#-he's a fraud and that has never EVER not been the case with him so STOP ACTING LIKE HE WAS SOME PERFECT ANGEL AT SOME POINT HE WASN'T

[starlyte-writes]

Guys can we please stop writing Wilbur during his presidency like he was some composed posh motherfucker, man never knew what he was doing a day in his life stop giving him the privilege of pretending he was competent PLS

[sleepyangelkami]

COSTUME s.winchester

𝜗𝜚 WORD COUNT - 3.4K

SAM WINCHESTER X FEM!READER

𝜗𝜚 A/N - this is my first ever time writing about sucking dick, please be nice to me, i'll cry.

𝜗𝜚 SUMMARY - you had to dress up as an FBI agent with the winchester brothers. you felt stupid in a costume but luckily for you, sam really liked seeing you in a skirt.

𝜗𝜚 WARNINGS - smut, dom!sam, sub!reader, oral(s!rec), no p!v sex, size kink, praise kink, fingering, slight manipulation, reader lowk flexible, cum eating, messy sex, squirting, (1) use of y/n, petnames, intended lower case, nothing i write is ever proofread 🩷

"come on, y/n, we gotta go!" you heard dean's not so gentle knock against the bathroom door as you slipped on your last mary jane shoe.

you weren't usually chosen for tasks like this.

usually, it was the winchester boys that did all this kind of thing, you know, fraud? you were usually just the researcher, sitting in the motel room as back up, with a laptop perched on your lap or sitting in baby, the key inside and waiting to be their getaway car.

you weren't really hands on when it came to being a hunter.

you never really had to go out into the real world for much. but this particular demon was snatching girls, twenty something year old girls about your age and appearance. the brothers thought it would be best if another girl accompanied them when investigating the missing girls' roomates and not two six-foot men dressed in suits.

dean's head turned as the creaky bathroom door opened. "I feel stupid."

his eyebrows raised to the tips of his forehead, a look of shock passing over him as he cleared his throat with a breathy laugh. "wait 'til sammy sees you." you just gave him a confused look before grabbing the pretty pink purse that sat on the bed. "aah-ah." you look up at dean confused. "kind of ruins the whole FBI vibe, don't you think?"

you eyed the purse in your hands.

it was a little bag, hardly able to hold anything other than your phone and your lipgloss, not that you ever had to worry about holding your wallet when you had the boys around but nonetheless, a card was wedged in there too.

it was pink with darker pink flowers on it and a ribbon attached to the strap. sam had gotten it for you after a case that you worked particularly hard on.

but dean was right, it didn't fit the whole 'FBI vibe' so you sighed and placed it back on the bed, passing the man an unhappy glance.

sam was outside, sitting in the passenger seat of the infamous impala named 'baby' by dean. he'd packed and started the car, waiting for the two of you when you caught his eye.

or should he say, your outfit.

you often wore pretty little sundresses or blouses and skirts paired together with a pretty cardigan drawn over you. but this? This seemed awfully different to your usual attire.

the white blouse was a little too low for comfort and he could tell by the way you were pulling it up over your cleavage that you agreed. your black pencil skirt was high, too high with a pair of long black stockings that stopped just above your knees paired with the infamous mary janes that you wore with almost everything.

sam was staring.

"what are you wearing?" was the first thing he asked when you and dean got into the car. "what is she wearing?" he turned back to dean.

you owned the stockings and the mary janes before hand but the rest of the outfit? it'd been dean's job to pick it out (which was no wonder you looked like... that.) "dude, she has to play the part."

"yeah of an FBI agent not some sexy stripper cop." sam spoke, exasperated.

"thank you!" you beamed from the back seat before your eyes furrowed. perhaps your boyfriend hadn't been complimenting you at all.

sam passed you a glance through the mirror but was more focused on blaming his brother. how could he let you go out looking like that for everyone to see? how could he make sam watch you while his pants tightened and his bulge was on show?

you thought the interviews went smoothly. you sat down with most of the women. the college women who's roomates had gone missing. dean was too busy fraternizing with the college girls to care about the case anymore and sam... well sam had seemed a little distracted from the beginning.

he couldn't rip his eyes away from you. you sat so perfectly, pieces of hair falling into your face as you nodded and sympathised with the women, asking them questions and jotting down notes onto a little notepad you had found in the backseat of baby.

sam was staring at you, at the way he could see the outline of your boobs down your shirt or the way your plush thighs protruded from the fabric of your stockings.

he was in awe.

it was hard to focus on anything other than you, which is why he had to excuse himself to talk to the headmaster instead of being stuck in a room with you, too close.

he was your boyfriend, it wasn't as if you hadn't done things with him before. on the contrary, you did... many things with sam before. but this was borderline unprofessional, the way he let his thoughts run.

he could imagine sliding his hands beneath your skirt or listening to your little gasps when he touched your skin, barely grazing it. you were so easily led like that, so audible and obedient. he could imagine unbuttoning your shirt slowly, with you sat on his lap while whines fell from your lips, whimpers following shortly after.

he needed to stop thinking.

or better yet, he needed to fuck you until the thoughts stopped.

dean decided he was going to check out the last spot that the college girl had been taken, assuring you both that he wouldn't be back before dinner. but the wink he shot his younger brother told him that he was merely giving you both alone time because he was no stranger to the look in sam's eyes.

and this was when sam got selfish.

honestly, the motel wasn't that far from the college so you and sam opted to walk back. the air turned brisk and for a split second, sam was about to offer you his jacket, the way he always would.

he thought it was rather adorable, watching the way you nuzzled into the jacket that was far too big for your frame. he was six foot five after all, you drowned in anything he let you wear.

but he found himself feeling selfish. he selfishly liked the way your perky breasts looked in that pretty blouse and the way your plush thighs could be seen peeking out from between the skirt and the stockings. he couldn't stop looking, couldn't tear his eyes away and stop his imagination from roaming.

so he let you walk back to the hotel, keeping a slight distance behind you so he could watch your body as he pleased, the only sound between you two being the click-clop of your mary jane heels as you walked home.

when you finally got inside, you felt yourself sigh in thought.

sam had been acting awfully quiet since you'd left and you'd begun to worry that you'd done something to upset him.

perhaps the outfit was too revealing, perhaps he wasn't okay with it.

you turned, an apology already on the tip of your lips. "sam―"

before you could utter the words, sam had grabbed you. his lips pushed into your own, a kiss filled with no passion or love, you could taste nothing aside from thick hunger, half a growl from inside his throat.

you whimpered into the kiss, taken by surprise. you felt him grab at you, one hand slid up your back, the other grabbing the back of your head and a fistful of hair along with it. again, a noise escaped you while sam was mindlessly kicking off his shoes, guiding you towards the bed.

to say you were surprised was saying the least, you hadn't expected this.

when he sat you gently against the bed, he finally broke the kiss. you looked up at him with glassy eyes and swollen lips while he tugged his suit jacket off, not bothering to take off his tie completely but only loosen it so it didn't hang so close to his neck. perhaps now he could finally breathe.

your eyes followed him curiously as he bent down, eyes never leaving yours while you stayed sitting on the mattress. you felt his hands pawing at your legs, slipping your mary janes from your feet. his hands gently rubbed at your sock-covered feet, a little reminder of his gentleness, despite the roughness he was suddenly using on you.

his fingers trailed upwards, following the little sewing thread between the fabric of your stockings. when his hands reached the top, he snapped the fabric back, leaving it snap against your thighs. "you're keeping these on." he uttered, he didn't sound like he normally did. he sounded as if he were pent up, desperate for relief. and he was.

you just couldn't seem to understand why.

"sam, why are you―"

you were cut off. "you're jus' so pretty all dressed up, honey." sam was towering over you as he stood, his large hand falling on your face, practically taking up a whole cheek as he cupped it. "'n i was hard all day thinkin' about this. you do wanna make me feel good, don't you, sweetheart?"

he watched as your eyes seemingly got rounder. "i wanna make you feel good, sammy." you caught your bottom lip between your top teeth and he could tell you were being honest, so honest.

willing to do anything to make him feel good, his sweet sweet girl. he would have cooed at you had he not been busy using his thumb to pull your bottom lip from beneath your top teeth. "don't do that, baby." he watched as you nodded silently. "good girl, i'll give you something to wrap those pretty lips around, don't worry."

he could see your face slowly building a flush, that kind of blush that had him reeling. he liked when he got you like this, all flustered and squirming. which you were, squirming in your seat with your thighs pushing together.

sam was well aware that if he were to reach up your skirt now, he would find a little wet circle sitting on your satin panties.

but instead, he used his hands to pull his own trousers from him. they were sitting tightly on his hips and when he finally pulled them down, you could see his bulge sticking out from his black boxers.

you gulped, hands playing together in your lap. you wanted to look back up at sam but you couldn't seem to tear your eyes away from him, too engrossed by his dick to think of anything else.

"'s how i felt all day, sweetheart." his voice was a whisper now. "you were teasin' me 'n i couldn't do anything about it. do you know how mean that is?"

your eyes snapped up to his, filling with this red glassiness. "w-what?" you didn't want to be mean to sam. he was so good to you, always making you feel good, you wanted nothing more than to be good to him. "'m sorry sammy, 'm really sorry."

"awh, i know, baby." his thumb swiped against your cheek, playing around with your face as if you were dough, thumb dragging across your bottom lip. "you just wanna be my good girl, yeah?"

you nodded quickly. "mmhm, wanna be your good girl, sammy, 'm sorry. 'm really sorry."

"i don't know, you were very bad today." his constant teasing as only making your panties wetter, that tone he was using on you, the one that he knew got you all flustered. "if i give you a second chance, are you gonna be good?"

"uh-huh, 'be so good, sammy, i promise. please, ill be good." you were begging now, eyes as big as saucers and lips wet.

he didn't bother pretending to think about it, he just leaned down, so far that his face was in line with yours, lips against your ear as he softly whispered the words, "then get onto your knee's 'n show me."

when sam winchester told you to do something, you did it, no questions asked.

you'd touched him like this many times before, you on your hands and knees on the mattress while he stood on the ground. he thought it was the most comfortable spot for the both of you, seeing as he was so big.

you did as you were told, moving so you were on your hands and knees against the mattress. your hands moved up to his waist, eyes snapping to his. he watched you intently as you brought your lips to his clothed cock, pressing a pretty kiss against it before using your fingers to pull down his underwear.

you did it without fail every single time.

every time he had you on your knees with his cock in your mouth, you started off with that pretty kiss to his boxers. there was something sickly sweet about it that had his eyes already rolling backwards. it was almost an innocent and naive act of love towards him, laced with lust.

you were on just your knees now, pushing his boxers down with no help from him. his dick sprung free and you could see an idle line of precum dripping down his shaft. instinctively, your hand moved up, thumb swiping the precum and smoothing it over the head of his dick. the act alone caused a grunt to leave his lips.

as pretty as you looked, all curious and ready to take your time, sam simply wasn't having it tonight.

he was too pent up from your silly outfit and his own mindless thoughts that he couldn't help it.

his hand fell to the side of your head, cupping it as he guided it forward. you knew what he was asking and you wasted no time in sticking out your tongue and licking a kitten lick up his shaft.

"fuck," fell from his lips. "good girl." mumbling as your tongue swirled over his head and your mouth wrapped around his dick. sam was a huge man and his dick was no exception to that. he was huge, too big to fit in your mouth but you pushed him in anyway, only covering a little more than half.

sam knew he was big too, he couldn't help the quirk of his lips as he looked down at you, struggling to fit his size into your mouth. his hand slowly guided your head further onto his cock, letting your lips wrap around him completely, your saliva coating him. it wasn't until you gagged that he knew this was as far as you could go.

so he pushed you a little further, anyway.

you brought your head back out then in again, bobbing it as you tongue swirled against him. you were no stranger to sucking sam off but every time you did it, you found yourself getting nervous. you wanted to be good for him and you were doing your upmost best.

his pretty thing.

