stay on the road she set out, even with his constant veering.

“You knew seven of the nineteen victims. Admitted to sleeping with at least five of them. You do understand why you are the number one suspect, right?”

“The reservation is small. I come in and out all the time to deliver them shit from the city. And yes, I like to have a little bit of fun when I'm not on the clock. I get around. Is that a crime, Juno?”

“Depends. You like to have this fun before or after they take their last breath?” He ran a hand down his thick beard.

“That’s a question I'm not answering. Besides, I read that the killer does both.”

Juno crossed her arms. “You seem to know a lot about the crimes you didn’t commit.”

“Now why would I not read up on the monster y'all are accusing me to be? I’m in here all day. Nothing to do. Nowhere to go. It makes the time go faster.”

Juno’s eyes bounced around the floor and her pointed heels, thinking of another angle. For every question, he had a reasonable answer. Every jab she attempted, he blocked it. He was a tough one.

“Elise White. She was your first?” Victim number one.

“I don’t know what you’re getting at when you say first.”

“Girlfriend.” She switched after he blocked another accusative jab.

“Yeah. She was." He confirmed. "My father worked with some of the sheriffs on the reservation. I spent my junior and senior year of high school living there. Going to school there. Its where we met.”

Juno nodded already knowing the story. The first victim is almost always emotionally motivated. There’s usually history there. Most times it’ll be the key to solving the entire case.

“Why’d you two split?”

A deep chuckle carried in the spacious room. He ran his long fingers through his wild beard. “You really wanna know?”

“I’m asking aren’t I?”

“…She had a lousy sex drive.” Juno sighed deeply. “I wanted to fuck everyday. Sometimes multiple times in a day. She didn’t. We broke up.” He shrugged. “Probably should’ve kept her around though. Elise was smart. Resourceful. Cooked her ass off. Would’ve made a decent wife. Shame.” As his head shook he developed a genuine look of solemn. Mourning almost. Brows pinched and jaw tight, he looked down at his feet for the first time.

“The agents that brought you in, they searched your truck and your home. Found some very interesting things.” Roman’s head cocked to the side, tapping his slender fingers on the bars, seeming almost anxious for her to recite the items recovered. “Handcuffs. Rope. Chains. Gags…” Juno pressed her lips together, not wanting to continue.

“Go on, baby. What else did they find?”

Juno’s mouth opened then closed. Flashes of the evidence photographed swarmed her mind. She imagined him sniffing them, holding them tight in his large hands, and even biting them. “…Women’s underwear. Over a hundred pairs.” It made her sick to her stomach, that every pair could've represented a victim.

“What color panties are you wearing, Juno?” He questioned in almost a whisper.

Her name rolling off his deviant tongue was the most erotic thing she had ever heard with her own ears.

Juno shifted her weight to the other leg. She was sure he could hear her heartbeat. It thrummed through her ears as her face grew hot. She's never been more grateful for her mother’s genes supplying her with Hershey colored skin.

“You seem like the type to not even wear any,” he continued. He sucked in a sharp breath and groaned with closed eyes. “Mmm.” He practically growled.

“We’re getting off topic.”

“I like that. Easy access,” he ignored her. ”But I have a thing for the lace ones. Red. My favorite color.”

“Like the flowers you left around your victims?” She countered.

His tongue rested outside of his mouth, toying with the hairs of his mustache. "Nah," he finally answered.

Still nothing. Unfazed. Stoic. No daze of daydreaming about the acts he committed. No emotion other than pure arrogance. So, she pulled her last trick out of the hat.

“Where were you on the night of March twentieth?”

Silence covered the room like a blanket. She was going for the big knockout. Victim number nineteen. The reason they had enough for a warrant. The reason where he laid his head was raided by dozens of heavily armed agents. 

Even if by some ridiculous miracle, he didn’t lay a menacing hand on none of the other victims, she was sure he had something to do with her death. Naomi Nodin.

“You know where I was.” His dark eyes told a thousand stories. It seems her thoughts weren’t the only ones that were loud now.

Their eyes danced in a silent battle. He wasn’t going to offer more than she asked for. She had to press him.

“Neighbors said they heard screaming. Two people yelling in a jealous rage. Loud noises. Glass even.”

“That’s a big swing you attempting at, baby. You sure you’re ready for that?” He squinted.

“When the police arrived, there was no glass. No mess. No signs of struggle. Whoever killed her, knew her. She let them in. She wasn’t afraid.” He slid his interlocked fingers back and forth between each other, breaking eye contact.

She had something. His entire disposition changed. Naomi meant something. Either that or the that night was just traumatizing for him. She understood. A woman he was intimate with, dead just minutes after seeing her. Guilty or not, over a dozen armed detectives busting down your front door and dragging you out of bed at two in the morning could shake anyone.

“I can’t help you if you’re not honest with me.”

Against her own will, the pictures taken of Naomi's lifeless face flashed in her mind. Her breath picked up and her eyes began to sting.

“Uh oh,” he teased. “What was that?”

“What was what?” She blinked rapidly as her nose flared.

“That,” he nodded in her direction. ”Did you? You knew her?"

Juno opted for silence, leaving him to form his own conclusions. The little voice in her head, screamed for her not to do this, but her heart was telling her otherwise.

“She told me about a man she was seeing. Slightly older. A truck driver. Not her usual type. No, she usually went for the big fish. Lawyers—doctors—politicians that preferred exotic women. And not even a week later…she's murdered, right on her kitchen floor."

Williams inspected the girl, watching everything play out from a TV screen. She was unaware that her young apprentice Juno knew the latest victim. She would’ve never gotten the case otherwise. Conflict of interest. Maybe she was deceiving him on purpose? Trying to make it more personal to get him to slip up? She threw up two hands to let an even more perplexed Blanch know she didn’t know what was going on.

