#that’s a challenge but it’s important for me to try

[seewetter]

Absolutely.

Although there's many things happening in parallel:

well-meaning people (not just cis feminists) focusing on psychology when that's inappropriate (often at the expense of considering the wider social context) or undervaluing community building and mobilization

well-meaning people focusing only on who is targeted not because they value reverse engineering bigoted psychology ... but because they are fixated on some groups over others

well-meaning people focusing only on who is affected for reasons similar to those mentioned above

Like recently a post went around trying to completely sideline trans women (and I mean sideline) from recent legislative issues targetting the "protection of women" from "woke gender ideology" and instead center intersex people because the definitions put forth by that legislation would legally define intersex people out of existence.

Now I understand and appreciate that existential risk that results from a formalized legal erasure of intersex people's biological existence. I really appreciate why people want to make intersex people a central issue when discussing this legislation. But they can't just become the central issue, the only thing under discussion, when the law also existentially threatens the entire queer community, especially the trans community and is aimed at trans people and specifically leverages anxieties about women's safety from trans women in order to make the entire law sound coherent, reasonable and socially acceptable.

Like I'll always try and make time for anyone's existential concerns, whether they are affected or targeted!

But as I explained in response to the intersex (and perisex trans) people who felt that intersex people were the singular central issue, this leads to a political strategy in which a group of innocents (in this case intersex people) get affected by a policy not aimed at them -- and I find it comparable to a few years ago, where DREAMers (children of undocumented immigrants) were the innocents, rather than undocumented immigrants themselves. Pulling on heartstrings and making a big deal out of this particular innocently victimized group led to bipartisan support for the DREAMers...which eventually fizzled out as public attention waned. So DREAMers never became a wedge issue to challenge how legal status is defined (or to abolish it altogether) and instead, DREAMers suffering (they lose their parents who are deported, it's genuinely horrible, especially for a child) just became a distraction from the important opposition that people need to give to the rhetoric and declared values of their opponents!

Like if someone is stirring up a moral panic and basing it on talk about "defending women" (not defending men, defending women) and the moral panic leads to policy that violates human rights and freedoms, what do we gain strategically from talking not about the casual inhumanity of this alleged "defense of women", about the monstrosities it inflicts on its intended targets, but instead only focus our attention of unintended targets who may be severely affected (in some cases more severely affected). Like that just sounds like a rightward shift to me, an abandonment of universal human rights as a guiding principle, if that makes sense? Like we can intellectually wax poetic about how we value human rights, but if we manage crises where we could help all affected people but instead we use the concept of "affectedness" to only help people who are especially affected...I find that cowardly and short-sighted. Or even if only an unrelated group were affected, I think it matters that the intended victim may have escaped victimization only because of luck ... that the intended target of inhuman policymaking is relevant precisely because that's who is in the crosshairs. Like I do believe who is being targeted and hunted for sport might have a lot of predictive value and allow us to allocate certain support structures more effectively than only trying to fix specific damage done, often as a side effect of a different process.

To give a more broad example of this: in the long term, one of the main stumbling blocks for feminism proves to be the financial dependency of homemakers (like housewives) from people who have money (their families, their partners). Given that housework doesn't pay a living wage and enable an independent lifestyle, a lot of people (in particular a lot of men) who earn money are reluctant to switch to full-time housework, meaning that the main breadwinner in many households remains male and the main dependent adult remains a woman. That dependency really entrenches ideas of who men and women "naturally" are and gives rise to the misleading and incorrect intuitive judgment that gender equality has been achieved yet biology makes the sexes different. This is a pretty central structure, yet it also focuses our feminism away from trying to dispel gender stereotypes mainly on tv and in movies... and instead focuses on trying to give people financial independence. And once we think in these financial and resource-centric terms, I think this kind of feminism becomes a kind of witness to large economic forces that shape human lives, thinking about how ableist or classist stereotypes arise from living conditions that drive people toward peak performance or that are the result of a society where classes exist in the first place. (No poverty -- and no one looks down on or mistreats the poor...).

These things aren't psychological, and yet they are political blueprints that help explain why targeting arises to begin with. To be affected by bad things, all it takes is a natural disaster or a mistake. Being affected doesn't confront us with much complexity or challenge. The answer to people affected by flooding...is to help. Being targeted implies various mechanisms, various tools, various relationships, it implies some need for ambitious problem-solving.

That's where these approaches get their strengths and their weaknesses. Talking affected helps us quickly mobilize support. Talking targeted helps us begin to understand what will avert future crises of this type. Both are necessary. The art is to develop enough of a sense of how the targeting works so you can mostly help everyone affected. Once you know how the targeting works, it's less likely you'll misunderstand how the ongoing situation you are in is developing -- those misunderstandings, like the assumption that focusing on DREAMers and building alliances "across the aisle" to start from the worst-affected and work your way up, can be costly.

Like especially in the trans community, the idea that transfeminine people need to "shut up in solidarity" is quite old. Back in 2011 I heard it mostly second-hand. These days I see it everywhere on Tumblr and if we aren't careful it may take over communities IRL (in some places, like certain community conventions, it has already demonstrably done so). And here, the idea of "we are all affected" plays a role. Trans men who find themselves faced with a form of misogyny that is used to both misgender them, closet them and do violence to them are often looking for word that isn't misogyny to describe how they are affected, often trying to mirror a word like "transmisogyny" (transmisandry, isomisogyny, transandrophobia etc. have all been proposed at various points in time). The reason this doesn't lead to much solidarity is that these attempts seem to follow a cycle:

Step 1: Find a word for my suffering / how I am affected

Step 2: (Implicit) be disinterested in why I am not the primary target used to leverage transphobic hate campaigns; refuse to engage existing academic literature on the topic of the long-term plans and psychology of transphobes

Step 3: Construct a worldview in which I am more affected since I experience a form of misogyny blended with transphobia, so I must be the intersectional victim of these two axes of oppression.

Step 4: Disregard what transfeminine people have to say as privileged, disregard suggestions that I read academic literature as manipulation attempts or classism or ableism

Step 5: Develop an overall hostile view of transfeminism (two transfem-centric) and of transfeminine people. Become hostile to rhetoric like tma/tme (I agree this rhetoric is unnecessary and used by insular communities of transfeminine users on Tumblr to be assholes, but obviously it is rhetoric that was developed with a lot of thought, found a place in academic writing for a reason and wholesale vilifying people who use it as oppressors is a bit much)

Step 6: Work to center trans men over trans women, collaborate with TERFs that praise one's assertions of more severe victimhood, allege that transfeminists are playing oppression olympics... while trying to assert that oneself is the ultimate oppressed victim.

The whole crux of transfeminism since Julia Serano's Whipping Girl has been that idea of targetting. I'm not accusing you, dear Tumblr user boreal-sea, of anything here! (I hope you know that -- I appreciate your original post and your response!) But I do not want this to be forgotten. Like the targetting conversation just is pretty central to understanding how people maintain oppressive structures. Without a whipping girl (or an equivalent), patriarchy doesn't know what to do. Anyone who has read Manufacturing Consent can imagine how Islamophobia fits into the manufacturing of ideological consensus. Anyone who engages with Adorno and Horkheimer can imagine how Antisemitism in Nazi Germany was central to the functioning of fascism, just as the figure of Wokeness is fairly central to Republican claims of improving the world rather than making it worse. These are all targets. They are all targets needed to maintain the negative effect. If nationalists can't terrorize their fellow citizens into "shared national values", then they lose the ability to convincingly argue that they belong to a nation. And that means that they lose solidarity, unity, they lose their support to bully other countries and extort wealth from them. That's why nationalists *need* domestic targets, groups of people they can vilify and oppress within their own borders who are considered citizens of equal status to themselves by the state, whose status nationalists seek to remove. Nationalists will opportunistically shift targets to whatever they think they can get away with. If we focus on "who is affected" ...well that may change, within a very short span of time. Had the monkeypox epidemic not been nipped in the bud, the whole queer community could have been a prime target. Had 3rd wave feminism never happened, conservatives in the trans community might have become prominent anti-feminists...prominent enough to make "being transgender" a central "proof" of the evils of feminism and potentially the nationalists would have all been pro-trans, instead of welcoming TERFs into their hateful arms. Like we have to understand what is going on, we have to understand the goals, the plans, the broader context, the broader project and ambitions...otherwise we are just doing temporary damage control.

Does that make sense? Like I think "who is affected" is a really good and valuable question, I just also have seen it (like any idea) been abused. Like I'm just as worried that "who is targeted" becomes an excuse for endless theory and inaction. I just think we need to be careful.

I’m going to try to articulate this in a way that perhaps everyone will understand.

I don’t think it’s helpful to discuss who is “targeted” by any particular policy. I think it’s more helpful to discus who that policy affects.

Abortion bans affect everyone with a uterus.

In the USA, statistically, most people with a uterus are perisex cis women. This means that the majority of people affected by an abortion ban will be perisex cis women.

However

The largest group is not necessarily the demographic most at risk.

I do not say “perisex cis women as a collective” here because I’m an intersectional feminist and I know that no such collective actually exists. Perisex cis women experience a kaleidoscope of intersecting risk factors that can make them more or less vulnerable to reproductive harm.

And taking intersectionality into account, we have to acknowledge that trans and intersex people with uteruses face additional risks when accessing abortion compared to perisex cis women. This may mean certain trans and intersex individuals may have higher risks than some perisex cis women.

Acknowledging this increased risk isn’t ignoring perisex cis women or erasing them from the discussion. It’s just acknowledging the most vulnerable among us.

[takes1]

your needy Kenma smut was SOOO good omfg I was biting my fist reading it!! can i request a needy suna smut?

needy!suna rintarou x reader

hi!! so glad you liked it!! wow this took me so long i'm so sorry! i just could not find a way to write it without it being exactly the same as kenma's!

warnings. heavy nsfw, minors DNI

details. fem!reader / forbidden, established relationship / manager!reader / vocal!suna / whiny!suna / needy!suna / bratty!suna / liiiight mommy kink nobody freak tf out!! / suna has a cute laugh / creampie / raw cuddly sex / 1.9k words

links. my masterlist. more haikyuu. my ao3. my imagines. my request box

"Don't look at me like that, Rin'."

Your fingers were smushing the lower half of his face, angling his head away from you. His head stayed obediently forward at the center court, but those eyes were still piercing through you.

Through his fishy-lips, his words became jumbled together, "'can' helb i'--,"

It wasn't his fault he looked so mean, so critical when he focused in on something.

"I can't help it," He spat, rubbing his jaw.

Suna wasn't careful about his hand placement. The members of Inarizaki knew you had been dating for a time, but Coach Kurosu did not need a reason to question your managerial position.

When you pushed his hand away from your waist, his face scrunched; that mean and bitter look returned, tenfold.

A frustrated, hushed, but not quiet, "I want you."

Though it wasn't an appropriate time, place, or circumstance, it would be lie to say that it wasn't hot. The unique mixture of his assertive, court-like focus and lesser-known bedroom-only begging forced you to cross your arms.

"You-," You glanced around, thankful nobody heard that, "Have a game to focus on."

The attitude he gave was not only unwarranted, but it succeeded in making you less receptive. To you, it was obvious that he was only looking for an out. He was tired and halfway through a challenging match. You couldn't spare to be his partner right now, and he did not like that.