"fuck, baby, you're doin' so good f'me." and sam knew exactly what effect his words would have on you. "mmph, look so pretty with your lips around my dick, sweetheart."

you couldn't help but moan on his dick.

and his lips quirked into that sickly sweet smile.

he knew how easily you got wet, how all it took was just a few words and you were a moaning, whining mess. sam thought you deserved a little more for all you were giving him than just a little praise.

and like said before, sam was huge so he reached over, his torso towering a little above your head and his arm reached out, soothing down your lower back.

this wasn't the first time sam had pulled something like this. you knew what to do, stomach sinking onto the bed as you rolled your ass into nothingness, wanting to create some kind of friction while your mouth continued to slowly melt around him, licking and sucking, eyes closed as one hand pumped the part of his dick that your mouth couldn't reach.

you felt his fingers tracing the outline of your satin underwear, pulling up your skirt so he could gain access.

you made a noise of complaint, knowing that if he touched you, you wouldn't be able to focus properly on touching him. sam only used his free hand to push your head onto his dick and make you gag again.

he liked watching you fall apart, especially with his dick stuffed in your mouth.

he loved watching the way your body had to bend for him to be able to stick his fingers into your gaping whole, watching as you desperately rolled your hips, wanting him him him. you wanted to feel him. taste him. smell him. he was all consuming, you wanted him to take over your every sense.

and he always did, without complaint.

you were wet, undeniably so, he could feel it through the satin material that he pulled back, getting access to your aching pussy. "there you go, sweetheart, tha's it." while easing two fingers into your hole.

you felt like a slut.

he had you completely and utterly full.

"'s that nice, baby? y'feel so warm." both with your mouth against his dick and your soaking wet hole. "you're so pretty for me, you know that, angel?"

he knew you couldn't respond, only whining and whimpering against his throbbing cock. "you're my good girl, aren't you?" he felt you whine, vibrations spreading through him and he also felt your pussy squeeze against his fingers. he grinned at that. "you like that, honey? like thinkin' about how you're my good girl, yeah? all mine, baby, you're all mine."

and you really were. before sam, you wouldn't look at a boy sideways let alone be like this.

you groaned into him, ass rolling against his fingers while your own free hand moved down. you continued sucking his dick while using your nimble fingers to play with your clit.

and that was enough for sam to let out a moan. "oh, baby, you look so pretty playing with yourself while―shit―sucking my cock."

your eyes rolled back, feeling of pleasure coating you while your soft lips bobbed up and down, fingers tracing him and yourself.

"'m gonna cum, sweetheart." a warning, though he knew you wouldn't move anyway. "you gonna be a good girl 'n cum on my fingers while you suck my cock, huh, baby?"

he felt you absentmindedly nod, too fucked out to think straight while feeling a familiar knot deep in your stomach.

your whines got louder and he felt himself nearing the edge. the sight of you, blissed out while sucking his cock, his fingers stuffed into your hole making you feel all full... he couldn't help but let go.

at the same time, he felt your gummy walls clenching around his fingers, wet juices sliding down his hand while spurts of squirt left your pussy every time his fingers pumped in and out of you, riding out your high.

"good girl, good girl. that's it, baby. oh fuck. yeah, my good girl. there you go." he was in awe, watching you squirt around his fingers, the wet feeling as it spurted out from your pussy, decorating the bedsheets in your juices while your pretty socks got ruined in the mess.

when he finally finished, he pulled his fingers out of you, letting you lean back as you parted your lips to show him his cum all over your tongue, spread messily in your mouth.

his hand was on your face, eyes strained on your mouth as he watched you close your lips and swallow like the good girl you were, swiping his thumb against your bottom lip.

he pushed his two fingers into your mouth, letting you taste yourself. while your eyes rolled back, all fucked out and dumb.

"think we have some time before dean gets back, yeah?" eyes already scanning your body and letting his imagination get the better of him.

he just watched your blissed out face nod, cheeks flushed. "mmhm hmph."

he wasn't done with you just yet.

main masterlist/sam's masterlist

[hannie-dul-set]

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline) — TWO.

SYNOPSIS. having fought tooth and nail out of high school, university, and law school, only to end up working for a law firm that basically serves as a clean up dog after the biggest organized crime group in the district, you thought you couldn’t get any lower than this. 

the bar is in hell, and yet you’ve managed to limbo six feet beneath that. alternatively— na jaemin is the personification of hell, and your very existence just makes him even worse than he already is. 

PAIRING. na jaemin x female! reader. GENRE. gang! au, lawyer! au, office! au, comedy, drama, romance, very light angst, this is a sitcom, hate to love(?), a somewhat questionable power dynamic, asshole! jaemin (my beloved…my kryptonite…) but he’s also an idiot, jaemin has an eye contact thing, inspired by the manhwas “weak hero” and “study group.” WARNINGS. an abundance of criminal activity (including but not limited to organized crime, fraud, blackmail, DUIs, unethical and illegal occupational practices, etc.), blood and violence, suggestive themes, eventual non explicit sex, jaemin with a tattoo, legal inaccuracies because i am not familiar with south korean laws, so i’m just using my own country’s as reference. also because this is just a stupid thirst fic. who gives a damn. WORD COUNT. 7.6k.

NOTE. i tagged this as hate to love. i meant it. na jaemin is an objectively shitty person and i’ve given myself the herculean task of trying to redeem him (if ever) HAHAHHAHAHAHA. also, i tried to cut as many corners as i could in the trial scene. don’t expect it to be accurate. anyway, hope this chapter is fun! please let me know what you think! CHAPTER THREE.

YOU DIDN’T THINK YOU’D EVER FEEL THIS KIND OF DREAD ON A MONDAY AGAIN. The usual dread borne out of starting yet another week as a capitalist slave is given. It’s nothing special. But the dread you feel today as you drive to Yeongdeungpo Police Station (yet again, to the point that you’re starting to feel like an inmate yourself) is a dread that you haven’t felt in a long ass while.

Specifically, eight years ago. You’re like a broken record at this point, but it doesn’t stop you from continually cursing Na Jaemin in your mind as you stomp through the echoing halls of the station. Officer Jung is leading the way yet again to the visitation room, all while suffering from the brunt of your temper.

“He didn’t decline your request today,” he starts, attempting to make conversation.

No fucking shit, you reply in your head. “Thank you for the patience, officer,” you vocalize with a constipated smile. 

It seems like Officer Jung managed to catch the eye roll you didn’t intend for him to see. He gives you one polite smile and doesn’t make any more attempts after that, speaking only once you’ve reached the visitation room to unlock it and wish you luck with a nod. 

You thank him, sucking in a deep breath as you force your joints to start creaking. Luck. The door clicks behind you. You damn need more than luck to get through this meeting and this entire case. You need the very devil’s mercy and cooperation.

“Good day, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

But the devil isn’t a merciful man. You swallow down a lump in your throat and force out a smile.

“How have you been?”

He stares you down with the weight of a thousand suns, stabbing you right in the gut with a pain enough to incite a wave of nauseous vomit. “Get on with it,” he rasps. “I don’t think you got Mark on my ass just for some stupid fucking small talk. Hurry up and get on with it.”

Your smile twitches. This guy has never learned how to speak nicely.

*‎

(You’ve established that your new seatmate is Na Jaemin. Yet that’s all you’ve come to know about him up until the bell rings to signal lunch time.

Carefully sneaking out of your seat, you peer down to see that he’s still deep asleep. You huff. Wow. Four classes have gone by, and this guy slept through it all. And none of the teachers even called him out— only going as far as sending a look of resigned acknowledgement at your direction, sometimes even relief. Sometimes fear.

Anyhow, that first half of your day was enough to answer why Natty gave you that warning earlier: that the seat you chose was the worst one possible— next to the very embodiment of trouble, even if you don’t know the details just yet.

Despite not knowing much, you’re already blaming him for the fact that you’re eating lunch alone. 

The heat from the stew broth pricks at the skin of your lips as you scan around the cafeteria. You notice a few familiar faces scattered around, all sitting either in pairs or in groups in their respective seats and tables. You even lock eyes with Natty at some point, who simply averts your gaze with guilt ridden twitch as she turns head to her friend, someone you don’t recognize was in your class. 

Seems like you were doomed from the moment you sat your ass down on that seat. Fuck’s sake. Whoever this Na Jaemin guy is, you don’t like him already. You decide to temper your annoyed steps with some ice cream from the snack bar, seeing that there’s still a couple of minutes left before the afternoon bell. You pick up an extra snack as well— a melon bread wrapped in green tinted plastic. Something to pick at from under your desk as you go through your afternoon classes. You grab a can of pink peach soda to drink on the way back.

Upon returning to your classroom, the first thing you notice is the fact that no one else is here when there’s only five minutes left before lunch.

The second thing you notice— 

“Hey, you.”

There is, in fact, someone here.

Na Jaemin had sat up from the cross-armed, sleep-ridden slump he’d been in all morning. He’s awake. Now that his face isn’t buried, you finally have something to match the name.

“Why the hell didn’t you wake me up?”

There’s a distinct scowl on his face as he sets his phone down on his desk, shoulders slacked and sitting with his legs apart, which pushed your seat away to the very edge of your desk space. 

You feel a twitch in your brow. The annoyance prompts your feet to move close, triggers your mouth to open and speak back. “What?” you start. “There’s—there’s a bell that—”

“I was fucking asleep, you dumb fuck.” Na Jaemin cuts you off, and you flinch. “You think I’d hear a damned bell when I’m knocked the fuck out?” 

A gut feeling kicks in, forcing you to preemptively stop, look down, and choke down the remnants of your words into a stifling silence. You try to take a peek at Na Jaemin’s expression, but the sound of a tongue clicking in annoyance and the reeling back of a chair forces your eyes to continue staring at the classroom floor, feeling your entire body reverberating with the loud sound of your heartbeat as Na Jaemin’s presence loom closer. 

“I asked you a fucking question.”

“S—sorry,” you sputter out. “I’ll…I’ll wake you tomorrow.”

For a brief moment, you manage to take a quick glance at na Jaemin’s face, standing right before you.

And the sheer disdain and annoyance in his eyes makes you instantly regret that very decision.

“Useless.” You flinch back down and  hear him release a huff as he snatches the half-drunk peach soda from your hands. Your feet are nailed to the ground, and Na Jaemin proceeds to down the remnants of the drink before tossing the empty can back to you, shoving past you as the bell rings— and you hear a fumble of apologies from outside the door as Na Jaemin saunters out of the classroom.

Finally looking up, you see your classmates crowding outside the classroom, some slowly trickling in upon noticing that the coast is clear. 

You don’t think you’re wrong to assume that they’d seen everything that happened in the room. You don’t think you noticed wrong either that they’re deliberately refusing to acknowledge it.

All of them make it to their seats. No one tries to talk to you after that, but that’s not the topmost thing that you’re troubled with.

You promised to wake Na Jaemin up for lunch tomorrow. You might have just become his personal alarm clock.)

*‎

In retrospect, that was a completely void agreement. God, it pisses you off thinking just how much of a doormat you were. Still are, considering you’re barely keeping it together sitting in front of Na Jaemin when you’re supposed to be the authoritative figure here. It pisses you off even more knowing that he doesn’t even remember you. 

His impatient taps on the wooden table echo and bounce off the walls of the visitation room. 