"You told the detectives you two were dating?"

"That’s right."

"Were you aware that you weren't the only man she was dating?"

He flashed a daunting smile. "That doesn’t mean anything to me."

"So, that’s not why you two were arguing that night? You didn’t go there to confront her about sleeping around with other men? Better men?" Juno knew she was prancing in dangerous territory. Men like Roman didn’t do well with inferiority. He only laughed lowly to himself, shaking his head. "Just tell me the truth," she encouraged.

"I did not kill her," was his only response.

"You snapped. You didn’t realize what you did. You didn't mean for it to go that far." He shook his head and ran two large palms over and down his silky curls. "You were the last person to see her alive. Your fingerprints all over her-- the kitchen. Your DNA, left inside of her…"

His mouth twitched like he was fighting the urge to grin. It didn’t matter that he didn’t, because his brown eyes smiled for him.

“I didn’t kill Naomi…”

“Then you know who did.”

“Nope. Don’t know that either babygirl. Once y’all find them though, go ‘head and thank them for me?”

“You were the last person to see her alive,” she restated ignoring his tasteless banter. She wasn’t amused. She thought she knew everything walking in here, but he’s twisted her brain like a pretzel now. Playing mind games. Showing her different routes, opening doors she hadn’t seen before.

“The last known person to see her alive.”

“The camera caught you leaving her house at exactly 12:06 a.m. on the ten second mark. Her estimated time of death was 12:07 a.m. Around the same time the neighbors said they heard her dog barking.” She recited the details of the case like a preacher would the Bible. “If someone did come in through a window or the back, that leaves only a seventy second or so window for the murder to take place.”

Roman shrugged. “Well, how long does it take to stab a person to death and throw a bunch of flowers around them? Not impossible.”

The silence was long and eerie. At least for Roman. He squinted at the woman on the other side of the bars. Her thoughts were loud before and her anxiety draped around her like a shawl. Not now though. Something shifted. She wasn’t looking at him. Anyone watching would think so, but he could see that she was looking through him, her mind racing about something else. Her wheels spinning.

He didn’t know it, but his last words had just made Juno’s decision for her.

“Of course,” she finally responded with no inflation in her voice. 

Bending at her knees she picked up the briefcase to shove the folder back into it. Face contorted, he eyed her the whole time as she packed up and turned on her high heels.

“Well?” She stopped and only turned her head hearing his authoritative voice. “You taking the case or what?”

She hesitated. Williams and Blanch were already on their way down to meet her on the other side of the steel door. She sucked in a deep breath, preparing herself for all the dominoes ready to fall.

"Yes. Yes, I am."

Juno's adrenaline kicked up full speed at her own words. It was for real now. She came in as the rookie attorney they used as bait, and she was leaving out as something else. It was a rebirth of some sort.

Walking with the guard down the hallway, she could see them at the other end, like an army coming full speed to obliterate their open enemy. She hadn't prepared for this. She didn’t think she would've made it this far.

Blanch and Williams marched to her, escorted by several guards. She tried her best not to cower at the heavy stares. Williams in particular beamed daggers at her like a mother who just left the parent-teacher conference and couldn’t wait to dig in her kid's ass.

"What the hell happened in there?" Williams questioned fiercely, not even waiting until she fully reached Juno.

Juno's big eyes shot straight to Blanch. "I quit," she declared boldly.

"You what?" Willams laughed incredulously.

"I quit," she repeated, this time to her mentor. "I'm picking up his case." Juno knew she owed at least Williams a better explanation than that, but she couldn’t find one that didn’t sound rooted in personal gain or pure naivety. It wouldn’t matter anyhow. She took a step to get past them, but Williams planted a firm hand on the wall blocking her path.

"Are you absolutely insane right now?"

"He didn’t do it."

Blanch let out a snort. "And exactly what the hell did he say in there, to make you think he's innocent?"

"We never released to the public that Naomi wasn’t stabbed like the rest of them. The only people that know she was really strangled to death are us, the detectives, the coroner, the crime scene people and the killer." She looked between the two prosecutors who she revered deeply, but would have to go against. "If he was the killer, he'd know that." Juno ducked under William's arm, making a swift exit.

"Juno!" Williams called with remarkable bass. She halted in place but didn’t turn back around to face her. "You are making a big mistake. Think about what you are doing."

Well-behaved women rarely make history. Those were the words her mother recited to her on the day of her graduation. Juno was not like other women. Something she picked up about herself since she was younger.

While other girls were fussing and stressing over trivial, insignificant matters like marriage, when they would have kids, or if they should lose ten pounds before summer, Juno woke up with thoughts of getting ahead of the pack. She wasn’t like other women and she had no desire to be. She always felt her calling was much bigger than just fitting in and falling in line. So, she made the decision right then and there to walk a different path.

"I'll pick up my things tomorrow." And with that she strutted down the rest of the hall on her way to make history. 

A/N // This was my first time writing something like this. Lmk if y’all liked it or if it even makes sense😂 I kinda like these characters…wouldn't mind writing about them again.

Also, the verdict is in lol. I'm already working on a part 2 and possibly part 3 for Biggest Fan. And I want to thank anyone who reached out after I had a mild crash out a couple days ago lol thank you for all the kind and encouraging words🫶🏽

If you read this or even a portion, I am extremely grateful. As always feedback is welcomed💗

୨⎯ 🌹 taglist 🌹 ⎯୧: @raya-hunter01 @trippinsorrows @minsingular @luvrsluxe @vynaissance