He sucked his teeth, tapped his foot, crossed his arms, worked his jaw, and gave you a sharp sigh, all within five minutes of angry silence.

What a whiny bastard.

You found his struggle almost amusing. At the moment, it was more important to maintain your focus, for the both of you.

Still, it kept you wondering throughout the remainder of the match: What had you possibly done to warrant such a strong response?

Every instance that he had to be around the bench, drinking water, a temporary switch-out, he would send you a deeply dissatisfied glance. You didn't justify it with a reaction. He was being bratty.

Though you were a prude, anti-PDA personality in public, especially around the team-- you were the one to push him back onto the mattress and throw his shirt across the room, once you were back at his place.

"Fuck--mnh!"

That pretty sigh was all he could get out before you were on top of him.

"Start talking," You muttered. Your shirt was off in seconds.

His breathing grew heavy, eyes black with lust at the sight of your pretty skin, his favorite bra he clocked earlier under your shirt- the whole reason his mind got to spinning.

Suna was kept this irritating, calculating, slithery persona up around his friends, and especially during matches, because he learned that it kept him safe. He didn't always like being so on edge. He wanted to trust somebody enough to tell them everything that passed through his mind, to be skin-to-skin and a little weird, because you were comfortable and safe.

Here, under you, after enough love and time, he knew he didn't need to waste energy on appearances.

"I- ah-h, I just wanted you so bad," Was his honest attempt at an explanation.

He sat up to touch you, kiss you, but you kept him to the sheets with a forearm.

"Are you trying to get me kicked out?"

Suna huffed, eyes bouncing from your face, to your confined tits, then back, "What?""

Your legs slid a bit further apart, weight settling better onto his warm lap, "If Coach finds out we're dating, you know I'm gone."

You snapped, just for emphasis, but he flinched, "Like that. In an instant."

He was painfully hard. You could feel him throbbing, even through his combo of athletic shorts and thick sweatpants. Despite the circumstances, you knew he was keen enough to understand that you were a little pissed off about his lack of restraint.

He was in that spot you liked seeing him work through. Struggling, deciding whether to be nice, or snarky.

"You're smarter than that, baby," Was much kinder of a statement in tone, but it tipped him off to be rude, instead.

Those narrowed eyes dripped down to your chest slow, sweet, like honey.

"Why'd you wear that, then?" He felt you stiffen. He placed a hot palm onto your hip to help his well-intentioned venom settle.

You couldn't believe that was his entire problem, summed up in five words.

"Are you really so dirty-minded that you could tell what bra I was wearing? Under my shirt?"

The call-out was meant to return his energy, but he responded in a more secure way than you.

"When it's you, yeah--," He sat up with ease, against your pushing, just to remind you that he could outclass your force if he wanted to. He caught your small frown and he corrected himself, "Yes, ma'am."

You gave a small hum, a low-lidded stare right back at him. He was so hot when he deferred to you.

It warranted a strong, messy kiss- all charged with hours of denial, suggestive glances, and too many minutes of clothed rubbing.

All your clothes came off in a range of easy to difficult, distracted efforts.

Suna lay under you, all flushed and twitchy with anticipation. Your hands flitted down his sensitive, strong sides, his cock crammed between your legs, getting spoiled and slick. Not inside, not just yet.

You loved tickling him just to hear his laugh.

And he'd tolerate anything with you gliding over his dick, like that. Giving him such a good view.

"Shhh-haha-h-ahh!" He bit his lip to keep from giggling, moaning, too much or too loudly.

That look he gave you was enough. All twisted, pleading, intelligent. Like he knew exactly what he said and how he said it, would get you turned on.

His sound was adorable, rare.

It was unrestrained, and light, cute, enough to understand why he kept it behind his hand around his friends. Sounded exactly like something a bunch of guys might make fun of him for.

"Hmm.. Let's cuddle fuck," You pressed a tingly kiss just under his ear.

You knew he was feeling lazy. Your job today wasn't easy, either. You wanted to feel close at the end of a busy day, more than anything.

Suna was warm, and tired, and tacky to the touch but it all added to how badly you wanted each other. It was a demanding match, and getting all upset with each other made it feel that much longer.

Slick, and hot, and easy was the adjustment to him. Nothing to do with his real size- you were just ready, after having to put up an act, as if you were too above all of it.

The panting you had to listen to on the sidelines, watching him miss his mouth with the squeezy bottle, all the sweat and water dripping onto his jersey, it ate at you, corroded the brick walls you put up. Even his frustrated glare was sexy. He couldn't stop looking at you, even with an important task at hand, or when his teammates needed him to focus.

Now he fucked you like your mean -still, justified- rejection was never a problem, like he was savoring you slowly.

"Yes-yes, yesyes," Suna swallowed up your moans in a greedy kiss.

"Mmh- how's that feel--?" You purred.

"So good," A satisfied groan, "Fuck- Got such a perfect pussy."

His hand kept your thigh up, your knee close to your shoulder. He inspired a gasp at how quickly he bottomed out to your teasing.

He stretched you so good, so easily, and kept your trembling steady in his grasp-- but every sound he made was shaky, barely held together, and never masked.

After three months, Suna decided at some point on his own that he could trust you enough to completely let go in the bedroom. Though he naturally gravitated to a more submissive role, he usually said some downright sleazy, vulgar shit to get his kicks.

"A-ha, h-fuc-k, aughh, you feel so good, you--," His breath clipped into a high, closed-mouth whine as he pulled you harder onto the base of his cock, just flexing hard, as deep as he could get.

Your teeth sunk into his pillowcase, fingers filled with plush.

The knowledge that he loved it, but couldn't ever get as deep as he wanted, had your strength waning. Squeezing, bracing, at all the butterflies tired you out.

Although, if it were a competition, Suna had you beat by a mile. The drooling, whiny mess behind you may have had enough to strength to use his body weight to keep you smushed, but you could tell he was sloppier, clumsier, with exhaustion.

He buried his face in your neck.

"I-I'h- needed you so bad," His moan was so light and breathy- like he was swimming on Cloud 9-, "So-h, so... fucking...bad."

Your uncontrollable squirm to get away from the sensation was met with instant crushing. Even if you wanted your thigh back, it would never happen.

"Mh-h-! Rin-," You tried to speak, but he was hitting all your angles just right, so you stopped.

His words were twisting up that knot in your tummy, the trap of his arms a steady, innocent backdrop to how filthy he decided to fuck you.

Slurred mutters, consisting of mostly nonsense syllables and phrases, sometimes bred real messages like, "So hot," "Mommy," "So much," and, "'Can't take it."

His yapping, you thought, may have been a way of making up for how little he spoke, usually. You were generally much quieter than him here, but outside of the bedroom, the opposite remained true. It was cute.

"M'so- close-mh," His groans were short, choked on pleasure, his squeezing desperate and uneven.

The idea of him finishing close, hugging you, just like this, was too hot to let not happen.

You gathered yourself to tell him, "C-um-- Mh, inside, pretty boy."

"F-uck!" That tone completely tipped him over the edge.

Your grin was to yourself, twitchy and genuine, before the feeling of fullness set in.

He was left to fuck out his load as deep inside of you as he could get, "Fuckfu-ck- Ahh-hh-!"

Your nails dragged across his skin- the white hot, pulsing enough to spur a sudden orgasm. Dark lines remained in their wake as your muffled whines filled his ears.

And Suna was nothing if not dedicated. He fucked you as well as he could through your own, whinier, less violent experience. His breath, laden in the resolution of his own, was hot and tingly across your sensitive ear.

You squeezed his arm to stop and he finally let your leg down.

"Hm...sorry," He mumbled into a peck against your cheek, "You okay?"

Sore, and achy, you shared a giggly kiss. He softened naturally and you readjusted to hold each other, warm and soft, with chemical infatuation.

"Mhmm," You stole a longer, slower kiss.

Those pretty eyes watched you, worshipped you, as you rubbed your hand across his jaw.

"Perfect."

☆VIP☆

@integers @paradoxicalwritings @yuchacco

my masterlist. more haikyuu my request box

[creatingblackcharacters]

Hello! I want to participate in the CBC Black History Month Challenge but im a tad bit overwhelmed and not sure where to start with any piece I do

I know you said qoutes but theres so many qoutes i could choose that im a bit stumped

I was considering doing studies of diffrent hair styles or diffrent hair coverings since i haven't practiced those in a while but im not sure if it would count?

I want to get to actual pieces but again way too overwhelmed with choice to

I'm glad you're finding this difficult, because that gives you the opportunity to intentionally work through it to create a good Black character design!

Let's walk through this with everyone, then, since other folks might be on the same page:

1) Think of this project as a gift. Even though the practice is important, it's not about your benefit- it's about what would make Black viewers of your work know that they are valued by this creator, that they aren't just tools of storytelling or an alien species!

2) You don't have to do a whole bunch poorly, when you can do one well. One well done sketch > 1000 racist pieces. You have 27 more days of this challenge (and really, every day after that!) Practice! Recognize that the effort you're putting in is something many creators might not even consider doing! Take the time to find references and work at it- that's part of practicing good Black character design!

You said you want to do a hair study- there are plenty of quotes, poems, and media on the joy and uplift of Black hair. You're gonna have to take your time to read some of them, and find what expresses the way you feel most connected to what you wanna do. I took thirty minutes today to skim through poems. Do you want to deliver something fast, or something genuine? Which leads to my last and important point:

3) What are you trying to say?

I've said it a few times, but you can often tell when someone creates Black characters or designs to satisfy themselves, and not Black viewers. So: what do you want to say to your Black viewers with this piece? What do you want them to walk away with?

Do you want to say that you value the effort that goes into Black hair (thus your effort into practicing?) Find poems or quotes related to the effort and beauty of Black hair. Do you want them to know that you recognize their value in fan media? You can also just say some nice things outright (don't be weird with it, just be respectful).

This is me trying to make y'all practice purposeful intent with Black character design, with the goal of a Black audience. You can do it! It can be done!

[antifainternational]

This month, we're launching the Anti-Fascist Action Of The Month Challenge, where we call on you to take an anti-fascist action! February's challenge: Show Them Where You Stand! Wear an anti-fascist pin, patch, shirt, or hat. Put up an anti-fascist poster or sign. Fly an anti-fascist flag. Do something to show people that you oppose fascism and stand with the people targeted by fascists.

This action may seem small and insignificant, but it does three important things:

It tells fascists and far-right goons that there is opposition in the area, which may be enough to make them think twice about taking action in your community.

It also lets the people in your community who are targets of fascist abuse and violence that they have allies and supporters nearby who will back them up if they need help.

It encourages other people who feel the same way you do to be open, public, and vocal about their opposition to bigotry and fascism.

But Is It Safe? We don’t know you or where you live, so we’re going to trust you to do what you feel comfortable with here. That said, we asked the member of our own collective who is most frequently out around town wearing antifa shirts or hoodies about his experience. Here’s what he said: ”I’m a uhhh how shall I put this? A larger and more substantial looking individual. I’m also white cis/het. It’s not uncommon for people to mistake me for a cop! So it’s possible that my experience wearing antifa gear has been different because people are less likely to try to mess with me. That said, after wearing antifa shirts, hoodies, pins and the like everywhere, I have to say that the number of people/strangers who’ve reacted very positively outnumbers the negative reactions I’ve seen by 10 to 1! I can only think about two or three times I’ve had a negative reaction, and those times it amounted to nothing more than staring at me disapprovingly.”