“Na Jaemin-ssi,” you inhale sharply. “Your hearing is this Thursday, two days from now. I’ve already made the necessary preparations for your defense, and—”

“So, you’re finally getting me out?”

Can this son of a bitch let you fucking speak? “Hopefully,” you promptly answer. “I’m confident in the case I’ve prepared. However, there’s…something I need you to do in order to ensure that the judge will rule in our favor, Na Jaemin-ssi.”

Here we go. You gotta tread this carefully. Very carefully, because you know damn well that Na Jaemin doesn’t like being ordered around. 

“It is very likely that the prosecution will call you to the witness stand. You have every power to invoke your right against self-incrimination. But in our case, allowing yourself to be cross-examined by the prosecution would actually be favorable for us as a testament to your innocence, so long as you stick to the script.” It’s hard to get a hint of how well he’s receiving this because you’re too scared shitless to look him straight in the face. All you can do is hope he’s actually listening and not picking his ears as you continue to prattle on. “You just have to agree to Atty. Jung Sungchan’s line of questioning— even the fact that you fought the witnesses. However, you have to say that you didn’t start the fight. You don’t remember how the fight started. And you sustained significant injuries yourself.”

Na Jaemin got out of that altercation with just a few bruises and scratches, but the doctor Mark Lee referred you to was able to turn that into a couple broken ribs and a dislocated shoulder. He agreed to attest to the medical report on the stand as well.

The only missing piece you really need right now is Na Jaemin’s testimony and cooperation. 

His lack of response does not bode well for you. The room swallows you up in its cold and eerie silence. “Do you…follow…Na Jaemin-ssi…?” you try to prod out a response. And you get a response, all right.

Just not the kind of response you’d been praying for.

“Are you saying that I have to go up there, pretend I took a beating from those sissy fucks, and act all pathetic and pitiful like a little bitch?”

There’s an angry kick against the table. You suck down a breath when you feel the wooden edge jam against your ribcage.

“Who the hell do you think you are to tell me what to do?”

Your eyes squeeze shut, ignoring the sharp pain on your torso because that’s the least of your problems right now. Why…why does he have to be so goddamn difficult? Fuck’s sake. “Na Jaemin-ssi,” you exhale. “I’m not—I’m not telling you to do all those things. I’m just saying that the only way we could see your full acquittal is if we prove that Yoon Naksung and his party were also at fault.”

“We? That’s your damn job, attorney. You want me to do your fucking job for you?” 

This is different from when he was trying to deliberately push your buttons last time.

He’s mad. He’s really freaking mad.

“Get out. Get the fuck out.”

You know a warning when you hear one. You waste no time gathering yourself and speed walking out the door— half out of fear, mostly out of angered frustration because holy fuck. This is a mess. You’re so fucking screwed. Sure, you managed to get Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong to cooperate with you. Sure, you managed to get a doctor to fake his medical exam. But all that would be useless if your bastard of a client decides to run his mouth and brag about just how much he wrecked those idiots’ asses.

Say, you don’t force him to testify. Once the witnesses come out and follow the script you made, the judge might still compel Na Jaemin to take the stand to confirm things. If he says anything to the contrary, you’re as good as screwed. At best, you’d lose the case. At worst, you’d be charged with contempt of court, and you can kiss your license goodbye.

That’s how your meeting ends— with a looming sense of dread that follows you out the doorway.

You exit the visitation room as if you’d just gotten your life ripped out from your own hands. It doesn’t go under Officer Jung’s notice, who’d been waiting by the door. 

“JJS is always handling the tough cases,” he remarks.

You grunt. “Give us a call when you wanna get silly with your gun and try shooting at random civilians.”

Thank god he doesn’t attempt any more small talk, nor does he follow you out. You’re way too exhausted right now— mostly emotionally and psychologically, and you’ve almost broken yourself down to simply just admit defeat and abandon this motherfucker’s ass. He can continue being a bitch in jail for all you care. You’re done. You’re so fucking done. You decide that you don’t give a shit anymore and give Mark a call right outside the station.

Four rings. Then he picks up. “Hey,” you immediately start. “What will you do if I fail to release your dog?”

Mark Lee never even got the chance to greet you back when you tossed this question at him. “Hmm,” he ponders, leaving a gap for a quiet pause. “That’s not something I’ve even considered, attorney. I really value our relationship thus far.”

You don’t even give him a response before ending the call. Your arm falls limp on your side. Fuck. You’re so dead.

Either in the hands of Mark Lee, or Na Jaemin, should you continue trying to push him. You’ve only ever seen the lengths of the latter’s violence. You don’t intend on finding out just how much of a psycho the former is. So death by Na Jaemin, it is.

You bring your phone up and call Mark again and ask for another meeting with your client tomorrow. He says he’s always happy to oblige.

*‎

(At some point, after a whole week of being Na Jaemin’s alarm clock, you started to wonder— why the hell do you have to keep doing this?

Lunch bells. Dismissals. Having to leave the classroom for gym or for some other special class. He expects you to wake him up or else you’d get your fucking ass kicked, and even when you do wake him up, he gives you a nasty ass look as if he’s about to kick your ass, until you promptly squeak out that class has ended, or whatever your teachers’ instructed you to do that day.

It’s only after seven days of this bullshit that you realize that you don’t owe him. You’re under no obligation whatsoever to keep being his alarm lackey or answer to him in any way shape or form. He’s just a guy. He’s just a student, just like you. And you bet that he’s probably just bluffing. 

All he’s ever done is snatch your drink from you. He hasn’t even laid a hand on you.

So just as you march back to the classroom after having your lunch at the cafeteria— alone, because getting involved with Na Jaemin has ruined all your chances of making any friends— you decide that it’s finally time to put your foot down and tell him that you’re not his slave. You’re not doing this crap anymore.

Yet your newfound sense of will-power is promptly deflated when you slide open the classroom door and see that your seatmate isn’t snoozing in his usual spot.

In fact, no one is seated in their seats. Your brows furrow in confusion upon noticing that all your classmates are crowding the windows on the other side of the room, all pressing up the glass, gawking and gasping at the same thing.

“Is that Park Gunho from Class 9?”

“Yeah, dude. I heard him talking shit about Na Jaemin the other day, and— oh! Ouch. That’s gotta hurt.”

“Holy shit, is that blood?”

“Where the hell are the teachers?”

You managed to squeeze in between two of your classmates, looking through the glass and right at the crowded spectacle in the courtyard— just in time to watch Na Jaemin land a crunchy punch into Gunho’s nose that has you wincing, even when the fight is happening from several feet away. 

At this point, the other guy is barely standing on his feet. Practically limping when your demon of a seatmate twists his arm behind, only to shove a kick into his back, sending him straight to the dusty ground. You watch as Na Jaemin stomps a foot into the poor guy’s knuckle’s. You can’t hear Park Gunho from here, but you can feel his choked up yelp penetrating into your skin and shuddering into your bones. Holy shit. This guy is a fucking monster. And you almost just offered yourself up to him like an idiot.

The worst part about it is the fact that Na Jaemin looks like he’s having the time of his life. There’s this crazed look on his face as he walks up to Gunho who’s trying to lip away— only to be yanked by the hair and slammed back into the ground— pinned down by Na Jaemin’s foot as the latter huffs out a grin, and says something that fails to reach your ears.

Needless to say, you’re horrified. This could have been you. 

Na Jaemin seems to have heard your thoughts because right at that moment, he snaps his head up, pinstruck gaze shooting through the windows of your classroom— looking directly at you.

Your blood runs cold. You gulp.

Someone draws the curtains back down. “Fuck, you don’t think he say our faces, do you?” You feel yourself stumble back, and with lightheaded steps, you guide yourself to your assigned seat, and start praying to whatever’s up there that Na Jaemin did not recognize you from down there. 

Much to your relief, he doesn’t return upon the right of the afternoon bell. He comes back between fifth and sixth period, looking like he’s in the best mood he’s ever been throughout your first week here, and it drives an even deeper pit of dread in your stomach.

The classroom grows colder as he comes nearer to your desk. He haphazardly draws the chair next to you back, you flinch, and he sets himself down with satisfied huff, right before assuming his usual position— arms crossed on the desk, serving as his pillow for the rest of the class day. “Oi,” he muffles out to the only person he could be talking to right now— you. There’s still blood on his uniform sleeve. You start to feel nauseous. “Wake me when the bell rings.”

You thought that that fight between him and Park Gunho was the worst thing you’ll ever witness in Ganghak.

Turns out, things would just get worse from here).

*‎

“All rise! The court is now in session. The Honorable Judge Bae Joohyun, presiding.”

It takes all the strength in your body to get up and not fall over from a mere gust of wind from the courtroom’s ventilation system. You’re exhausted. You haven’t gotten any sleep last night from the crippling anxiety of what’s waiting for you today. It took everything in your power to just look presentable for today’s trial. 

You’re a shell of a human being— that much is obvious considering you’re one step behind when Judge Bae instructs everyone to be seated. 

“We are here on the case of Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong versus Na Jaemin. Is the prosecution ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.”

“Is the defense ready to proceed?”

“Yes, your honor.” No, you’re fucking not. You did in fact manage to meet with Na Jaemin one last time yesterday, and you barely managed to acquiesce something of an agreement out of him— most likely because he was threatened by Mark. But you’re not sure if that threat was strong enough for him to actually cooperate with you today.

“Very well. Prosecution, you may make your opening statement.”

Speaking of the bastard, you notice from the corner of your eye Na Jaemin’s unabashed yawn while Jung Sungchan introduces himself and his clients. God. This is a sickening set up— him sitting directly to your right. It’s like this day was designed specifically to make you feel like you’re back in that hell. More than anything, you just want this over and done with. 

“Thank you. May I request the defense to make your opening statement.”

As you make your way to the designated podium, you cross paths with Jung Sungchan. He shoots you an over confident grin and walks past you with his nose high. You chew down a string of swears and curses. Every single man you’ve been dealing with as of late is determined to ruin your life. You hope they all run out of toilet paper every time they have to shit in a public restroom. You hope their zippers get caught every time they have to zip up their pants.

“Your Honor, ladies and gentlemen, the opposing counsel, a pleasant morning.” At this point, your soul is still completely detached from your body. Your mouth is practically moving all by itself as you do your introduction. “The prosecution argues that my client, Na Jaemin, is guilty for disturbing the peace and three counts of physical injury against Yoon Naksung, Hong Hyunjae, and Ma Gildong.” As you say this, your eyes and your eyebags trail across the prosecution’s table, locking eyes with the latter two as you scan past them. “We acknowledge that our party has done some injury to the witnesses. There is a fault in that. However, it is a well understood doctrine that two faults don’t make a right.”

If your client can’t cooperate to save his own ass, those two better do.

They’re smarter than Na Jaemin. They know what’d come for them if they don’t. 

“Your honor, the witnesses have acted in pari delicto, sustaining equally grave injuries against my client, and therefore have no right to seek legal relief. A verdict of guilt against my client would be a grave mockery to our justice system when the ones seeking justice are equally at fault. We hope that you will see the wisdom in our defense. Thank you very much.”

The moment you return to your seat and Jung Sungchan is called first to make their case, your brain continues moving in autopilot. You’re so tired. You’re so damn tired. You know that you should be setting Na Jaemin straight right now, but you can’t find it in yourself to even talk to him without bursting a blood vessel. Jung Sungchan continues to present their evidence— affidavits from his witnesses, a janky recording of Na Jaemin and the other three leaving a bar located right on the cusp of Yeongdeungpo and Mapo, separately where they’d allegedly first bumped into each other, and the same exiting the frame. 

Eventually, he calls Na Jaemin to the witness stand. The air refuses to enter your lungs as the bailiff leads him up the courtroom. You’ve re-oriented him with what he has to do yesterday. You close your eyes, press your palms together underneath the table, and mutter out pleas and manifestations that your instructions managed to get through his thick skull, that an angel would somehow possess him today and prevent him from screwing you over.

But you haven’t done enough good deeds in your lifetime to be granted this one wish.

Jung Sungchan asks him if he admits to being the person who caused Yoon Naksung and the rests’ injuries.

Na Jaemin responds with a shit eating grin saying, “Yeah, I fucking did it.” 

Your face contorts in horror. Your eyes fly wide open, blood draining from your cheeks. Oh, fuck. Oh, fucking hell, please no. Your demon sent client looks like he wanted to elicit his kind of reaction from you— smiling at you from the witness stand, and you feel your nails dig into your clenched palms, biting into the thin skin of your flesh.

To make matters worse, he doubles down. He’s determined to kill you right here and now. “That guy nearly pissed himself when I socked him in the—”

“Your honor!”

This is a stupid fucking move to make, but you’re panicking. And that very panic easily seeps out of your skin and burrows into the notice of your opponent from the other table. Jung Sungchan’s eyes are both sparking incredulously and victoriously at this pretty blatant concession. To think your own client would fuck you over. You’re about to cry. You’re fuming. You’re dying from embarrassment.

“I’d— I’d like to request a short recess to meet with my client.”

Judge Bae narrows her eyes at you. “Overruled.” Yeah, you didn’t expect that to be granted. Fucking hell. You sink back into your seat in defeat, the dread that had once only been creeping up to you now completely swallowing you whole. “Counsel, please continue with your questioning.

No, it’s okay. This is fine, you think to yourself. You still have your witnesses. You’re not totally screwed yet. Maybe that would be enough to dismiss this damned case. Maybe that would be enough to let you walk away scot free.

“Ahem,” Jung Sungchan clears his throat. “Na Jaemin-ssi. Can you tell us the events that unfolded after the four of you left the bar?”

Silence.

“Na Jaemin-ssi…?”

“I don’t feel like answering.”

You let out a muffled noise as you bury your face in your hands. Your face is burning. Not only is he trying to screw you over, he wants to mortify you in front of everyone here.

“Defendant.” Judge Bae Joohyun has decided to intervene. “Are you…invoking your right against self incrimination?”

You almost let out an anguished cry and slam your forehead against the table when Na Jaemin responds with a, “Sure.”

The bailiff escorts him back to your table, and he’s all smiles when he sits down. Is he happy now that he’s thrown a big ass fucking wrench in your plans? Does he not give a fuck that he might get incarcerated as long as he sees you miserable? What a sadomasochistic psychopath, you hope he burns in hell.

“You don’t look too good, attorney,” you hear him chipper from beside you. 

Your head snaps to the side. You hear a crash from inside your ears.

For the first time, you look this son of a bitch dead in the eye— and you might not have a mirror, but you don’t think you’re looking at him pretty pleasantly. In fact, you can feel your own self going lightheaded from the sheer animosity darting through blood vessels in your brain.

Jung Sungchan calls Ma Gildong to the stand, and you turn your head back to the front. Sure, the bastard next to you might have thrown a wrench into your plans, but you still have a few working cogs left— and they better fucking work properly. You think you still have that same, manic look in your eyes when you meet Gildong’s gaze from across the courtroom because he visibly gulps and clears his throat.

Jung Sungchan starts questioning him, and he does just as well as you hoped (unlike the last guy). That rookie attorney gets caught off guard when his client answers with a stuttering, “I—I don’t remember,” in response to Jung Sungchan’s request to recount who started the fight that night. “It all happened suddenly. It was hard to tell exactly who.”

“Witness Ma Gildog,” the judge intercepts once again. “In the affidavit you submitted, you stated that the defendant was the one who started the altercation without warning. What is the meaning of this?”

Ma Gildong looks at you. You look him dead in the eye and he promptly looks away with a hard swallow.

“I…I only wrote that because Naksung hyung told me to.”

Fuck yes.

“We—were were all drunk when it happened. It was hard to tell who started the fight. I didn’t even want to pursue this case, he—he was just pissed that that guy got more punches in.”

“What?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Order!”

You watch as the bailiff tries to settle Yoon Naksung down. You stifle down a smile. This whole trial wouldn’t have been necessary if he had only been as cooperative as the other two. God, you wouldn’t have needed to deal with this headache either. 

You hear Judge Bae set down the gavel.  “There seems to be some unresolved issues with the prosecution side,” she starts with a sigh. “In this case, let us have a short recess. We will reconvene after thirty minutes.”

Thirty minutes. That’s just fucking perfect.

“Recess? Are we having a snack break, attorne—”

“Please allow us to use one of your conference rooms.” You quickly shoot up and cut off Na Jaemin, a polite stance directed at the bailiff near you. “That would be alright, right?”

The way the bailiff looks at you makes you come to the conclusion that you don’t look exactly sane right now. Nevertheless, he humors you and leads both you and Na Jaemin to one of the available conference rooms in the district court. It’s hard to grasp the fact he is being very docile right now, lazily looking around with cuffed hands before him as he trails beside you, under the watchful eye of the court sheriff.

A door is opened before you. The moment the bailiff allows you and your client and closes the door behind, you swivel your heels, grab Na Jaemin by the fucking collar, and ram him against the wall with a loud rattle.

Your years and years of disdain for this guy just came to a breaking point today.

You’ve had fucking enough of his difficult attitude.

“Listen.” Your voice comes off as a hiss more than anything. You hear the sound of his handcuffs clatter when you shove him harder against the wall. You feel your nails dig into your palms through the collar of his shirt. You’re beyond livid. “I am trying my god damned best to get you out of here, Na Jaemin-ssi. You’re the last person I want to help. You’re the last person I could give a shit about, but here I fucking I am— fighting tooth and nail for you, for christ’s sake. I literally had to build up a defense out of nothing just to clear you from incarceration. All I asked is for you to not throw a fit, to follow my damned script, to sit still and still pretty for the rest of this stupid trial, and you couldn’t even fucking do that?”

Much to your surprise, Na Jaemin looks pretty much caught off guard. Not intimidated by any means, but he does keep his mouth shut, repeatedly blinking his somewhat widened eyes at you— the only other expression you’ve ever seen from him other than a scowl and that bastardized grin of his.

Another beat of silence. Your upper lip twitches into a snarl. “Useless fuck.” 

You roughly let go of him with a grunt and roll back your shoulders, facing your back to him and release a sigh. Whew. That felt so fucking good. 

Without another word, you take quick strides out the conference room, greeting the bailiff outside with a sweet and refreshed smile, maintaining that same air as you return back to the courtroom, an uncharacteristically cooperative Na Jaemin in tow.

The trial resumes. He doesn’t do anything stupid again after that because you’ve decided to completely remove him from the equation. Ma Gildong and Hong Hyunjae submitted new affidavits as evidence. Jung Sungchan and Yoon Naksung are red-faced and look like they’re sitting on burners from hell— even more so when it’s finally your turn to present your case, speaking before the court with a now clear head and your cards in place. When you call Dr. Qian Kun to the stand to attest to Na Jaemin’s physical exam result, the prosecution table is practically deflated in defeat by then.

You return to the defendant’s table. Your shoulders haven’t felt this light in weeks. Even lighter when the court finishes deliberation, and Judge Bae announces the final verdict.

“In light of the criminal charges against Na Jaemin—”

You inhale sharply.

“The court finds insufficient evidence to declare his guilt beyond reasonable doubt.”

Yes. Yes. Fuck, yes.

“Now, the civil liabilities attached to this case— the witnesses’ participation in the aforementioned offenses creates a unique situation. When both parties are at equal fault or in pari delicto, neither the courts nor law will grant relief to the parties. Although the defendant, Na Jaemin, had indeed inflicted less serious physical injuries against the witnesses, the witnesses have inflicted the same upon the defendant.”

Oh, fuck yeah.

“This court hereby dismisses the case without prejudice for want of prosecution. Court is adjourned.”

There is no one happier in this court than you right now. You lock eyes with Jung Sungchan from across the room. You stick your tongue out because you don’t give a damn anymore.

You’re free. You don’t have to deal with Na Jaemin ever again. You’re fucking free.

*‎

Well, you spoke too soon.

“What...what are you doing here…?”

Four days later, you see the very bastard sitting on your chair at the JSS office. He’s swiveling around, stopping the turn with a foot down to look at you. “Oh,” he starts. “Took you fucking long enough.”

Seriously. What have you done to deserve this? Nevermind, you’ve done a lot of things to deserve ten years worth of bad karma, but that’s neither here nor there. You’d just gotten back from a meeting with one of your clients— a normal client: a sweet, old lady who was drafting her last will and testament to make sure none of her nutjob sobs get even a percentage from her estate. 

The meeting ran longer than expected because the lady kept trying to ask you if you’re single and would be interested to meet one of her nephews. So, you’d just returned back to the office at 6 p.m., most of your co-workers having clocked out already, only to be bitch slapped in the face with this psycho again, not even a week since you’ve last seen him.

You ignore him, eyes flitting up to the direction of your boss’s office. The light is still on. You grit your teeth. This son a bitch’s entry was permitted by the other son of a bitch. If he’s miserable, he should keep his misery to himself.

“Hey, attorney. I’m tryna talk to you.”

“Y—yes?” you choke out, taking a step back when Na Jaemin rises to his feet. God damn it. Your outburst mid-trial was an isolated case as a result of your pent up emotions. You can’t be brave anymore— and he notices.

There’s a slight raise in his brow when you flinch back, a barely visible smile playing on his face. It’s almost like this bastard can smell fear, and you’re completely lathered in it. “You were pretty gutsy enough to swear at my face and shove me around the other day,” he says, voice low. “What happened to all that spunk, attorney?”

You bite down the swear at the tip of your tongue. “I sincerely apologize for my inappropriate behavior that day.” You’re doing your damn best to keep your head down, but it’s increasingly difficult when this guy is trying to get all up in your space. “Any—anyhow. What business do you have with JSS, Na Jaemin-ssi?”

A flip switches. Na Jaemin suddenly looks very annoyed.

“Ugh. Right,” he grunts, digging into his inner jacket pockets like it’s a chore before pulling out an envelope. A really thick envelope. Your eyes widen. He hands it over to you. “The boss wanted to give his extra thanks.”

Extra thanks for risking your life to release one of his mutts. Holy shit. You say nothing as you take the envelope from his hands, the weight of the paper bills pulling you down heavier than they’re supposed to be. You clear your throat and stuff it into the bag you’ve yet to set down on your desk. “Why didn’t he come in person?”

“He’s out on business,” Na Jaemin flatly replies. Then, there’s a twinge on his tongue when he follows it up, “Why? You want to see him that badly?”

The fuck? That very through slips through expression for a second. Na Jaemin clocks this. 

A grin takes over his expression. He releases a bare laugh when he walks past you with a hand on your shoulder. “I gotta hand it to you. You’re pretty damn good at pulling shit out of your ass out of nothing.” 

Your breath hitches when you feel a firm squeeze. Na Jaemin releases you with a hum and a pat and finally starts fucking leaving.

“See you around, attorney.”

When you’ve confirmed that the psycho has finally left, you immediately lunge for your chair and release a long and hefty breath.

Jesus fucking christ. How many times do you have to tell these Nalkeutta bastards that you never want to see their faces again? Not enough, apparently. Because the next day, Mark Lee makes a visit to your office again. He greets you a good morning and you quietly tell him to leave you alone and never talk to you again. He laughs and disappears into Doyoung’s office for the next two hours, before stopping by at your desk again to inquire about your desk nameplate preferences.