OK, So Where Do I Get Antifascist Stuff?

You could make your own stuff! If you’re looking for ideas, check out our photo archive for some inspiration!

If you’re less crafty, you might want to buy some antifascist stuff to display. Best place to get stuff is from a group doing antifascist work and selling stuff to fund their work. You’ll find a list of some of those groups here. Our collective have been selling anti-fascist shirts and hoodies and donating the proceeds directly to specific antifascist groups and causes for a few years now - you’ll find our online shop here. The next best place to get stuff is from businesses run by antifascists and/or support antifascist groups to one extent or another. We have some examples of places worth checking out here. The one kind of place we would not recommend buying antifa gear from is for-profit operations that aren’t contributing back to the movement. These compete directly with anti-fascist groups trying to fundraise but pocket all the money they collect. If you’re unsure where the money is going, ask the place you’re considering buying from and then verify with the group(s) they say they donate proceeds to (if they say that they do).

Send Us Photos!

We’d love to see how you took on this month’s antifa action - if you feel safe doing so, please feel free to send us some photos (we don’t need to see your lovely face or other identifying features if you’re shy/security conscious)! Let us know if it’s OK for us to share the photos or if you want us to keep ‘em to ourselves.

What If I Don’t Like This Antifa Action Of The Month? No problem - feel free to skip ahead and choose one of the other 29 actions we came up with! Or go with one of the 40 actions from 40 Ways To Fight Fascists. Or go completely off-book and come up with your own action!

[trippinsorrows]

made for me

authors note: so, the combination of roman's hair and seth's fiendish attack on tribal daddy during the rumble inspired one scene that turned into this. i tried super hard to get it to fit with og ltye, but that wasn't happening. so, it's set in the world of this random au i wrote forever ago.

warnings: fluff, angst

words: 5.4k

It’s not that Roman hates Seth and Punk.

Hardly. 

No, hate is not a strong enough word to describe what he feels toward those two men. Too much history, too much betrayal, too much pain is imbued in the past and connectivity of all three men for Roman to water it down by just calling it hatred.

They haven’t created a word to accurately describe what he feels towards and about them. The visceral emotion that courses through his big, heaving body as he destroys his entire locker room. Chairs turned over, tables smashed against the wall, the same wall that has a decent sized hole following Roman smashing his fist into it.

Same with the door. 

A form of rage burns and rips through him as he lays waste to his room, unable to settle himself and push away the flashes of the interference. Of how he was in the zone, laying blow after blow against his opponent, McIntyre. As expected, Roman was in control, once again proving his prowess in all the areas, his dominance and authority.

All of which was challenged by interference. Fucking Punk and Rollins. 

Roman doesn’t know how they made it past security, but someone will die for such a big fuck up. Because they’d tried, and to some extent, jumped Roman. Calling themselves trying to prove Roman’s mortality, trying to deface the legacy and imprint of the Tribal Chief.

It didn’t work, of course, just like it didn’t last time. But, Roman still got roughed up in the process, sustaining a few injuries he knows are only going to be exacerbated by his violent outburst, but he can’t bring himself to care.

This level of…..fury needs to be released. 

It has to. 

Three, tentative knocks to the door rip Roman from his hateful ruminating while also spiking his irritation. “I said I want to be alone!”

Obviously, someone has a death wish, because the next thing Roman sees is the same door opening slowly. The flustered, red face of his chief advisor—potentially former—appears in the ajar doorway, his eyes filled with well-deserved fear. “Sir—”

Roman has never been so tempted to murder someone so close to him. “Get….out.”

The redness deepens, the fear exponential, as he stutters, “I—si—you—”

Roman starts stalking toward said door when Paul disappears, the door opening wider to reveal that he’s not alone. 

Instantly. 

Instantly, Roman notices the shift. He feels it more than anything. The way the unlimited rage starts melting ever so softly, still strong and pungent but dissipating. 

He’s still livid, still filled with so much fury he doesn't know what to do with, but it’s tucked away just enough for him to grit out. “Leave us.”

Paul doesn’t need to be told twice, his Wise Man disappearing like a thief in the night leaving Roman alone with the one person he both does and doesn’t want to see. 

She turns to shut the door. Quiet and gentle. Much like herself. He hears the click of the lock and watches how she surveys the room, expression unchanged. Like the destruction that surrounds them is something familiar and normal to her. And, then she’s looking at him, studying him. Head tilted, small smile on her pretty face, she closes the distance between them.

Roman looks away and closes his eyes when she’s close enough for her sweet, gourmand perfume to hit his senses. Still refuses to look at her as she lifts her hands to his face. Assessing him, assessing the extent of his injuries.

“You need stitches.”

Something he already knew but didn’t care to address, much preferring to unleash all of his rage and beyond in the setting before them.

“What are you doing here?” Because that’s the better question. The most important one. The thing that has his anger spiking once again. She shouldn’t be here, and she knows it, and yet, she stands before him.

But, it’s when she answers quietly, vulnerably, that his anger dwindles just a bit.“I wanted to see you.” Roman sighs. Another thing he already knew. It’s the only reason she would go against the protocol of things. “Afia took me….”

That makes all the sense. He knows how close they’ve become, just like how he knows that his sister-in-law marches to the beat of her own drum. She does what feels right and aligns with her convictions. 

Even it goes against all of the protective precautions Roman has set in place.

He ignores the way she lifts her hand to his hair, pushing some of it back and out of his face. “This isn’t the way to see me.” A calm counter to match the soothing effect of her touch, a balm to his vexation. “I don’t….I don’t like you seeing this side of me.”

“And what side is that?” There’s a hint of humor in her voice as she transitions to massaging his scalp in that way she knows he likes. Loves, even. “Have you forgotten how we met?”

At that, a chuckle is emitted. The first thing he feels outside of the anger range since the start of the evening. 

Never.

Never could he forget that first of many run-ins they had until Roman grew tired of short interactions, grew tired of teases and taunts that led to nothing more but constant wondering and thinking. About her. The way she occupied so much mental real estate should have been studied, especially for someone like himself who never looked for anything more but sexual satisfaction from women. 

But, not her. 

She was different.

Then 

Roman was pissed, a conversation with his cousin escalating into something unnecessary, largely due to the alcohol coursing through Jey’s system. What started as a night of Roman and his two right hand men—and cousins—spending some rare free time at one of the Bloodline owned clubs turned into Jimmy playing mediator, separating his twin, Jey, from their cousin, Roman.

Two titans needing space before leveling the establishment. Hence Roman being the one to walk away, to find a slice of solace outside, aided by the surprising breeze. He’d run his hands over his face, reminding himself that nothing was gained by making an enemy out of one of the few people on this earth he trust.

Jeu was irksome, but he was still family. And at the end of the day, Roman knew this would pass over just as it had the times prior.

Didn’t make it any less fucking annoying to have to deal with the shit though.

Finally feeling settled and calm enough to be around his family without it turning into round two, Roman was making his way back inside the club, going down the hall when he spotted his other cousin, a distant cousin, Tama, talking to a woman. One hand planted on the wall, the other at his side, it was obvious he was trying to sweet talk her, something Roman paid no attention to.

Until in passing them, he heard it, heard the woman’s voice. Lighter and softer than anything he’d ever heard. 

“I’m not interested,” she’d protested, something else present in her tone that gave him pause. Fear.

She sounded scared.

“Can you please move?”

Tama said something in that slithering voice of his that Roman always found annoying as shit, but he didn’t move. No, when Roman turned around, he’d in fact moved closer, reaching to touch the woman who turned her head away.

“I said move.” A bit firmer, less scared, but the anxiety was still audible. 

Tama said something else, edging closer, prompting her to lift her hands to push him away, but she was too slow. One wrist in his tight grasp. “Let go—”

“Leave her alone,” Roman interjected, his voice surprisingly calm despite the anger flowing through him. The Bloodline has strict rules when it comes to women and children, and his cousin was violating just about every one of them.  

Tama looked over, boredom and irritation on his face. “This doesn’t concern you, Roman.”

And just like that, whatever lid Roman managed to cap on his anger was being toyed with. Dangerously close to being lifted. 

Roman took a step toward them, the woman turning to look at him. Brown locking with brown. Fear with determination.

For a brief second, Roman found it hard to look away, her beauty something he hadn’t seen in some time. 

If ever.

“Did I ask you a question?” Was Roman’s harsh retort as he stared at his cousin. “Or, did I give you a fucking order?” Once more. The last time. “Let…her go.”

The influence of alcohol clearly had to be on his cousin, because the last thing Roman saw was Tama rolling his eyes as he prepared another disrespectful disregard of Roman’s command. “Come on, I’m just—”

Roman never found out just what Tama’s excuse was. He was too busy snatching him up and away from the woman and slamming him so hard against the wall that Roman was certain he was concussed. Lifted up, legs dangling, Roman had his forearm over Tama’s neck, severing oxygen. 

His cousin’s wide eyed look of shock and horror much more pleasing than it probably should have been. “When I say to do something, you do that shit, you understand me?”

Tama continued to look terrified, struggling to reply due to lack of oxygen. Roman held him up long enough to see his skin turn red and his eyes bulge until he dropped him. 

Tama fell to the floor, coughing violently, as Roman nodded away. “Get the fuck out of here.”

Out the club. Out his life. Hell, out the Bloodline for all Roman cared, so long as he was away from the nameless woman with captivating beauty and enchanting eyes. 

That time around, Tama didn’t need to be told twice. Scrambling to his feet, he made himself scarce, leaving just two instead of three.

Rolling his eyes, already done with this shitty night, Roman turned to her but found himself staring once more.

Despite his disagreement with Tama’s approach, Roman could understand why his cousin was interested in the first place.

Not only was she beautiful, but the body matched in every way. Nice, full breasts accentuated by the open neckline of her dress, full thighs and a bountiful ass to match. Stacked in all the right places even with her short stature.

It was momentarily distracting, but Roman found it in him to ask, albeit gruffly, “you alright?”

Her eyes were wide this time around, though filled with less fear. More confusion than anything. Still, she nodded, opening her mouth with a quiet reply. “Th—thank you.”

Something unfamiliar filled Roman hearing her voice again. Much too sweet. Far too innocent. 

All the intriguing. 

Roman’s expression intensified as he found himself unable to keep from asking, “what’s your na—”

“Sola!” Another interruption, this time female, but an interruption nonetheless. Roman turned to see another woman, about the same height as the woman she called “Sola.” She cast him a glance, nervousness unmistakable. Shuffling over, she grabbed the woman’s arm, harshly whispering something in another language. She then offered an apologetic glance. “So sorry to bother you, Tribal Chief.”

The bothering was the interruption of his planned introduction, and Roman planned to say as such when she ushered the woman away, all while continuing to harshly scold Sola.

The same Sola who kept looking back at him. 

The same way he was looking at her. 

Now

Roman saw her three more times after that, each occurrence happening the most serendipitous of ways. 

Then

Jimmy’s ass was always hungry. Had been that way since they were kids, always snacking, wanting to snack, or thinking about snacking.

Always at the most inconvenient times, too. Like, when they’re supposed to be headed to a meeting and time to spare equals time to eat for his tapeworm having ass cousin.