“Do you prefer acrylic or marble?” he asks, peeking out from behind your desktop computer.

“Gold,” you soullessly respond. “Avenir font. Engraved. Heavy enough to knock a man unconscious with one blow.”

“Very particular.” Your eyes flit up to see his pleasant smile, and it just ruins your day further. It gets worse when Kim Doyoung follows not long after him. “Oh, Mr. Kim,” Mark greets. “I was just about to head out.”

“Yes, allow me to accompany you down to the lobby, Mr. Lee,” Doyoung chimes in. You look up at him as he leers down at you, noticing that you are, in fact, here. “Congratulations on yet another winning case, attorney.”

He’s five days late. “Thank you. Are you gonna give me my own office yet?”

“You know very well JSS isn’t in the position to grant you that.”

Very expected response, but you’re annoyed anyway. They finally leave you alone so you can mentally curse them once you die from overwork and overexertion. Indeed, you know very well that JSS isn’t in the best spot right now. Your firm’s reputation has been slowly nosediving lately— fully getting tanked recently because of your latest acquittal of Na Jaemin.

The general public has been questioning your integrity as a law firm. That much is fucking expected when you’re partnered with the biggest crime organization in the district. It’s not that this partnership is a recent thing. But with the establishment of a new law firm within your territory, the GP now has a point of comparison to notice just how many obvious criminals JSS has helped to subvert the rule of law.

These articles and nasty forum posts have been the source of Kim Doyoung’s stress as of late. During the next few weeks, you watch his mood sour and sour by the day after every meeting with the higher-ups.

The source of the problem is obvious, but it’s not like JSS can just cut ties with Nalkeutta to clean its name. In fact, it would the dumbest move ever, practically industry suicide considering Mark Lee and his company is your highest paying client. Not only that. All of the firm’s employees practically have immunity from the hefty protection fees all Yeongdeungpo residents have to pay weekly just to pay the streets. And you don’t want to make an enemy out of Nalkeutta either by cutting them off. Your firm is caught in between rock and a hard place with no easy way out.

“I think the boss has started to grow white hairs lately,” Jungwoo tells you over coffee in the breakroom. 

“Why…are you looking at his hair?” you ask, almost worriedly. Jungwoo simply shrugs and you two watch as Kim Doyoung stomps into the breakroom in a fit again to angrily snatch a glass and nearly rip the fridge open for the pitcher of lemon water you started to make every morning, overpouring into the glass before chugging it clean and slamming the glass down on the counter.

He didn’t even ask for permission. What a monster.

Anyhow, you could give less of a shit about JSS’s steadily dwindling reputation. This ain’t your problem to fix. It’s your higher up’s problem. It’s Kim Doyoung’s problem, and— quite frankly— the peak of your week is seeing his grumbling swears every time he stomps out of another admin meeting, watching him scratch at the growing grey hairs at the back of his head through his private office like it’s your own personal TV show. 

It’s such a great sight to see. Added to the fact that you haven’t received a call from Nalkeutta lately, whether it be for consultations or just simple blotter charges, they haven’t been bothering you at all. In short, you’ve been having the best two weeks of your life. 

It comes to a peak when Kim Doyoung calls you to his office one day, prompting the assumption that JSS’s reputation situation has become way, way worse to the point that the firm needs the help of its rank and file employees like you to settle the matter. 

“Damn, good luck. Let me know what’s up,” Jungwoo sends you off.

Honestly, you’re looking forward to having a front row seat to Kim Doyoung’s meltdown, if things have gotten as bad as you think. Your knuckles tap against the wooden entrance to his office, and you’re filled with a longing envy when he tells you to come in because damn— must be nice to have an office of his own. Why does he always have a stick up his ass when he’s got his own 150 square feet kingdom where he can do whatever he wants?

“Come in.”

Muct to your surprise, however, Kim Doyoung looks well rested today.

The moment you step in, you notice that his usual constipated expression is nowhere to be found on his face. In fact, his skin is perfectly clear. His white button up is crisp and tidy. His glasses are shining. His hair is neat and styled— as though it hasn’t been run through a million times today.

Whoa. What the hell? Who is this? Who is this man in front of you?

“How has your work been, attorney?” he starts, elbows on the desk, chin resting on interlocked fingers. 

You tentatively make your way closer to his desk, slightly unnerved at this sudden disposition switch. “The same as usual.”

“That’s good to hear,” he hums. He’s humming. Kim Doyoung is humming. What? He sets his fingers on a folded piece of paper that’s been sitting on his desk, promptly pushing it forward to you. “Read this.” You’re beyond creeped out. You have no idea what’s going on, but you follow instructions anyway, inching a step closer to peel the paper from the glass surface of his desk, and unfold it in your hands. 

He wants you to read it. So, you do.

The moment your eyes register the heading, your neck cranes, squinting. “Sir,” you say, holding the paper down. “Are you sure you gave me the correct sheet?”

“Yes, yes,” he affirms, waving a hand in the air. “Please continue reading.”

You do. You read the heading once again. LETTER OF RESIGNATION, in bold and all caps. Followed by today’s date. Followed by your fucking name.

The paper wrinkles in your grasp. Haha. You don’t remember writing a resignation letter. “Sir,” you start again, voice coming off as a weak wheeze. “There must be some kind of mistake.”

“There’s no mistake,” Doyoung confirms, spinning a pen between his fingers before pushing it forward to you in the same manner as he did with the resignation letter in your hands— your resignation letter. The letter that says you’ve found better prospects elsewhere and sincerely value the experience and growth you’ve had with this firm. What the fuck is this bullshit? You don’t fucking understand. “Would you please affix your signature at the bottom, attorney? I didn’t have your e-signature. That’s why I had to call you out today.” 

Your stomach drops to the very depths of your gut. “You can’t just fucking do this,” you say with gritted teeth. Kim Doyoung readjusts his glasses and responds with a sigh.

“Attorney,” he starts. “You’re well aware of the problem our firm has been facing as of late, correct?” You nod. He continues. “It’s a difficult situation. However, Nalkeutta and JSS have managed to reach an amicable compromise.”

Oh no. Oh, god, do. He can’t do this to you. He can’t fucking do this to you.

“Starting today, you will no longer be JSS’s Junior Associate. You will be working as a private lawyer for Nalkeutta Security Company.”

“You fucking sold me out!”

“I did not ‘sell you out’. Think of it as a promotion.”

Your mouth is hanging open. Your blood is boiling to the point of evaporation. The resignation is a crumpled mess at this point. You slam it back down on his desk. “I can’t even get my fucking severance pay if I sign this damn thing!”

“I’m sure the benefits you’ll receive at Nalkeutta would outweigh any amount of a severance pay that JSS can offer you,” your boss— former boss— flatly replies. “Now. Please sign the letter.”

Your head is spinning. You’re nauseous as fuck. It’s not like you can just run away. Mark Lee would have your fucking head. Sure, you hate working under Kim Doyoung, but at least it made you feel like an actual lawyer, serving only as an occasional cleanup dog for that damned wretched company. With this, you’re not just dipping your toes into organized crime. You’d be fucking drowning in it.

“Sign right there— yes. Perfect. Thank you for your cooperation, attorney. It was a pleasure working with you.”

Nalkkeutta has officially ensnared you in its burning jaws, and you’ve got no way of getting out unscathed.

fire and brimstone (and you’re a moth made of gasoline). © hannie-dul-set, 2025.

[chr0llossexygf]

IN RUINS 2

PAIRING: spencer reid x fem reader

SUMMARY: spencer reid has always had something against you. during a particular case, spencer snaps and says something he shouldn’t have said leaving you in ruins. but what happens when your in danger and he still hasn’t explained why he reacted the way he did. will he have the time?

IMPORTANT COMMENT!!!!: hi my pumpkin cupcake stinky wonky pookie bears. IM SO SORRY IVE BEEN A FRAUD! 💔💔 jokes but I’m rlly sorry I haven’t been writing for the past months ive been to the hospital multiple times and also had someone close to me pull a ‘I’m dead’ card on me and then I was oh! BUT I think I’m okay I think I’m better and I’ll start posting more I have a lot of ideas but tbh this one was a draft before allat happened so it’s shit but and I wanted to get rid of it cus it js reminded me of everything that happened before 😭 BUT I’m rlly rlly sorry ITS SO LATE

" why is your mom calling you she hasn't called you in 7 months " scott anderson says rubbing his face repeatedly his fingers shaking, his other hand is in a fist digging his nails in the palm of his hand. he walks away from jj who's tied up on the floor with her feet and hands wrapped in rope. the grip on your phone tightens.

" she's calling me because it was my aunts birthday scott." you say looking at scott in the eyes. he stands up biting his nails. " your lying to me." he says walking to you, his eyes dark. you wish his eyes at-least looked like they had nothing behind them, but his eyes definitely have something behind them.

his eyes look determined. they looked commited. and he’s looking at you. your eyes widen. your hands become sweaty. you take a step back. “ i’m not lying to you scott.” you respond back gently shaking your head. you raise your eyebrows softly smiling at him. “ i wouldn’t lie to you scott.” you say the grip on your hand tightening to the point where your hand is shaking.

his gaze softens for a second, his eyes aren't so dark now. his eyebrows soften. " you wouldn't lie to me y/ n?" he whispers gently walking up to you. you nod gulping, " ¡ wouldn't lie to you scotty" you whisper smiling. he smiles. taking another step towards you. you take a deep breath in.

"y-your doing a great job y/n" spencer's shaky voice speaks into the phone. it's the only thing keeping you sane right now. he sounds nervous. you can hear him gulp repeatedly. he's stuttering a lot right now. he's probably blinking a lot. a habit he has when he's nervous. a habit you've absorbed from afar. " your doing a really really great job y/n. i'm so proud of you." no he shouldn't have said that. he should not have said that. he shouldn't have said that. you tear up. why are you tearing up? you can't tear up right now. not right now. please not right now.

your throat feels heavy. your heart feels heavy. a part of you feels funny. your ears feel funny, never having heard those words before. your brain is trying to process the words. it can't process them. it's funny though. no matter how much insane messed up stuff you've heard on the job none of it really ever seemed to take a toll on you. but hearing those 5 words. it's taking a toll on you. and it's not the right time. why are they so triggering. what are they triggering? the inner child inside of you who never got to hear those words? the teen inside of you who never got to hear those words? or is it adult you who still hadn't heard those words up until now? it's too much. why are you tearing up?

“ why are you crying.” scott says. something in his eyes has changed. oh god. his eyes darken. his eyebrows tighten. he’s shaking his head smiling. “ what is your mom saying? why is she making you cry? do you want me to kill her?” he says with pleading eyes smiling. he’s taking a step towards you. “ or are you not talking to your mom right now…” he mumbles. your eyes widen. you shake your head. “ or…your not calling your mom you bitch!” he shouts taking another step towards you. you don’t have time to react. he grabs you by the neck slamming you against the wall. his hand tightens around your neck.

you choke on your words. the tears that gathered up finally start to fall. your free hand wraps around scott's arm thats choking you. you repeatedly hit his arm. " please stop." you plead shaking your head. his grip tightens on your neck. " your a liar. your just like him." he spits his gaze darkening. he grabs your phone throwing it across the room. it knocks over a glass vase.

"¡'m not like him." you choke out shaking your head. " shut up! yes you are!" he shouts in your voice, spit getting on your face.

" let her go!" ji shouts from the floor. her voice cracks mid sentence. probably due to fear. watching you struggle is affecting her. just watching you struggle makes her feel as though she is the one struggling.

scott turns his head around. " what did you just say?" he says slowly releasing you. you take a deep breath in. you look at scott. another wave of fear hits you. what's he gonna say to jj? what's he gonna do to jj? she shouldn't have said anything. she should've kept quiet. he can't hurt her. you have to do something.

" i said let her go. you can't hurt her. she's what you want right? you can't hurt her. why would you hurt someone you love?" jj says her eyes darting between you and scott. to scott she looks desperate, to you. you know what jj's trying to say with her eyes.' we will be fine. seeing ji look at you like that. a rush of adrenaline hit you. you have got to do something. why are your hands so weak. why do you feel as though you don't have control of your body. why do you feel as though you can't control anything. damn it.

" you show love by hurting the ones you love." he whispers. you slowly reach for the gun in your pocket, trying not to alert him. and god is it hard " y/ n would know." he says chuckling. your so close to the gun. " isn't that right y/n?" he turns around to look at you. he sees your hand. he sees the hand thats reaching for the gun. he grabs your gun. your hand immediately forms into a fist, you punch him in the jaw. he falls back. holding his jaw. " you bitch!" he shouts.

you run to jj. you drop down to your knees. your shaky hands immediately start to undo the knots of the rope. "jj you need to get out." you say out of breathe. your trembling hands making it harder to undo the rope quickly. " no- what. y/n dont. i'm not leaving without you. the team is coming t-they're on their way y/n. ji says shaking her head in denial. her hands are untied. " god jj! i always follow your orders! just follow mine! just this once." you snap back moving onto her legs. you untie her. " get out of here now jj! he wont hurt me jj. hes obsessed with me he wont. trust me." you say nodding.

jj hasn't been a profiler for a long time. anyone else on the team would've called you out for your bullshit right now. if he wanted to hurt you. he definitely would. he would do anything to get you to be obedient. he could probably kill you if he wanted to. but jj doesn't know that. she thinks he's just a stalker who's obsessed with you and probably wouldn't seriously harm you. but you know unsubs like him all too well.

ji stands up running to the door. she opens the door. she turns to look at you again. you look at her and smile. " just go." you mouth. she quickly nods running out and closing the door. a wave of relief washes over you. jj is fine. jj is okay. jj is safe. he can't hurt jj anymore.

your not fine. your not okay. your not safe. he can keep hurting you. you turn around. he's standing right behind you. he's looking down at you. he's standing tall. his eyes are on you. his expression is dark. his eyes are empty. not a single thought behind his eyes. you were wrong. his eyes without a single thought behind them is scarier. because now you know, there's nothing really stopping him. there's no determination. there's no commitment. there's absolutely nothing behind those eyes. those eyes that are just about to do you harm.

“ me looking down on you…does this remind you of anything?” he says tilting his head to the side smiling. you shake your head. but oh boy do you know exactly what he’s talking about. your dad. “ oh right sorry. let me do something that will surely make you remember.” he says chuckling. he crouches down. he punches you right in the eye, your left eye. the one with the healed over stitches. you stiffen at his touch. not just because your scared of him. yeah of course your scared of him. but also because you’ve never had someone touch you in such an intimate place. you’ve never had someone grab your cheek and gently caress your scars.

he starts laughing. " oh my god let me see that" he gently grabs your cheek. tilting your head up towards him. he runs his finger on the scar. " he did that didnt he?" he whispers gently rubbing the scar. " he gave you this scar didnt he? i read it.. in one of your hospital records. he gave you this 2 weeks before he left right?" he whispers gently caressing the scar. your shaky hands reaches for his cheek.

he stiffens at your touch. he's just like you. " he gave this to you..right?" you whisper, gently caressing the cut on his lips. scott nods. " you and me.we are the same y/n. we both grew up in the same households. we both put up the same abuse. we..we are meant for each other y/n. your meant for me. and i'm meant for you." he whispers caressing your cheek gently. you nod.

" yeah.yeah we belong together." you mumble nodding gently.

i thought so too..until i saw a picture of you and your co worker spencer reid together." he whispers softly still smiling. your eyes widen. " w-what." you mumble. he chuckles, " yeah.i saw a picture of you two together. it was when you and your team were working that case in chicago." he whispers tightening his grip on your cheek. you shake your head.

" s-spencer? spencer reid? he-he means absolutely nothing to me." you say gently reaching for his hand. " don't lie to me." he whispers tearing up. " i'm not lying to you scott." you whisper rubbing your thumb gently against his arm. " your lying to

me. all you do is lie. your just like him." he whispers tears rolling down his cheeks. " i'm not like him scott." you whisper shaking your head, trying to calm him.

" your just like him.you lying bitch." he shakes his head standing up, forcefully pulling you up with him. his fingers dig deeply into your cheeks, surely 100% going to leave a mark. but who cares at this point.

" scott just listen to me-' he cuts your desperate cries with a punch to the mouth. you fall down to the floor, on purpose however. you want him to think your weak. your worn out. he can easily control you. he can easily throw you around like a rag doll. so he can feel some sense of confidence and have a sense of control. something he probably never experienced.

"i'm not listening to you. now you listen to me. you... you listen to me y/n. we are both the same person. we deserve absolutely nothing. we deserve everything our fathers did to us-"

" you know that's not true scott." someone speaks up from behind scott. their voice is strong and stern. it brings you comfort. never would you have thought, laying on the floor with blood dripping down your chin that the sound of someone's voice would bring you comfort. your heart feels warm. you can feel the familiarity of having control over your body come back. you smile. how could you be smiling at a time like this? your smiling. really hard while looking down at the floor. you refused to look up at scott. you refuse to do so.

because deep down you know you would be staring at the version of yourself that's buried deep inside you. that part inside you that keeps you wondering everyday, if you didn't take the path you took would you be like that. would you have done the same thing he had done? what makes him so different from you. just because you carry an id that gives you power over any normal civilian and a gun that's supposed to protect you and others. that doesn't make you any different though. because even though you have those things, you still think like scott. what if you truly don't deserve anyone in this world that would treat you with respect? what if you truly deserve someone as messed up as fucked up ad you are? because then they wouldn't understand right? they wouldn't understand how your mind works. but..like scott said. you probably deserve someone like scott, someone so sick and twisted-

why are you like this. why are you taking his words to heart. are you really that desperate and pathetic that you start taking an unsubs words to heart just because he shared an intimate moment with you. why? is it because you never in your life had experienced something like that and now you yearn for it? you start to believe every word he's said. your so naive. and your so vain. how can you be so gullible. why are you the way that you are. none of what scott said is true. none of it, absolutely none of it.

your too preoccupied with your brain breaking you down too notice two people coming over to you. your zoning out. your thinking hard. really hard. something like this requires a lot of thinking. but it shouldn't though. your supposed to just shrug off his words. not pay any mind to them. he's a mentally ill unsub who's murdered 5 women. nothing he says should make you reason with his thinking. there's nothing to reason with. he's insane. your not insane. your not insane. your just a girl who's seen some insane things.

" hey. your okay. i got you." morgan says gently grabbing you by the arms. "i got you y/n." he whispers picking you up gently. you stand up looking at the wall infront of you still zoned out. " hey y/n." emily pats your shoulder gently tilting her head to the side looking at you with such pain. you shake your head and look at both of them. " hi emily." you respond looking at emily blinking repeatedly. " hey you." she says smiling. " we've gotta get you to the ambulance come on y/n." morgan says wrapping his arms around you, pushing you into him.

" j-i don't need medical care morgan." you say trying to push your heavy head away but finding it way too hard. he feels too comfortable. too comforting. he feels too nice. his cologne smells masculine. really masculine. why is it comforting? why does it bring you comfort? you close your tired eyes for a second. " hey hey don't close your eyes on me I/n." morgan says tilting his head around to take a look at you, you shake your head softly. " i'm not dying morgan." you groan.

emily chuckles. " morgan's probably enjoying this." emily says wrapping up arm around her shoulder helping you walk, " cant have derek enjoying himself too much we all know how cocky he'll get and how high his ego will sky rocket." emily adds on looking at you smiling. her words make you chuckle. a painful chuckle. when your lips curve to let out a laugh a wave of pain washes over your face. "ow ow." you chuckle closing your eyes. morgan shakes his head,

"yeah you wish you can have a bit of this ego." morgan replies.

rossi opens the house door. his eyes immediately look to you. " it's alright i've got her." he says running to you. " derek go take care of reid he's in the ambulance." rossi says putting his gun away. morgan slowly and gently lets you go. rossi quickly replaces morgan. your head immediately shoots up. that hurt. you didn't even know you could do that. why did your head shoot up so quickly? just a second ago you were leaning into morgan for support because you couldn't bare to hold your head up and now suddenly you have all the energy in the world to shoot your head up.

"w-wait whys reid in the ambulance?" you ask your eyes wide, your pretty sure your eyes are half closed though. you can't bare to hold them open. you can already feel your left eye bruising. you can taste blood in your mouth. and you know there's blood dripping down from your eyebrows, from the healed over stitch. rossi and emily push you forward helping you walk. why aren't they answering you? what happened to reid? whys he in an ambulance? is he injured? what's wrong with spencer? what happened to spence? " i think that's a question he should answer." rossi says. what does that mean?

your quickly brought out of the house, thank god. you feel like if you spent another second in there you would go ballistic and break down crying. your heads down, your too tired. you see a pair of shoes infront of you. who's shoes are those? who is that? and why did they stop right infront of you? it's not spencer. spence would never wear those shoes. he was wearing converse earlier. dark blue converse. why do you remember all of this? don't you have some sort of concussion? how do you remember what pair of shoes spencer wore? god...

you feel emily and rossi's grip weaken around you. the unfamiliar person infront of you reaches forward and takes you. they lead you away from rossi and emily. your too tired to even care. they lean you against them. " where's...what's wrong with dr spencer reid?" you mumble stumbling in their hood barely having the energy to hold yourself up. " it's alright i°ve got you. here." they sit you down on something. there's bright red lights flashing around you. an ambulance.

" ma'am i'm gonna get an IV bag started is that alright with you?" the medic asks opening a cabinet. you nod your head hazily. you lean your head against the walls of the ambulance. he takes your arm rolling your sleeve up. you feel the soft pinch. your thankful for it though. it's stopping you from dissociating and falling asleep. you don't wanna fall asleep until someone tells you why spencer is in an ambulance. why do you care for him? why do you care for him after everything's he said- oh right. after what he's said. why do you care for him after he just publicly embarrassed you? that's so stupid. why are you so pathetic and desperate. did he publicly embarrass you? half of the team probably already knew. it's not that hard to figure out. it’s probably why you are the way that you are. they’re profilers. of course they would figure that out. what he said was true. they all probably agree. oh god..

" let me go! let me go! i don't need medical attention she needs it more than me! let me see her!" you hear a voice shout from the distance, you recognise it. your heartbeat quickens. not like earlier though. not in the way your heartbeat quickened earlier. that was in fear. no. this. this is in relief. your stomach starts to stir. in nervousness. your still leaning your head against the wall, but your looking down. your hair covering your face. you stop hearing his voice.

" ma'am i need you to lift your head up." the medic says gently placing a tray next to you, a tray your guessing is full of medical supplies and alcohol. you softly nod your head sitting up. the medic grabs one of the medical instrument opening the wrapping. he moves to the side to quickly put on gloves.