“Man, you know I love Mexican food,” was Jimmy’s excuse as he, Roman, and Jey walked into the Mexican restaurant they spotted while trying to find a place for takeout.

“You love all food,” was Roman’s disgusted resort. He’d much rather arrive ahead of time than right at time, but he was outvoted by his cousins. Hence his presence. 

The three of them walked through the partially crowded restaurant, up to the counter where Jey didn’t hesitate to ring the bell.

“Someone will be with you, shortly,” someone, an employee cleaning off unused tables, informed. Jimmy nodded as a sign of thank you, while Roman continued to type on his phone, at least relieved by the fact his Wise Man was already present and waiting.

Some kind of Bloodline representation was better than none.

“Hola!” His head lifted the minute he heard it. The same saccharine tone and the same pretty face he’d laid eyes on a few weeks ago. Their gazes locked, recognition dawning on her end as well. A different setting. She wasn’t as dressed up as she was that night, sexy little dress traded for an apron covering a short sleeved shirt that hugged her ample chest.

Roman hardly ever found himself dumbstruck, but he was most definitely feeling as such in that moment.

“Hola!” Jimmy’s jovial voice broke their stare, something only Jey seemed to notice, Jimmy too consumed by his hunger. Like they didn’t eat before leaving the damn house. “Never been here before, but—” He sniffed the air, rubbing his hands together. “Sure does smell good.”

Shock continued to settle until eventually wavering. “Uhh, yes, sorry. We—it’s good.” She added, almost nervously. “The food, it’s….it’s good.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” Jimmy winked and looked over at the menu. “Now, uhh, I usually stick with my chimichanga’s, but I’m in the mood to switch things up.” 

Jey glanced at her, making a mental note to ask Roman what that was all about once they got back in the SUV. “What do you recommend?”

She was flustered, face turning red as she pushed back flyaways. “Ummm……” Eyes shut, she opened again with a renewed sense of focus, clearly trying not to think of how Roman continued to look at her. Only her. “The Tacos De La Calle are pretty popular.” She turned to point to the menu, and Roman wasted no time setting his gaze on her ass that sat up nice and round in her jeans. “You can get steak, chicken, al pastor or carnitas topped with diced onions and cilantro. And, it’s served with rice or Elote Mexicano.”

Jimmy and Jey shared a knowing glance. “Shit, sure sounds good to me.”

She smiled, and Roman wasn’t sure he’d ever seen something so pleasing. “So you want to try it?”

“Hell yeah.”

Laughter. Laughter that had Roman pushing something down that was foreign, unfamiliar, but also…..light. 

She wrote down rapidly on her notepad, asking a few more questions of Jimmy and Jey before her attention shifted to Roman. “And you?”

Truth be told, Roman wasn’t focused on looking at the menu to figure out his order. He was too busy with the woman taking said orders. “Whatever they’re getting.”

She nodded with a small smile, writing something down before informing, “should be up in about twenty minutes.” Turning to leave, Jimmy beat Roman to the question on the tip of his tongue.

Well, one of them.

“Do we pay after or?”

She shook her head, eyes locked with Roman. “It’s on the house.”

Now

Roman was pressed for time by the time the order was ready that he didn’t have the chance to further talk with her, but he knew where she was, and that was all that mattered.

But, it didn’t. 

It didn’t because the next three times he found himself “craving” Mexican food, she was nowhere to be found. And because he’s him, stubborn and prideful, he refused to ask any of the workers about her working hours. 

On the fifth visit, he stopped trying. He had much more important things to do than to try to track down some random woman.

Even if random woman continued to cross his mind more than he would like to admit.

But, it was while sitting in the back of his SUV, looking out the window, trying to tune out the sound of the twins bickering, he saw her. 

She was walking down the sidewalk in front of strip malls, deep in laughter along with another woman. They were both wearing scrubs and holding cups of coffee while making their way past the stores. In the moment, Roman was tempted to order the driver to stop, to take advantage of this most unexpected opportunity. But, it was in being far past her that the thought left him.

Stupid, silly. 

What did it look like for him? The Tribal Chief, The Capo, The Head of the Table, to be chasing after a woman? 

He had to let that shit go.

And for all intents and purposes, he tried. He tried damn hard.

And, then he saw her again.

Then

Clubbing had never really been Roman’s thing. Maybe in his early twenties, to some extent, to score hookups. But, as a grown ass man in his mid thirties, he was over it. Which was why he was prepared to call it a night, informed his cousins that he was headed home when he saw it.

Saw her.

She was with the woman who’d whisked her away from him that night and the other whom he saw her walking with that day. 

The three of them were laughing and dancing, all beautiful, but there was something about her that drew him in, that had him unable to ignore this unexpected opportunity. 

An opportunity he found himself feeling fading away when the three of them moved from the dance floor to the bar. He watched how she said something to the other two women before squeezing her way through the bodies, headed somewhere else.

The same place Roman was headed. 

He waited to see she was moving toward the bathrooms before also heading in that same direction.

Did he feel like a fucking creep standing outside the women’s restroom, leaned up against the wall, waiting for someone he’d only seen a few times? Sure. Did it stop him from waiting for her?

Absolutely fucking not.

And he felt vindicated with his decision the moment she walked out. The way her eyes initially widened with surprise only to settle into something similar to joy.

Like, she was happy to see him.

As much was confirmed when the corner of her lips lifted into a small smile. “Hi.”

That voice.

Roman should not have been so satisfied to hear a single word leave someone’s mouth. But, he was. “Hey.”

He watched how she looked down, almost shyly before crossing her arms, acknowledging the nature of everything. “We keep running into each other.”

He nodded, agreeing. “We do.”

Her smile widened. “Solana.”

Roman’s eyes gleamed with all of the curiosity that’d consumed him since their meeting almost two months ago. “What?”

“You were going to ask my name that night,” she explained. “My name…..is Solana.”

Solana

Roman wasn’t sure he’d ever heard a prettier name. 

It fit her. 

“Roman,” he offered, noticing the way her smile deepened.

“I know who you are,” she shared, cheeks tinged pink. “Kinda hard not to.”

Fair. 

Still, it left him wondering something, something he hadn’t allowed himself to think too much about for the mere fact that it acknowledged the…..complications of the whole thing.

“You know who I am,” he stated. 

Not a question, but she answered like it was. “I do.”

Roman kicked his foot off the wall, taking a step toward her. He expected her to step back. She remained unmoved. “And you know what I do.”

Solana lifted her head, needing to do so because of their height difference.  The same answer. “I do.”

The curiosity was at an all time high. He had to ask. “And you’re not scared?”

Of him. Scared of him is what he really meant, but something in him wouldn’t allow him to ask it.

Most likely because he didn’t want to know said answer. 

Especially if it was anything other than no.

Solana smiled, voice just as soft. “I think if you planned to hurt me you would have done so by now.” Wise words, words that shocked him, even if he maintained a poker face. “So no…..I’m not scared.”

An unexpected answer, but one he was more than pleased to hear.

Maybe even relieved.

“Come with me.”

Roman was unsure what he planned to say to her, how he was going to respond to her confirming a lack of fear, but it certainly wasn’t that.

Something akin to indecision filled her face as she asserted, “I’m not going to have sex with you.”

“I wasn’t expecting you to.” An honest, rare thing. Roman couldn’t recall a time he’d invited a woman to his place for anything other than carnal reasons. 

“And what are you expecting?” The return of her smile was relieving to Roman as he found himself reaching to gently move the back of his hand over her cheek, unsurprised to find she felt as soft as she looked. 

His answer was sincere and truthful. “To talk.”

She agreed to leave with him, to go back to his place where they did, in fact, talk. They talked almost the whole night. Roman learning that the two women he’d seen her with were her cousins, one on her mom’s side, the other on her dad’s. Her best friends, was what she called them.

He also learned the reason he didn’t see her again at the restaurant was because she only worked there occasionally. It was owned by her grandma and where she worked all throughout high school and college, so her returns were solely when her grandma requested extra help.

And, that was one of those days.

She told him how her main job was at the local hospital where she worked as a pediatric nurse. There was no missing the way her face lit up as she discussed her love for her job, for her family, even her dog, Dulce.

And Roman soaked it all in. Took in every bit of it. Absorbed her light and radiance, such a contrast to his world. 

She was so different from his world. 

And, he found himself liking it. Liking her a lot. Liking the way they ended up on the sofa, her perched up against him, his finger trailing up and down her arm as they spoke, learned anything and everything about each other.

It was then he knew she was special. That this, whatever had already been building between them, was special.

And, that he didn’t want to lose it.

Lose her. 

It was why he found himself cutting right to the part he’d been dreading the moment he realized this was more than just random run-ins and that she was more than just a random woman.

“You know if we do this….” He’d started, waiting for her to look up at him. “It can’t be public.” Her confused expression forced him to elaborate. “You being with me automatically puts you in danger. I won’t have that, so if we do this, it has to be in secret. We can’t go out in public. I can’t have you seen with me, because it puts a target over your head, and I don’t want that.”

Just hours of actually being able to talk to Solana, to get to know her, had Roman already convinced he’d be fucking sick if something happened to her. And her being paraded around as someone close to him, let alone a romantic partner, would bring on exactly that.

So, it would have to be just as he described. All of their interactions with one another, dates even, would have to take place in private. They could never have a traditional relationship. 

Ever.

He studied her, assessed how she took in his explanation, as she was mulling it over in her head. Part of him was prepared for the most obvious response. That that wouldn't work for her, and he wouldn’t fault her. It wouldn’t work for most women.

But clearly, she wasn’t most women.

Smile small, voice lightly teasing, she replied after a good two minutes of silence. “It’s a good thing I like being low key then, huh?”

Now

Looking back, Roman is almost certain that was the same night he fell in love with her. He didn’t know it then, of course. Just knew he liked her, enjoyed her, enjoyed being around her even if the moments ended up being spaced out as time went on due to his schedule as well as hers. 

Regardless, in the times he couldn’t be with her physically, he made sure she always knew that she was always on his mind. He spoiled the hell out of her, surprising her almost daily with delivered flowers, chocolates, and any and all designer items he could think of. She wasn’t materialistic. Liked simple things like art, books, and music, but she also appreciated the things he did for her. He could always see the appreciation in her face whenever he could go visit her. 

She didn’t ask for it, didn’t expect it but was utterly thankful and grateful. Though what most pleased her was the time they could spend together, in person. He craved that too and took advantage of every opportunity that arose to do just that.

To see her.

To feel her soft body pressed against his. 

Even the nights where he stayed over at her place, stayed with her throughout the night. That was the other thing about it, that made it all so different.

Sex.

There was no sex in the relationship when it first started. Solana had confided in him that she was still a virgin and wasn’t prepared for that to change. Not for someone she’d just met.

Another way Roman knows he’s loved his girl from the moment he laid eyes on her, because no way in God’s green earth would he ever pursue a relationship with someone he couldn’t fuck.

All he did was fuck. Sex was just a thing for him, an enjoyable, pleasurable thing. But, what he easily found more enjoyable was her, just spending time with and being around her. 

It was almost as if that absent part of the relationship didn’t make a difference so long as he could just be around her. 

That was what he wanted from her. Just her time. That was it.

But, it didn’t take away from the way their relationship reached a completely different level, became something deeper, something stronger, something unbreakable almost when intimacy was added into the mix.

The night she allowed him to take her virginity, the first time “I love you” trickled out of both their mouths as she held onto him while he thrust into her, vowing his love and devotion for her, the same way she voiced the same for him. 

That was the night he knew. 

The night he realized he couldn’t live without her.

The night he realized he wouldn’t.

That next day, he started preparations on her ring. Custom. Of course. A month after that, said ring was done and ready. Roman can still recall the sound of her scream that awakened him from his sleep as she stared at him and then the stunning engagement ring he’d slipped on her finger while she slept atop him. 

Yes.

Her answer was yes. 

And a month later, after deep, honest discussions as to what they wanted their big day to look like, they tied the knot in front of only their closest family and friends. The few people who knew of their relationship. 

He didn’t care, because truth be told, Roman would have married her in a fucking gas station if that’s what it took to make her his. To give her his last name.

To make her his forever.

Roman moved her out of her condo and into a beautiful mansion about half an hour away from his penthouse. Not too close, but not too far. Not his preference considering she was now his wife but a necessity for her safety, because that was what mattered most. Keeping their relationship a secret from the public.

Keeping that target from appearing over her head.

Solana lifting her hand to his temple pulls Roman from traveling down memory lane. She frowns. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re not concussed.��

He’d be surprised, too. That fucker Rollins stomped the fuck out of his head. But, that’s not a priority right now.

“Sol….”

“I know,” she sighs, eyes dropping to the ground. “I know I shouldn’t have come, but like I said, I wanted to see you, Roman.” At that, he finally looks at her, opening his eyes and taking her in. “I’ve missed you….”

Three words that leave her mouth more than he’d like to admit.

“I’ve missed you, too,” he shares, quiet and true. Resolve crumbles as he brings his hand to the small of her back, pulling her to him. With an almost sense of hesitancy, he takes his other hand and moves it under her baggy hoodie. There’s an indescribable feeling that showers him the minute his palm rests against the smooth skin of her swollen belly. “How is she?”

Solana’s smile is bright as she moves her own hand over his. “Good.” Solana guides it around, clearly wanting him to feel the movement. “She’s definitely active….”

More or less the same thing Solana has shared with him via their phone calls, texts, and Facetime conversations. All normal symptoms for his six-month pregnant wife. Symptoms he’d give anything to be able to experience in real time with her.

Not being present for her during this exciting time in their lives has also had his stress levels on the higher end. Hence the shitshow that was tonight only exacerbated things. 

Roman darts his focus to her, asking with all seriousness. “And you?”

He sees it, the way she’s clearly downplaying her answer. Watering it down. “Always better when I get to see you.”

It’s not a direct answer, but it’s an answer, nonetheless. Roman will revisit the conversation later. Right now, he has other priorities he’s put off long enough.

Solana bringing one hand to the back of his head, stroking the hair at the nape of his neck is exactly the soothing gesture that he needs. He sighs, content and comforted. “You always make me feel better…..”

More than better.

Loved.

She makes him feel loved.

Solana’s eyes twinkle with something close to adoration. “Then my job is done.” She leans up on her toes to kiss his cheek. Stroking his beard, she asks, “let them tend to you….please?” A heavy sigh followed by a nod of agreement. Another kiss as she moves back to her feet, Roman’s hand never once leaving her belly that houses their firstborn. His little girl. “I—I’ll go back to the house.”

“No.” She frowns, prompting him to take his free hand not feeling her baby bump to her face, cupping her cheek. “Wait for me.” Her face lights up with some form of excitement. “I’ll stay the weekend with you.”

Roman sees it. Sees the relief and appreciation that fills her pretty, glowing face. “Really?”

He nods and leans forward, kissing her temple. “Give me an hour.”

Roman can’t recall the last time he spent more than a day and a night with her, always having to leave, never wanting to stay too long. To risk too many people inquiring and wondering where the Tribal Chief disappears off to.

His wife.

He disappears off to be with his wife and unborn child. 

The same as he’ll do this weekend. To get away from it all. To continue to cool down, to find sanctuary and solace in the one person who always provides him so. Unlike anyone else. 

Because no one else can. 

He’ll stay with her, continue to help her with the nursery that’s just about done, narrow down options for his little girl’s name, finish going over safety protocol for when she gives birth and just be with her. 

Because as hard as he tries, he can’t give her everything. 

But this, he can give her this.

[utstarscream]

An analysis and comparison of a specific scene from the episode "Rebellion":

ML Megatron: Get up, Starscream. We just got started. I will not let this end here... So try and defeat me, Starscream! Do you realize what this is about? It's not just about the Star Saber -- if you beat me, you become the Supreme Commander of the Destrons. All the Destron armies of the universe will be yours! That's the prize you're reaching for right now. So don't think we can just end it like this. [throws Starscream to the ground] Hadn't thought about it? No, you don't get to say that. Is that as far as your ambition will go? Is this ambition of yours nothing but overconfidence?!

Armada Megatron: At least fight like a Cybertronian, because what you're doing is pathetic. This time it's a fight to the finish and I won't accept any of your lame excuses. Do you understand me, you worthless grunt? I hope you understand what's at stake here; the Star Saber and Supreme Command of the Decepticons go to the winner. Why, you could rule the universe if you're victorious. There is no greater prize and this is your one chance to attain it. So don't blow it, dolt. [throws Starscream to the ground] But just remember this, Starscream -- I won't show you mercy. You will be an example to my men, to prevent any further insubordination!

The biggest differences between Micron Legend and Armada here are the insults ("worthless grunt," "dolt") that were added in Armada; and also that Armada Megatron says he will make Starscream an example to prevent anyone else from rebelling, which doesn't seem to be something that ML Megatron is concerned about.

Starscream rises up in rage and manages to land a few good blows on Megatron. The other Decepticons start wondering why Megatron isn't using the Star Saber, and Double Face suddenly remembers what Megatron said earlier when they were alone in the throne room:

"But he is an important subordinate to me."

Double Face then realizes that Megatron never intended to use the Star Saber on Starscream to begin with, because Megatron doesn't want to kill him.

This line was one the biggest, biggest failings of the Armada translation, because in Armada, Megatron had said:

"Starscream has forced me to make an example of him."

Which is then followed by Sideways' realization (somehow) about Megatron never planning to use the Star Saber against Starscream. But this realization does not flow naturally from Megatron's earlier comment, unlike in ML. The scene simply... doesn't make sense, not without busting out the pretzel logic again.

Megatron gains the upper hand again and Starscream is pummeled to the ground, again. The young challenger acknowledges defeat and asks for a quick death as Megatron picks up the Star Saber and shoves its gleaming point into his face.

ML Megatron: Is that all? Why are you giving up? Plead for your life; beg for my forgiveness! But you can't bring yourself to do so, can you, because of your pathetic pride. That's your weakness! Use any dirty means possible to win -- think only of victory! Do so, and an opportunity will eventually present itself. Ambition that takes a back seat to pride is nothing I need fear. If I'm your true objective, you may challenge me at any time. One day, you just might defeat me.

Armada Megatron: You're giving up. I expected more of you -- at least beg me to spare your worthless life. Or is your foolish pride getting in the way of even that, Starscream? Well, is it? Your problem is you have a conscience -- you don't have the stomach to finish the fight because you play by the rules. Well then, you'll never come out on top, Starscream. I understand your weaknesses and that's why I'm the victor and you lay there like a whimpering dog. I'm always open to a challenge, soldier. And one day, you might defeat me.

In both dubs, Megatron encourage Starscream to act like a sniveling coward so that he might surpass him one day, but Armada Megatron is so unnecessarily rude. Also, Sideways' realization makes ZERO sense in Armada, but hey, this is a rushed dub, so...

[just-another-bite]

First time going over to someone's house on a date and they have me sit at the corner of their couch, telling me to wait and that they'll be right back. I oblige, waiting patiently, only to be met with the sight of them walking back into the room balancing sheet cakes on trays in their arms. They set them down on the table and say they'll be back. I'm already sweating a bit, seeing the two cakes slathered in frosting, but they return a moment later again, this time with platters of donuts. They sit down in front of me on the couch as I lean back against the arm and smile as they cut the first slice of cake and bring it to my lips. I allow them to feed me, chewing quickly as I see them already cutting the next slice. The pace continues like this, rapidly swallowing so I'm almost unaware of the tightening of my gut as I fill it with sugar-loaded frosting and cake that sits like a brick at the bottom of my belly.

When I reach down to rub my stomach, I'm interrupted by them pushing a slice into my own hand as they declare "it'll go faster this way" and I nod cautiously. Pushing two slices into my mouth is a challenge as I whine around the food, feeling my pants squeezing my growing gut as I fumble to unbutton them, frosting slathered fingers leaving a trail across my taut skin as my shirt rides up. I have to lean back to try and settle my straining belly now but the pace doesn't slow. They continue feeding me, one arm on the arm of the couch so they can nearly cage me in with each bite they eagerly offer to me. I hear my stomach gurgle and groan as the pressure builds in my guts. They start to rub my stomach between bites, reassuring me how good I'm doing as the dome of my belly grows.

When we're to the donuts, I look nearly pregnant, a tightly packed ball of fat that was covered in stretch marks along the underside. My date seems unperturbed and moves the donut platter closer now. These go down harder, cream spilling onto my lips when I hit into them, landing on my shirt that's seeming more like a crop top with each bite. When I whine, I feel my stomach rumble and I'm genuinely unsure of how much more I can take. Chew, swallow, chew, swallow, I must be on auto-pilot at this point as I barely register food being brought to my lips, just the strain in my gut.

By the time we've run out of donuts, my pants aren't just unbuttoned. The sides are split. My shirt isn't just rolled up. We can't pull it down.

As I lay there, I can barely see over my distended gut but I can feel them rubbing it, shaking it gently or kissing the underside as they tell my how good I did. We struggle for a while to get me to sit up, but when I eventually do, I can see the true mess of myself I've made. A bloated gut of immense size that doesn't seem to be going anywhere. I rest my arm on it cautiously, feeling how little give it has. My date made sure it was packed tight.

First impressions are important, and this one was certainly good

[sofreddie]

Resigned 13

Summary: Y/N gets to experience her first Supernatural convention.

Characters: Alpha!Jensen x Omega!F!Reader, Alpha!Jared, Others

Warnings: A/B/O Dynamics, Omegas are second-class citizens/mistreated, Fluff, Smut (Unprotected Sex, Knotting, Claiming, Minor Roleplay)

WC: 3,103

A/N: I'm so happy to see how far these characters have come and excited about the challenges they still get to face. I've never been to a convention, so I'm just going off what little I know, so bear with me on that. Feedback is appreciated. : )

Series Masterlist

My Masterlist

Part 12

Arriving at the convention was an experience all its own.

From the moment they neared the location, an exciting and electrifying energy filled the air. The convention was held in a large and beautiful hotel and convention hall facility, like the one where she worked. Upon seeing the building, Y/N waited for the flurry of bad memories, but instead, she found herself wistful about the job she once had and hopeful she might work something like it again. She had a knack for hotel management and really enjoyed it.

Since Jensen and Jared were being dropped at the front, doing fan service upon their arrival, Jensen arranged for security personnel to escort her through the back. She agreed, not ready to interact with strangers about her Alpha or her life with him. She also didn't want to interfere or ruin the convention energy, knowing how protective he could be and how important the conventions were to them.