“ oh my god y/n..” you hear him say your name, in so so much pain. he sounds so upset. is he in pain? why does he sound so upset. what happened to him. is he okay. you look up. you see him. you look into his eyes. and suddenly all the words he’s said earlier rush buck into your clouded messy mind. but they don’t hurt as much. your so used to men blurting out hurtful words to you and you having to get over them, what else do you do? ask them to apologise? expect them to apologise?

no. they don’t do that. they’ve never done that. best thing to do is just get over it, because you probably deserve it right? that’s what you were taught.

he looks tired. his eye bags look darker than what they usually would look like. his hair is messier then usual. the two buttons on his dark blue vest are unbuttoned. he’s wearing his fbi vest. his dark blue pants have wet stains on the side of them. your guessing because he would repeatedly wipe his sweaty hands on them. a habit he has when he’s nervous.

he looks into your eyes. he sees the bruise that's already forming in your eye. the trail of blood rolling down your eyebrow from what he can see, that scar you have. you have blood rolling down the side of your face. your neck is red. an imprint of a hand already appearing. his heart hurts. it hurts so much. seeing you like this. but how dare he right?

how dare he feel pain in his heart? the pain your feeling physically and mentally is probably 10x worse than what he’s feeling. he wishes he was feeling it though, he wishes that right in this second all your pain would be transferred to him. add it on to his pain. he feels so guilty. you don’t deserve this. this is his fault. this is his fault. this is all his fault. your never gonna look him in the eye again. whenever you do your gonna remember this day. and how much pain he put you through. he hates it. he hates it so much. he hates himself so much.

"y-y/n." he's out of breath. he doesn't know where to start. he didn't have time to think of an apology, spending the entire car ride panicking nervous about you and wether you were safe or not. but now he can't think of anything.

he can't think of anything when looking into your eyes, the only thing he's thinking of is how badly he wishes he can go back in time and prevent all of this from happening. or make all of this happen but only put himself in your shoes. make him go through all this pain instead of you. You don't deserve this. you don't deserve him. you don't deserve his stupid apology that's about to come, that is if he can even muster up an apology right now. you deserve so much better than him.

"y/n i'm so sorry." spencer starts shaking his head his eyes wide. he can't think of anything. his iq of 187 has suddenly dropped down to 20. spencer who seemed to never stop his rambling suddenly can't think of a single thing to ramble on. you just made him stupid. and not in the way it's supposed to be. you make him stupid when you smile at him. not like this. he can't think of anything. he doesn't know where to start. he shakes his head.

" god can't you do your job!" spencer snaps grabbing a medical wipe and pouring saline solution on it. he stands infront of you. his angry demeanour quickly vanishes once his infront of you. something just hit him. he freezes infront of you. it's like all the color, the little color he already had in his face has drained.

you look at him in confusion. all though your upset at him it doesn't stop you from caring and growing concerned. " w-what?" you say blinking repeatedly looking at him. hes still looking at you. his lips part. he blinks repeatedly. he shakes his head.

"i-i'm just..i got scared." he stutters his voice cracking. " why?" you ask tilting your head to the side. " i'm scared your gonna flinch once i touch you." he replies quickly. really quickly. any normal person wouldn't catch it. but you did. vou've learnt to keep up with spencer's quick rambling. oh. oh. whys he so considerate? y/n stop. you can think that. you look down at your thighs. unable to think of anything to say. if he did touch you. would you have flinched? would you have reacted? you don't know. but spencer's not him. right?

" i'm not gonna flinch spencer." you say looking up at him. he nods his head gulping, "a-alright." he says. he lifts his shaky hand up. he gently dabs the medical wipe on your cut. disinfecting it. ouch it burns. your nails dig into the palm of your hand. his eyes are stuck on the cut. the scar. he knows where it's from. he might've been with garcia when she did her usual background snooping on new members of the team 2 years ago. he remembers how guilty he felt after it. finding out about such a dark part of your life without your knowledge or permission.

but that guilt doesn't compare to the guilt he's feeling right now. he feels tremendously guilty, he caused the scar to re open. all because of his foolishness. if he just shut his mouth earlier and wasn't such a smart ass. if he maybe was the one to go with you to scott anderson's house and not jj he would've been able to protect you. he probably would've shot scott anderson the second he would've laid his hands on vou.

he doesn't trust himself aorund vou. atleast not from the harm of unsubs and has the need to shoot any of them if they ever did you harm. he would probably lose his job. if he was there he probably would've lost his job. but he doesn't care. for your safety. he doesn't care.

" i'm so sorry y/n-" you can feel the medical wipe shake on your eyebrow, from spencer's shaky hands.

" it's fine spencer." you mumble looking into his eyes. is it fine though? is it really fine? whys he apologising? he's not supposed to be apologising right? this is new. this is so very new. they never apologise after hurting you. this is so unfamiliar? how are you supposed to react? do you tell them how you really feel? do you immediately accept their apology? they never apologised to you when they hurt you. whys spencers apologising? what do you say?

" it's not fine y/n. i-i hurt you. i c-caused this." he says spitting his words out in a shaky manner. what do you say or do? you've never made it this far whenever something similar to this happened in the past.

" spencer it's fine. i shouldn't have egged you on earlier anyways-" why are you taking the blame. y/ n stop. it's not your fault. it never is your fault when something like this happens. y/n please. it's not your fault. stop taking the blame. his heart aches even more. his throat feels heavy. who hurt you like this? who broke your heart like this? who messed up your image of love like this? who hurt you this bad. he hates them. he hates them for making you like this.

" y/n i know you have the personal need to justify everything i've said but y/n stop, just stop. i hurt you okay. and even though saying that out loud and accepting the fact that i said that it thr worst thing i've ever done in my entire life it's nothing compared to what you felt when i said that. i don't wanna be like him y/n. i don't wanna be him. i don't want you to think i can be him. i don't want you to see him everytime you see me y/n. because that would kill me even more. y-you don't have to talk to me anymore y/n i just don't want you to flinch or have this horrible feeling of rememberence whenever you see me. please just.. just don't take the blame for this because it's my fault. this entire thing was my fault and i put you through this y/n. you don't deserve this. i'm really sorry.”

spencer rambles. trying to push the heavy feeling in his throat away. he can't cry. he doesn't deserve to cry right now. he's nervous though. he's nervous about what your gonna say. he doesn’t have the right to feel nervous though. he should accept whatever it is. he did this to himself. whatever the outcome is. he just hopes you don’t have a sense of fear wash over you whenever you look at him and get memories of this day. that is if you ever look at him after this day.

no one's ever said that to you. you feel your tired eyes tear up. your about to cry. oh no. spencer panics. does he comfort you? do you even want his comfort? he doesn't deserve to touch you, he thinks. he drops the medical wipe.

" n-no please don't cry. ill go call

over emily or jj or morgan or hotch just p-please dont cry. i'll go-" it physically aches him to leave you like this. but he has to. he doesn't want you to feel uncomfortable. he just made you cry. you must really hate him. he understands though. he just wishes you understand how sorry he is. but you probably will never know. because you probably don't expect him to feel sorry, you probably think he's faking it. he just needs you to understand that he's not him. he's not your dad. spencer actually feels sorry. he feels so so sorry for everything he's done and said. but you had to put up with years of your dad taking apologises you probably don't believe his. he hates himself.

you stand up. you barely have room to think clearly before a tear rolls down your cheek. spencer immediately removes his fbi vest, you bury your head against spencer's chest. you wrap your hands against his chest. he doesn't wrap his hands around you though. he's scared to touch you. your not sobbing. your too tired to sob. you just let tears slowly roll down your cheeks. " your not him spencer." you say out loud. spencer's heart skips a beat. he slowly wraps his hands around you. " i'm still mad at you. you shouldn't have said that earlier. b-but i forgive you spence." you mumble against his chest. he shakes his head, " you shouldn't forgive me y/n. your supposed to be mad at me. your supposed to be yelling at me. or-or hitting me." he says.

" i am mad at you spencer." you say pulling your head away wiping the tears.

"alright. good." he says

looking down at you. " oh god- im sorry that was stupid i shouldn't have hugged you-" you immediately start apologising shaking your head. you immediately sit back down. oh god your so stupid. why did you just hug him? your so embarrasing oh god. did you feel the need to hug spencer because you just needed to make sure that spencer wasn't him.

not that you would know what your dads embrace would feel like. but you just needed to make sure.

" no please don't apologise. d-do you mind if i sit next to you?" spencer asks pointing at the space next to you. you look at him and slowly nod your heart. he sits next to you. " once ive healed i'm yelling at you spencer." you say looking down at your legs, your tired eyes aching. " alright." spencer says nodding. you should yell at him. and you will. he had no right. but your too tired right now. you just hope. you really really hope that spencer doesn't spiral once your back in quantico and probably will forcefully be taken into the hospital by emily and jj. you really hope he doesn't drown himself in guilt and spiral. why are you so caring? does spencer care about you the way you care about him? that's foolish right? he wouldn't right? does he feel his heart quicken when he sees you? does he care the way you care? that's stupid god y/n you probably have a concussion just shut up.

yeah how stupid y/n. because if you knew the way spencer cared about you or the way his heart quickens when he sees you. you wouldn't believe it. it will take time though. it will take time for you to believe it. he's willing to work hard during that time. he just hopes you know even the slightest bit. but he wont say anything right now. you've already been through enough. he wont say anything for a while. though when the time is right. maybe you'll finally know how much he cares about you. for now, he'll settle for this just for now. until he can gain your trust back and make his feelings known. he'll settle for this. because just being next to you makes him happy.

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[robertreich]

5 Facts About Trump’s Indictments

Trump’s defenders are still lying about his indictments. Here are 5 crucial facts you can share with whoever in your life needs to hear them.

1. President Biden did not indict Trump.

Four different grand juries — made up of ordinary citizens — indicted Trump after being presented with evidence they found compelling enough to warrant criminal prosecution.

The reason we have grand juries is specifically to help make sure no one gets prosecuted out of a personal vendetta.

2. This isn’t about “free speech”

In all four cases, Trump has been indicted because of what he allegedly did, not what he said. Lots of crimes involve speech, but that doesn’t stop them from being crimes. Even Trump’s hand-picked attorney general, Bill Barr, recognizes this defense is nonsense.

3. It doesn’t matter whether Trump believed the election was stolen

There’s plenty of evidence that Trump knew he lost the election fair and square. His claims of massive fraud were rejected by his own campaign manager, White House lawyers, and his hand-picked Justice Department officials. 

And privately, Trump seemed to admit that he either knew or didn’t care that his claims were false, allegedly criticizing VP Pence for being “too honest,” and allegedly admitting to his Chief of Staff Mark Meadows that he lost and wanted to cover it up.

But even if Trump really did believe the election was stolen, that doesn’t give him the right to allegedly commit a criminal conspiracy to try to steal it back.

4. Trump has received preferential treatment because of who he is.

Trump’s defenders complain about a two-tiered justice system.

They’re right about that, but not in the way they claim. Trump has been given special privileges most criminal defendants would never get.

In all four criminal cases, he has been released without bail. He has repeatedly been spared the indignity of a mugshot. He has not had his passport suspended or had limits placed on his ability to travel — even though two of his criminal cases involve direct threats to national security, and even though he has used social media to issue insults and threats against potential witnesses, behavior that would cause many criminal defendants to be held without bail pending trial.

5. Trump was in legal trouble long before entering politics

Some of Trump’s defenders claim the sheer number of criminal charges and civil suits he’s now facing is proof that he’s being targeted for political reasons. But you have to remember that Trump was the subject of about 4,000 legal actions before ever running for president. From his fraudulent Trump University scam to federal lawsuits over racist housing discrimination, Trump has spent his life in court because of his own shady behavior.

Trump is being prosecuted now because, as four grand juries have found, the strength of the evidence against him merits it. If we fail to hold him fully accountable under the law, the precedent will embolden future presidents to break the law, jeopardize national security, incite insurrections, and possibly even overturn an election.