Instead, she was escorted to her and Jensen's hotel suite. She busied herself with putting things away and setting up the room for their stay. While she wasn't attending any festivities from a fan's perspective, she could observe unseen from behind the scenes and still get the whole gamut of events and her Alpha in his element.

When Jensen entered the room, he couldn't help but grin. Y/N was swaying her hips to low-pitched music and humming, and her happy scent filled the room as she looked over her work.

"Someone's happy," Jensen teased, wrapping his arms around her and kissing her neck.

His scent enveloped her before his arms did, and she melted with a happy sigh into him.

"Ready for dinner?"

She turned in his arms and smiled nervously, "The Supernatural dinner with all the famous and sexy actors?" she teased.

Jensen chuckled, "We sometimes all get together for dinner on the first night. There are other significant others and mates, even some kids," he shrugged.

"Yeah, but you all know each other already."

"Some of them you met on set," he reassured, rubbing his hands up and down her arms to calm her nerves. Her stomach grumbled, and he laughed, kissing her hand before leading her to meet up for dinner. "We're like one big family. You'll love it, I promise."

Dinner was held in a private room in the back of an upscale hotel restaurant. She'd never dined somewhere so lovely and was more than surprised to see long tables and family-style service. It was loud, lively, and fun. He was right; it didn't take long for her to feel welcomed and at home. By the time dinner was over and they were saying their goodnights, she'd felt like one of the family.

As the weekend continued, her nervousness faded. The cast, the fans, the energy—everything had her head spinning in a good way. She was almost sad she had never attended a convention before. The energy was different when the convention was held at her former hotel. Providing the best service and keeping everything running smoothly felt more urgent. Now, she got to be someone who just enjoyed it, though she missed that former life the longer they were here.

She often found herself glancing at employees or studying maps and hallways, trying to guess who did what and what led where based on her former knowledge. It was a little game she played with herself, almost pretending she could still work and live that life. Regardless, she didn't let it detract from the truly memorable events around her.

Seeing the photo ops was interesting for her. People waited in long lines just to have several seconds with the guys. She laughed over the poses and props that fans brought, and her heart was warmed at some of the more emotional meetings. The panels and more intimate meets were just as fascinating as she learned more about the show, the fandom, and Jared and Jensen. These guys were more than just actors or pretty faces. To some, they were lifelines or connections to something bigger than themselves.

She understood that completely because she felt the same.

-

Jensen felt like he was on top of the world. In fact, he felt damn spoiled. He always enjoyed the conventions, mingling with fans, messing around with Jared and Misha and the others. It was always memorable, and he was excited to share it with Y/N. She took in everything with wide, sparkling eyes and a soft smile, her scent positive and light.

He had ulterior motives for Y/N outside of just enjoying the convention. He wanted the weekend to double as a date. They'd mated and dealt with much that came with it. But they hadn't taken any time to date and get to know each other, so he figured the convention weekend would be a good opportunity. And he hadn't been disappointed.

At Friday's dinner with the cast, she was initially shy. However, Jared and Gen easily introduced her to conversations and encouraged her to open up and talk more. Halfway through dinner, after having a few drinks, she was openly chatting with those around her, chiming in on conversations, and acting as though she belonged there. Jensen knew she did; she just needed the push. It was important to him that she realized she had friends and a whole network to lean on.

Someone mentioned how great the hotel was in accommodating them and the convention. That's when Y/N mentioned she worked in a similar hotel and how frenzied it was on the host and customer service side. The table listened in as she talked about the other side of things, the work, and the details involved in making everything go smoothly. Jensen was impressed, watching as she captivated the table and spoke confidently on a topic she truly understood and enjoyed. He finally felt like he was seeing the person she was, and he was falling all over again.

Saturday, he spent his time between convention events and sneaking little moments with Y/N. They would chat, snack, and enjoy each other's company, and he learned things about her that he didn't know before. She was quirky and a dork, which was great 'cause so was he. She was kind and well-spoken and managed to charm everyone around her even when she wasn't trying.

He also noticed her taking in details of the hotel and drifting off. He thought back to when they met—and her speech at dinner—and suddenly felt overwhelming guilt that she had lost everything because of him because she was his True Mate. He knew he'd talk about it with her later in the privacy of their suite.

Just the thought of being alone with her had him on edge and yearning. His rut had been gradually surfacing over the weekend. Though it had become more manageable since mating, he still wasn't quite back to a standard, predictable cycle. Neither was Y/N after the suppressants, but they were healing and getting to that point. He was confident that he could control his rut and not have feral issues like before.

Jensen was eager to have her to himself when they crashed into their hotel room late Saturday night. He was dragging - nearly carrying - her along with him while she giggled, the two of them far too drunk after the night's festivities.

Y/N had a lot of fun at the concert, letting herself go and openly swooning and practically catcalling Jensen while he performed. She might have been embarrassed, except she wasn't the only one doing such a thing. And she might have bristled at all the others giving her Alpha all that attention, but she was too focused on said man to really care about anything else.

They crashed and tumbled through the door, laughing and shushing each other at the late hour. They fell to the bed in tangled limbs, mouths fused in sloppy kisses. But a quick breath turned into both of them promptly passing out, still fully clothed, shoes on and feet hanging off the bed.

When Jensen woke the following day, his cell phone rang and buzzed like mad in his pocket, and a banging sounded in the distance. He wasn't sure if someone was actually banging or if his head was just throbbing from the hangover. Y/N was still out beside him, mouth wide and drooling, hair a mess. He smirked, brushing the mess of locks from her face and kissing her cheek. Groaning, he sat up on the edge of the bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and lamenting the mild hangover.

It became apparent that the banging was actually knocking on the room door. He forced himself up and answered the door to find Jared upbeat and chipper. It grated his nerves, but when Jared hung up his phone and passed Jensen a fresh, strong coffee, all was forgiven.

"I'll be back in twenty," Jared smirked. "Get cleaned up, or we'll be late."

Jensen grumbled and nodded as he shut the door and got ready for the last day of the convention. He was bitter that he didn't get to have Y/N last night, and now, he wouldn't get to have her in the morning, either. There was always work to do. Taking a quick shower, he dressed and jotted a quick note to leave for Y/N. She didn't even stir as he kissed her cheek, only began to snore. Jensen laughed and calmed himself, knowing she was here, and after the contractual requirements, he could come back and satiate their needs without interruption.

-

By midday, Y/N stirred awake. She immediately recognized a hangover, clutching at her head with a groan. Her mouth was dry, and she felt rather gross. But then the memories of the night before flitted back to her mind, and she grinned. She had let loose, feeling comfortable enough to do so, and Jensen, too, relaxed. Together, they had a really fun night—almost like two people without a care in the world.

Forcing herself from the bed to the bathroom, she relieved herself and splashed water on her face. Going back to the suite, she noticed Jensen was gone. She grabbed her phone and realized the time before spotting the note left by Jensen. She giggled; she couldn't help it, loving how adorable and thoughtful he could be.

However, she was disappointed in herself for passing out when they returned and not waking before he left. She knew he was in a rut and would need her, but more than that, she had really wanted him, completely turned on after their exciting evening. She checked in with Jensen and apologized. He told her not to worry, to relax, to order room service, and to have a day in if she wanted, and she really did want that.

Jensen's enticing Alpha scent, more potent from his rut, reached her senses before she heard his key card in the door. She hadn't realized the time, but her body moved before she could even tell it to do so, meeting Jensen at the entrance as he closed the door behind him. She practically pounced on him, and he grinned, pressing her back into the door. He kissed along her neck and claim, taking deep lungfuls of her scent.

One hand squeezed her hip, and the other clutched her hair, tilting her head for him. He moaned as she ran her fingers through his hair, allowing him to scent her. Pulling back, he looked into her eyes, finding her pupils dilated, and her scent bloomed.

"This is just like our first time," Y/N smirked sultrily, not a hint of anger.

"I'm so sorry, 'Mega. Y/N," he whined, caressing her cheek and kissing her again. "That was never how I wanted it to go. I never wanted to hurt you or force you. My rut-"

"I know," she responded, placing a finger over his lips to stop his rambling. "So show me."

"What?"

"Show me, Alpha. Show me how that first time should have gone."

"A little roleplay, Omega?" Jensen smirked, pressing himself against her, letting her feel how much he needed her.

"Yes, Alpha. Please?"

Jensen captured her mouth with a groan, knowing he couldn't deny her anything when she begged him like that. He barely remembered that first time through the haze of his near-feral rut. She mainly had disassociated during the act, and the suppressants and blockers kept her from feeling and knowing their bond. Now, it was different. She was clear of any substance, and Jensen was in control of his rut, even if the cycle was still off. He picked her up, grinning when her legs wrapped around him.

He carried her toward the large bed in the room, their eyes locked. Stopping at the end, he playfully tossed her onto the mattress. She landed and bounced with a surprised squeal, followed by a giggle. Jensen tried not to laugh and stay 'in character,' hoping he could almost rewrite their first time in their minds.

"So strong," she purred as he climbed over her with a hungry gaze. "I can't believe Jensen Ackles is my Alpha," she swooned.

He couldn't stop laughing, then nipped at her collarbone, "Brat," he muttered. Rising, he gazed down at her in awe. "I've been waiting so long for you."

She wanted to kiss him passionately. Instead, he swiftly moved down her body, divesting her of her pants and underwear before she even realized what he was up to. All the best of his Alpha was on display for her. It made her heart flutter and her pussy throb. He stood at the end of the bed, taking off his clothes as he licked his lips and trailed his eyes over her body.

"Take that off," he growled, nodding towards her top as he stripped down to just his boxers.

She was quick to comply, and the second she was naked, he dove straight into her pussy, eating her out like a man starved, moaning at the flavor on his tongue. He continued until she was writhing, on edge, and begging him for more. He stopped just before she came, wanting to tease and draw it out. She gasped and whined as he kissed and bit his way up her body, making her moan and hiss and squirm. 

He paused to give special attention to her breasts, teasing, sucking, and licking until she nearly came from that alone. But as before, he stopped just shy of pushing her over that edge, making her whine in protest. He chuckled as he kissed his way to her neck, licking over her claim and rutting against her.

"Taste and smell so damn good," he groaned into her neck. "Wanna make you mine, Omega," he breathed, staring down at her and trying to maintain the roleplay, even though they were both too far gone to keep up the pretense. "Wanna knot and claim you."

"Alpha!" she moaned, rutting back against him and delighting in the teasing bite he gave to her neck. "Yes, Alpha! Please."

In the back of her mind, she knew this wasn't even close to how she reacted their first time. However, with everything out of her system, the connection was undeniable. Claimed as they were, dual-bound to one another, everything felt lit up in neon between them.

Jensen angled his hips and slid within her, harshly and without warning, her slick more than enough to ease his way. While Y/N moaned like a pornstar, he felt like he might cry, the feel of her and their connection nearly overwhelming.

"Feel fucking incredible," Jensen moaned as he moved, his thrusts harsh and deep. 

His rut drove him to be less gentle, but he already knew she could take it all and more. It didn't take long for her to come undone around him after all the build-up. Before she even came down, he withdrew and flipped her over. He lifted her hips and pressed her shoulders down into the mattress, thrusting inside and starting a rough and brutal pace. 

Y/N had abandoned all thoughts about roleplay, submitting entirely to her Alpha and the harsh but delicious way he was claiming her whole body. She knew she was moaning and shouting, screaming for her Alpha, and she couldn't care at all. The headboard cracked loudly against the wall, and Jensen was sure there'd be complaints, but he, too, didn't care one fucking bit.

She came again, her body tensing, before she gushed over his cock. "Fuck, always so good for me," he purred as he lay over her and hitched one leg up to open her further to him.

He slowed his pace, focusing on feeling how deep inside her he was. His knot was ready to pop, but he wanted to feel her come for him again. He found her clit, rubbing tight small circles over it as he continued his pace, kissing along her shoulders and neck as he encouraged her toward her last climax. As soon as she did, his knot popped, locking them together. He bit into his claim, renewing the mark. As her blood hit his tongue, he continued rutting his hips into her, riding out their highs.

Jensen carefully shifted them to their sides and spooned Y/N while they waited for his knot to go down. He focused on her claim, licking it clean and ensuring it was sealed and healed as before. 

"That was amazing," she turned her head to smile at him.

"I'm sorry it wasn't like that in the beginning."

"Don't," Y/N said, shaking her head. "You have to know I forgive you for everything. We wouldn't be who or where we are if anything were different. I love you completely with all of me."

Jensen knew it was the truth. He could feel it, knew it deep in his soul, and cherished every moment. "I love you, too. So much," he spoke, kissing her.

As she settled to sleep, Jensen pondered over the old fairytales and his parents' stories about True Mates. He was regaled by tales of the everlasting, soul-deep bonds and the romanticism of it all. But now, he finally understood for himself what it all meant and how it felt. He would do anything for Y/N. He was trying to change the world for her and loved her with every fiber of his being.

As he snuggled into her to sleep, he decided that fairytales were nothing compared to the real thing.

FOREVERS:

@lyarr24

@hobby27

@kazsrm67

@maliburenee

@440mxs-wife

@writercole

@spnbaby-67

@all-alone-he-turns-to-stone

@leigh70

@laycblack

@kr804573

RPF:

@smoothdogsgirl

JENSEN ACKLES:

@slamminmine

@deandreamernp

@akshi8278

@mimaria420

RESIGNED:

@b3autyfuldisast3r

@sexyvixen7

@deans-spinster-witch

@deans-baby-momma

@muhahaha303

@deansimpalababy

@evilunicorns4minions

[whoredyceps]

"OH LOVER BOY!" || 27 Days of Love: A Valentine's Challenge + Series

day two: "it's okay, i couldn't sleep anyways."

ᰔ pairing: javier peña x reader

ᰔ summary: you're having a bad day. only one person can make you feel better, but he's in another country. you take a chance and give him a ring.

ᰔ author's note: javi i could treat you right 🖐️😔 i would do unreal things if it meant i could have ten more seasons of narcos but it's just steve and javier.

ᰔ content warning: brief grouchy javi. gn!reader. no discernible descriptions of reader. smoking. mentions of violence and murder. sleepy javi. mentions of alcohol consumption.

Javier took a long drag from his cigarette. He thought by now, after how long it'd been since he started smoking, the burn would go away. That, or he'd get tired of the feeling. That ache in his chest, the smell that lingered on everything he came into contact with.

He flicked it, the ends of the roll settled in the ashtray near him. As he watched, he glanced at the clock on his bedside table. The numbers, green with a static glow, reminded him that it was well into the night. His thoughts drifted as he took another long drag.

A shrill ring startled him. The phone rarely rang at this hour, and when it did, it tended to be work related. Javier thought of letting the rings die out, but he went against it. Instead, he picked it up and put the cigarette in the ashtray.

"Peña," he answered. His tone was gruff, a signal to whoever was on the other side that it was late. They had to know he was asleep, or at least should have been. He sounded tired enough to make it convincing enough.

"Oh shit, it's the middle of the night, isn't it?" Your worried voice came over the phone. "Goddamn it, this fucking time change thing. I'm sorry, baby. Go back to sleep."

Javier relaxed at the sound of your voice. Hell, he even chuckled to himself as he heard you worry to yourself. As you huffed, he picked the cigarette back up.

"It's okay, I couldn't sleep anyways. You okay, cariño?" He asked, though he knew the answer. You had always been on top of checking the time in Medellín before you called. If that had been thrown to the wind, he knew something was on your mind.

"Uh, yeah, I'm okay," you lied. "Just called to talk to you and forgot the time difference." Even without looking at you, Javier clocked you in a second.

"Coming from you? You always check the time before you call."

You bit your lower lip, tears collected at the waterline and ready to slip down your cheeks. He was right, you were always diligent when it came to the time. Javier was doing important work, and you hated the idea of him not getting rest. If he was tired at work, there was an accident waiting to happen.

There was a beat before you realized he had called your name over the receiver. The way he spoke, the tone in his voice, you knew Javier knew you'd had a bad day. He knew you through and through, for better and for worse.

"I'm sorry. Look, it's late and you need-" Javier stopped you before you could continue.

"I need you to talk to me. I wasn't sleeping anyways. What happened?"

It was pointless to try and push back. You had met your match, and his name was Javier Peña. After you took a deep breath, you went on to recount your day.

It had been one bad thing after another, all far away from the place you called home. You were out of the states on work, which only added to the ache that was missing Javier. After your rental blew a tire on your way back to the hotel you were staying in, you'd had enough. You knew you needed to call him as soon as you got back to your hotel. Not without a drink or two at the bar first. Javi had his vices, you had yours.

Now, you lamented to him with a slight wobble in your voice, a mix of vodka and tears. It was the reason you hadn't checked the time, the drink left your mind with a sole mission.

"And now I'm calling you in the middle of the night, a little drunk and fucking- I miss you. I just really fucking miss you," you finally sobbed. It had been pent up, but you both knew it well enough. You knew Javier missed you too, even if he hadn't said it. It came out in other ways.

"I know, cariño. I'm sorry it's been such a terrible day," Javier frowned. He lit another cigarette, the other one finished off as you talked.

It made his chest ache to know that you were alone and so upset. If he'd been younger, more reckless- if that was even possible, he might have said fuck it and headed back to the states. Threw this whole operation to the wind and let Steve head the whole thing.

Unfortunately for the both of you, Javier knew he had to stick this out. He had to see the fall of Escobar with his own eyes and hopefully at his own hand. The pay off was worth it, or at least that's what he told himself. When he made it back home, he knew he would make it up to you tenfold. It was a promise he made to both you and himself.

"It's not your fault. Hearing from you has helped already," you assured him. It was true. There were days where you'd worry yourself sick that something had happened and you were too far away to learn about it until it was too late.

"May not be my fault, but I can be sorry for not being there. Look, I have a feeling I'll be back home for a day or two while we handle some legal shit. When do you get back from your work trip?" Javier wasn't supposed to return home for his brief trip back to the states, but he had to. He'd do what he'd have to if it meant he got to see you again.

"Day after tomorrow, if I don't fly home in the middle of the night," you made a weak attempt at a joke. "If you can't-"

"I will. Let me see you while I can. I miss you."

Even if he didn't say it often, it was still nice to hear. You finally wiped at your cheeks and took a deep breath. It was nice to have something to hold out for, something to grip on to and hold against your chest.

"Okay. I can pick you and Steve up from the airport," you offered.

"Thank you, cariño. I'll call you when I know more. You gonna be okay for the rest of the night? We can stay on the phone until you go to bed," Javier offered. It was expensive, but it was the DEA's money, not his.

"I'll be okay. I think I just need to sleep it all off," you sighed. "I love you. Thank you for letting me keep you up."

"I love you too. Get some sleep." Javier finished off his second cigarette. He didn't light a third. After hearing you at ease, it settled something in his muscles. Sleep wasn't going to come easy, but he was able to finally settle against the mattress.

"Only if you do the same. Goodnight, baby."

"Goodnight, my love."

To his surprise, Javier did sleep that night. Every hour that passed was one closer to seeing you.

[isuckatwritingsobenice]

Warnings: None!!

Navigation!!

No Contest

The wager began, as most things did between them, with a smirk and a challenge.

Lucifer stood at the head of a grand table in Hell’s lavish halls, swirling a glass of deep red wine between his fingers. His golden eyes gleamed with amusement as he gazed across the candlelit room at her.

She was the embodiment of death itself—a radiant figure draped in a flowing crimson gown, her presence adorned with flickering candles that hovered like stars in her wake. Gold filigree decorated her bodice, skull-shaped ornaments woven into her hair, and a crown of marigolds rested upon her head, swaying ever so slightly with each graceful movement.

If he was the ruler of the damned, she was the gentle keeper of the departed. Two sides of the same inevitable fate, forever intertwined yet always at odds.

And yet, tonight, she was smiling at him—sharp, knowing, tempting.

“Tell me, mi querido diablo,” she mused, resting her elbow against the arm of her chair, fingers delicately cradling a glass of mezcal. “Do you ever tire of losing?”

Lucifer’s lips curled upward, setting his glass down as he leaned forward. “That’s rich coming from you, my dear. But please, humor me—what exactly am I losing?”

She tilted her head, marigold petals fluttering from her crown like embers. “Souls, Lucifer. You promise them the world, but so many slip through your grasp.” She sighed theatrically, tapping a finger against her cheek. “Meanwhile, I simply wait, and they come to me with open arms. It’s hardly fair, don’t you think?”

Lucifer chuckled, folding his hands together. “Careful, darling. Someone might think you’re gloating.”

“I would never.” Her eyes twinkled, playful, daring. “But perhaps we should test it, hmm? A little wager, to keep things interesting.”

Lucifer arched a brow, intrigued. “Oh? And what are you proposing?”

She leaned forward, voice like silk. “For the next lunar cycle, we each choose a soul. You, ever the charmer, will try to lead yours astray, to corruption, to your domain. I, of course, will do the opposite—guiding mine with kindness and patience.” She smiled, slow and deliberate. “Whoever succeeds wins.”

Lucifer hummed, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “And the prize?”

She shrugged, her candles flickering with mischief. “I suppose that depends. What would the great Morningstar want?”

He smirked, the room growing just a touch warmer. “Oh, I can think of a few things.”

Her laughter rang through the halls like wind chimes in a summer breeze, light and teasing. “Focus, Lucifer.”

“Fine,” he drawled, reclining in his seat. “If I win, you will remain in Hell for a month. My guest. No sneaking away to your quiet little afterlife.”

She raised an amused brow. “Are you so desperate for my company?”

“Not at all,” he purred. “I just enjoy the idea of watching you squirm in my world.”

She laughed again, shaking her head. “Very well. And if I win, you must spend a month in my lands—where the dead celebrate, and kindness outweighs cruelty. You will walk among my people, learn their joys, see what it is to guide, rather than deceive.”

Lucifer exhaled dramatically. “Sounds dreadful.”

“Then you’d best not lose.”

His grin widened. “Oh, querida, you should know by now—I never lose.”

The wager was set.

It started as a game, a mere contest of wit and skill.

Lucifer chose a desperate man—a fallen priest who had long abandoned his faith, teetering on the edge of damnation. Corrupting him would be easy.

She chose a grieving widow, lost and heartbroken, but still grasping onto the memory of love.

For weeks, they played their roles. Lucifer whispered temptations, weaving his honeyed words into the mind of his chosen soul, nudging him ever closer to the darkness. She, meanwhile, stood as a beacon of warmth, guiding her widow gently through sorrow, leading her toward light.

But as time passed, the wager itself became less important.

It was the nights spent together, debating philosophy over candlelit dinners, where the real game was being played.

It was the stolen moments between their battles—him watching her dance with spirits under the glow of a full moon, her catching his gaze lingering just a second too long.

It was the arguments that turned into laughter, the teasing that turned into something unspoken.

“You’re stalling,” he murmured one evening, watching as she traced delicate patterns into the condensation of her glass.

She smirked, swirling the mezcal before taking a slow sip. “Perhaps I enjoy your frustration.”

Lucifer chuckled. “Darling, my frustration is just foreplay.”

She arched a brow. “Are you flirting with me, Lucifer?”

“Would you like me to?”

She leaned in, just close enough for him to catch the faintest hint of marigolds and cinnamon. “You assume I haven’t already won.”

He held her gaze, feeling—for the first time in eons—uncertain.

And oh, how she relished it.

By the time the wager neared its end, something had shifted.

Lucifer, the grand puppeteer, found his strings tangled in ways he never anticipated. He had played this game a thousand times before—temptation, persuasion, conquest. But never like this.

Never with her.

And as the final night arrived, he found himself hesitating.

He could push his chosen soul over the edge.

He could win.

But for the first time in his long, eternal existence… he wasn’t sure if he wanted to.

When they met at the crossroads beneath the silver glow of the moon, she was waiting, arms crossed, candles flickering softly in the night breeze.

“Well?” she asked, tilting her head. “Who won?”

Lucifer exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “It appears,” he admitted, voice slow, deliberate, “that I lost.”

She blinked, caught off guard for the first time. “You—?”

Lucifer smirked, though it lacked his usual arrogance. “I know, shocking. But it seems I’ve grown soft.” He met her gaze, something unreadable in his expression. “I suppose a month in your lands is my punishment.”

Her lips curled, though there was no mockery in it this time—only something warm, something that made his chest feel oddly tight. “I wouldn’t call it punishment, mi amor.”

Lucifer stilled.

It was the first time she had said it—not as a jest, not as a tease, but softly.

Affectionately

She stepped forward, close enough that he could feel the heat of her candles, the warmth of her presence. “Come, Lucifer,” she whispered. “It’s time to meet the ones who love me.”

Lucifer stared at her for a long moment before sighing, feigning exhaustion. “I suppose I’ll endure it.”

She only laughed, taking his hand. “Oh, I think you’ll find it quite difficult to leave.”

Lucifer smirked, fingers tightening around hers.

He had a feeling she was right.

[notherpuppet]

@/coma_0423’s cursed cat alastor will bring you happiness ♥️

Lulu scolds the cat

[didionsvision]

why. is it so hard for me to be social??? i kinda wanted to hang out with my coworkers tonight but i didn’t have the guts to send a text asking if they had plans because i didn’t want to seem overeager or pushy as the newbie on the team….. but at the same time it could have been the friendly thing to do and maybe they’d have said yes and i would be socialising w/ my peers…… AAAAAH

[biblically-accurate-dca]

super disorganized sketch page because i do what i want

[torgawl]

if wriothesley doesn't appear in any quest once we get to remuria, what even is the point?

the parallels between wrio and king remus are crystal clear. remus who descended upon meropis (a name very familiar to anyone who knows of the fortress of meropide) in his golden fortuna, the legendary ship of remus that is also called the bringer of civilization and glory (wrio who built a ship to deal with the misfortune upon fontaine) is an example of it.

wrio also has connections to hades with the cerberus motif as guardian of the underworld. it's curious that the tower in remuria is described not only as not built to receive heavenly oracles, serving as a guide to ships traveling between islands, but also as a border of reality and dreams. if this is not necessarily literal but a metaphor or allegory, it could fit very well with the idea of a portal between domains or realms, like life and death.

wriothesley also parallels another character in the genshin universe and that person is arlecchino. they were brought up as orphans, taken in by an institution with corrupted leaders, which they reformed and achieved a leading position of. and funnily enough, she has ties to purgatory (a place for punishment, much like the fortress). as i have said in another post, purgatory has been described by dante as a tower leading to heaven. but we also know that celestia in the genshin world is associated with the demon realm - archons being named after ars goetia, an anonymous grimoire on demonology. although the concepts aren't the same in theory, is it impossible that the game has used elements of both? wriothesley and arlecchino's themes are similar enough to overlap. even though i don't expect wriothesley to be lore revelant anymore, i do think his ties to remuria and his role as someone who punishes others for their sins, much like arlecchino, is very much purposeful.

[cluescorner]

Randomized Robins AU - Ages + Worst Trait Exercise:

Steph (25):

Says her worst trait is her murderous rages (she is exaggerating for dramatic/comedic effect, she’s killed 3 people tops and for very good reason)

Thinks her worst trait is her spitefulness (one of the few traits she definitely got from her father + one that prevents her from fixing her relationships and living her best possible life. She’ll refuse to interact with someone she dearly loves after an argument (happens significantly less after Tim’s death) or will say things she knows are hurtful just for the sake of having the last word. This trait will worsen in some ways as the list of people who have wronged her and those she loves grows, but will also ease up as she matures and realizes the harm it’s doing to her relationships with those she loves most.)

Her worst trait really is her spitefulness

Cass (26)

Says her worst trait is her self-righteousness (she believes that her goals are righteous and, as a result, she is righteous. Cass becomes very defensive whenever someone questions the mission and often does not second-guess herself. This is a trait she only develops later in life as she grows closer to Bruce/learns to understand herself more/starts to love herself more. But she knows she isn’t perfect and when somebody she trusts criticizes something she is doing she is willing to listen. She just usually isn’t the one to START the introspection.) 

Thinks her worst trait is her self-righteousness. 

Her worst trait actually is her obsessiveness (she gets it from Bruce and, while not as bad as him, she will easily become preoccupied with her night-life and the mission if someone isn’t there to pull her back. She will do this to the point of self-destruction and it hurts her relationships with the people she loves, especially Steph.)

Tim (24)

Says his worst trait is his spitefulness (he actively rejects the idea of mending his relationships with the older members of the family and this causes him to also lack good relationships with the younger ones)

Thinks his worst trait is his obsessiveness (similar to Cass, if he gets fixated on a task or idea he will neglect everything else in his life in order to dedicate more time to it. Unlike Cass, he will almost never be dragged away from it unless Pierrot snatches control of the body and forces them to take care of themself.)

His worst trait actually is how manipulative he is (the KING of guilt-tripping and using people’s emotions against them. He’ll do whatever he needs to do to get what he wants, he’s not above crocodile tears. And he will do it to whoever he needs (or wants) to with little care for how his actions impact others.)

Pierrot (Insists: “Age doesn’t apply to me! And even if it did, I'd probably be the oldest. Or the youngest! I’d never be a middle child, though.” Mental assessments by the Bats have put him around 21, with a margin of error of 3 years. Pierrot has called this “blatant character assassination by my eternal rival!”)

Says his worst trait is that he is an irredeemable psychopath without any regard for the wellbeing of others (this is a lie and everyone who's important to him understands this). 

Thinks his worst trait is his parasitic nature (he literally would not exist had Tim not suffered the way he did. Plus he is a living reminder of one of the worst things that happened to many of his loved ones. He is a parasite injected into a functional person's body and contributes to his continued suffering. This is also a largely incorrect judgement of himself, caused by his actual worst trait.)

His worst trait actually is his limited sense of self (he doesn’t really know who he is outside of ‘inheritor to the legacy of the Joker (a man he despises yet also views as a father)’ and ‘chip in Tim’s brain that became sentient’. He slowly develops an identity over the course of his life and relationships with other people, but he lacks the foundations of identity that most people have. Pierrot will often almost become a caricature of himself and what others perceive him to be because it's the only person he knows how to be. This causes wild swings in how he behaves and relates to others, sometimes to the detriment of himself and others.)

Dick (17) 

Says his worst trait is his clinginess (he is a very extraverted person who likes to be around others, which mixed with his fear of abandonment after his parents died means that if he goes a few days without seeing/talking to a friend he will get very anxious.)

Thinks his worst trait is his anger issues (he gets ticked off very easily and will explode on people. He’s kind at his core and is usually very nice, but he has a temper that can escalate significantly. Spoiler (and later Twist) help him channel this anger into something positive.)

His worst trait actually is his anger issues.

Barbara (18)

Says her worst trait is her disability (internalized ableism, she thinks of herself as less valuable than the other Bats because she cannot be out there in the capes like they can. She will grow out of this as she matures and as she learns how invaluable her support for the team is.)  

Thinks her worst trait is her disability 

Her worst trait actually is her overly-independent nature (In an attempt to overcompensate for everything she can no longer do, she has resolved to do literally everything that she possibly can without any help from others. This results in many instances where she either takes on too much and winds up not being able to fully realize any of her tasks or where she makes her life and the lives of others significantly harder by refusing help when offered/not asking for it when she needs it.)

Damian (16)

Says his worst trait is his perfectionism (he is overly critical of both himself and others, taking any flaw or problem and amplifying it to an absurd degree. This is due in part to his life with the LoA (where even a brief misstep could lead to death), in part to how others treated him initially as Spoiler (any flaw was fixated on and used as a reason to either mistrust him or portray him as unworthy of the mantle), and in part due to the fact that he is Bruce’s son (the only person with worse perfectionism problems than Damian). Gradually, Damian has improved in this regard but it’s still a massive barrier to both his own happiness and his relationships with others.)

Thinks his worst trait is his perfectionism 

His worst trait actually is his perfectionism

Duke (16)

Says his worst trait is his definitely-real secret evil side (says this as a ‘my dad is a villain so who knows??’ joke)

Thinks his worst trait is his impulsivity in his words (Sometimes he will crack a joke or say a remark without thinking it through, leading to a LOT of hurt feelings and drama. He’ll say something without thinking it through and wind up seeming insensitive. This isn’t done because of malice, rather because Duke is someone who’s quick to act and speak. But while the mantle of Insight and his awakening powers have helped him with his actions, they do not always help with his loose tongue. As such, Duke gains an unfair reputation in the media as an instigator and will accidentally cause family drama through what he says.)

His worst trait actually is his impulsivity in his words

Jason (14)

Says his worst trait is his bad manners (he grew up on the streets and has no idea how rich-people society works, which he’s pretty insecure about considering he’s now the youngest kid of Bruce freaking Wayne). 

Thinks his worst trait is his reactiveness (Jason never got the privilege of planning ahead for various events in his life, so he instead needed to rely on being swift and harsh in how he could react to situations. It’s saved his life on multiple occasions and helps significantly in his role as Spoiler, but it can also lead to extreme overreactions (accidentally causing kidnapping scare after Jason ran away following a fight with Dick) and a struggle to plan things out ahead of time. As he grows more secure in his place in the family and in life, this trait will lessen but never fully dissipate.)

His worst trait actually is his reactiveness

[invisiblearsonist]

i LOVE sam's hair in season 8 and 9, for me they are some of sam's best hair ;(((

sam winchester’s hair is SO important to me… I consider it a main character it’s THAT important. I could probably talk about every style for hours

like look at this. this is an angel. my precious angel.