The principle that no one is above the law is only true if we make it so.

[halieghhh]

- WHY I DON’T LIKE PRISCILLA -

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I’ve made a couple posts about Priscilla; answering questions from others whom are curious and wanted to know answers to questions they’ve had or just me making posts about her in general but this post is a full explanation on why I do not like her nor will I ever support her.

This will be put into different categories.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

- HER LIES AND ACCUSATIONS AGAINST ELVIS -

Priscilla has said multiple different things throughout the years about Elvis and I do not agree with anything she has ever said; I do not want to hear anything from anyone claiming that ‘she lived through the marriage with Elvis, she’s speaking from her own experience’, when nothing she has said adds up into any story she has ever told. She’s said countless different things in different interviews but then goes against them in other interviews, claiming we ‘didn’t catch on’ to what she’s said. She can’t stick to one story line. She claims that her marriage to Elvis was ‘normalized’ then because she was young. Whomever believes that he married her when she was 14, is hearing or reading wrong. The marriage was a forced and set up marriage between Elvis and Priscilla. In my own opinion, Elvis was never meant to be a married man. He was not the type to settle down. Priscilla was a fan of Elvis before she met him in Germany whether she wants to admit that or not, no one casually has every Elvis vinyl or item of merchandise from him just to say they ‘aren’t a fan’. Priscilla was a very jealous woman. Elvis was, in my opinion, in love with Ann Margaret. Many other people whom I have spoke too, agree with me on that. Priscilla tried to mold herself into Ann Margaret so that Elvis would supposedly be attracted to her after he had rejected her due to her age. Another thing to clear up is that he didn’t ‘wait’ till she was 18 to be in a relationship with her, the marriage was set up to be held when she was 21. It was never a marriage Elvis wanted, Elvis very much did prefer to be a ‘free man’ because he didn’t like the thought of being tied down in a marriage. Again, Elvis was not a marriage type of man. She tried to say Elvis raped her. She claimed Elvis tried to forcefully have sex with her while he was angry then later claimed she didn’t mean it that way and that it had ‘came out’ wrong. Why would someone even lie about something like that? Don’t ask me how I know she’s lying about it because she has nothing to back it up and later claimed that it wasn’t true. She’s a liar.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

- THE PRISCILLA MOVIE -

I never watched the movie and I am not going to - I can still have an opinion on it though. From the scenes I’ve watched and the things I’ve heard about the movie; Priscilla is a fraud. Priscilla was meant to be a biopic, meaning that it would be realistic. Like the Elvis movie. It was not. Priscilla openly admitted she had no say so in HER OWN biopic which I believe is a lie. She claims the director of the movie made the entire storyline and dramatized it without her having a say-so in any of it. I think that’s a lie. Why would Priscilla not have any say-so in her own biopic? It doesn’t make sense to me. The entire movie made Elvis look like a pervert, an abuser, and like some horrible man who degraded Priscilla to nothing. That wasn’t the case. Again, Priscilla supporters will say ‘That’s from her point of view and her life’. Her entire story line and life is a lie. So many people have spoken out against Priscilla and her lies, including Lisa-Marie Presley. Priscilla is a hypocrite, a psychological liar, a narcissist, and a fraud. She should have never had a movie about her in the first place, she shouldn’t be involved with anything that has to do with Elvis anymore. She has been divorced from him for many years now but she still feeds off of his name.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

- PROFITING OFF OF ELVIS’ NAME -

Priscilla to this day is profiting off of his name as if she hasn’t been divorced from him for many many years now. During the marriage, Elvis didn’t sign off anything to Priscilla so she should not have gotten anything from his name. Meaning, she should not have gotten any money, any car, any house, any amount of anything. She was told to never have the Presley last name again after the divorce but after Elvis passed, she changed her last name back to Presley and immediately started to profit off of his name. While Vernon was on his deathbed and practically taking his last breath, she asked him to sign ownership over Graceland over to her and he did unfortunately. Graceland isn’t open to the public right now, as it has been for many years now, because of Priscilla. It’s open to the public because Elvis wanted it that way. He wanted his home to be opened as a museum for Elvis fans around the world to be able to experience his home and his property. So, the whole rumor of Priscilla being the reason Graceland is an exhibit, is false. She opened it, it wasn’t her idea. She keeps writing books about him, keeps having a part of his merchandise, keeps doing interviews about him, keeps mentioning his name every chance she gets because it gives her money. It gives her attention. I’ve noticed in almost any book, piece of merchandise, or vinyl I have of Elvis, her face or name is mentioned. I don’t want to hear or see her, I don’t want to even see her name mentioned.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

- WHAT SHE DID TO LISA - MARIE -

Priscilla is an abuser. In every way shape or form. She cannot keep up the rumor that Elvis was an abuser when there is many many different things she did to Lisa-Marie as a child. Priscilla has always been jealous of Lisa-Marie, that’s the truth. Anyone can deny or try to push a different agenda about it but it’s the truth. Priscilla didn’t want Lisa-Marie and that’s the harsh truth. If you haven’t read Lisa-Marie’s book, I suggest reading it. It’s truly a beautiful and eye opening book for anyone, whether you are a fan of Elvis or not. Lisa-Marie went through a lot as a child due to her mother and I sympathize for her completely. I’m not going to go into detail about what Priscilla did to her due to the fact Lisa-Marie states it in her book, for the people whom haven’t read her book.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

- MY FINAL OPINION -

Priscilla is a sick woman. I will never truly understand how someone could support her and sympathize with her over something that never happened. Elvis was not perfect in any way shape or form, he had his issues. But, the things Priscilla claims he did and said to her, are all lies. I’m not just saying this because I’m a fan of Elvis but because I don’t like a liar. Leave a dead man to rest in peace. Keep his name out of your mouth, Priscilla. You’re not his wife anymore, he’s long gone. You have no beneficial value to his career and you never did.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

[dreamfyreandblood]

Conflict of Interest

Trope: Modern, Mafia AU Pairing: Otto x Viserys Author's Note: This was not how I was meant to make my debut into HOTD fanfic Tumblr My entry for BigBang Week One!! (only a little late whoops) Warnings: old men flirting??, alcohol mention, arson mention, mafia stuff idk, that's quite literally it Word Count: 2k Summary: Viserys Targaryen, the well-known mafia don, has to explain to his personal lawyer Otto Hightower once again how he's ended up in legal trouble.

The large wall comprised of nothing but windows behind Viserys glittered with the sights of the city far below. The sun was beginning to sink lower in the sky, a drastic change from the early afternoon sky that had been shining overhead when Otto first arrived. The leather desk chair that Viserys sat in creaked as he moved, handing over several more pieces of paper for Otto’s inspection, pieces of evidence that needed to be reviewed and decided upon.

This was meant to be a simple case. Not that anything was simple when working for the Targaryens, but that’s where Otto’s reputable talent came into play. Viserys Targaryen, despite his open-secret status as the most powerful don in the city of King’s Landing, had never been accused of a crime. Money, bodies, drugs, all simply disappeared without a trace, and Viserys retained his impunity.

When the call mentioned no deaths, no illicit goods, and no senseless violence, Otto had almost dared himself to believe this would be an easy paycheck. How idiotic of him, with hindsight.

He rubbed a hand over his face, sinking further into his chair. 

“Okay,” he said, sighing heavily as he sat up again. “Run this by me again, alright? So your brother—”

“Daemon.”

“Daemon,” Otto repeated, feeling his blood pressure gradually rising, even as his face remained impassive. Years of listening to the stupidest men that had somehow been allowed to don judiciary robes had trained him for this moment. “His girlfriend—”

“Mysaria.”

“Right. Mysaria burned down the laundromat, because…?”

“It was an accident,” Viserys answered. “At least, Daemon said it was an accident.”

He followed his statement with a tug at the end of his cuffed sleeve. For a mafioso—for a don—he was surprisingly open with his emotions, letting stress tighten the muscles in his jaw and brow. Daemon’s story was as believable as pigs flying, and it was obvious that Viserys knew it too.

“And then Daemon urged you to file the insurance claim.” Otto’s eyes flitted over the notes beside him. “And you did, because he led you to believe that he had nothing to do with it.”

Viserys looked disgruntled at the plain way in which Otto stated his stupidity—no, Otto reminded himself, his blindness to his brother’s actions.

A blindness that led to the most obvious case of insurance fraud that Otto had ever seen, the man would add. A blindness that needed to be addressed, should Viserys have any desire to continue his life and legacy of organized crime.

“Yes,” Viserys said eventually, rising from his desk. Otto watched as the other man stood, moving to pour himself a rather full glass of whiskey. Viserys chugged it down in three quick gulps, before pouring himself another. “Would you like a drink, Otto?” he offered once the second was half-empty.

“No, thank you. I don’t drink with clients.”

Viserys hummed in acknowledgement, making no attempt to push it. Their relationship was entirely professional, no matter how many years they had known one another, or how many prison sentences Otto had managed to bail him out of. 

Any stolen glances that Otto may have taken when his client was distracted were entirely professional. Nothing more.

“I’ll be entirely honest with you, Mr. Targaryen, as I know you’re a competent man. This case is so cut-and-dry that there’s no way for you to get out of this without implicating your brother.”

“Absolutely not.” Viserys waved a hand, hoping to brush the idea away with the wind. “He’s my brother, despite his flaws, and I won’t throw him at the mercy of litigious vultures.”

The litigious vulture across from Viserys raised an eyebrow. “I’m afraid you might not have a choice. The cameras across the street caught the entire thing. The only way I could convince a jury that this fire wasn’t set purposefully is if they were blind and deaf.”

A loud sigh escaped Viserys as he leaned back in his armchair. He polished off the second glass of whiskey, his eyes settling on Otto over the rim.

“Y’know, Otto, I don’t know all that much about you,” the man mused, setting the glass down with a soft clink. “Even though we’ve been working together for, what, fifteen years?”

“Sixteen,” Otto corrected, “and that is by design, if I must be honest.”

Viserys chuckled. “Surely you know you’re as safe as can be around me. Wouldn’t do to dispose of the main person keeping me from a cell, would it?”

The older man was unconvinced. “I keep business and personal life separate.”

“So do I. Consider this small talk between two business partners.”

Otto leaned back in the seat, listening to the leather armchair creaking beneath him. It sounded as tired as he felt. “Fine.”

“So?”

Otto’s gaze flicked over the man warily. “There’s not much to say. My son graduated recently. He says he hopes to follow me to law school.”

“Ah.” Viserys smiled, and his affection seemed genuine. “My Rhaenyra has kept me busy since the school year began.”

Otto knew of Rhaenyra. Her name had come up in court documents before, and Viserys had often tried to commiserate over the shared trials and tribulations of having a teenaged daughter. In Otto’s professional opinion, Rhaenyra sounded spoiled rotten; Viserys once complained of having to buy her rottweiler some sort of heart charm for her collar

Ridiculous.

“She’s very close with her uncle,” Viserys continued. “She’d be upset to hear that I let him get arrested.”

Otto felt the corner of his eye twitch with the effort it took for him to restrain a roll of his eyes. “I understand that, Mr. Targaryen, but the fact of the matter is—”

“That my brother is a reckless idiot with poor taste in women,” Viserys interrupted. “Spare me the details, Otto. I know.”

Viserys stood again, moving back to the liquor cabinet. The sleeves of his jacket tugged at his arms, revealing the cuff of his satin shirt as he reached for a wine from a shelf along the top. Otto’s eyes ran the length of the other man’s body, noticing the fine tailoring of the suit. Every aspect of it, from shirt to the shoes, were picked and sized perfectly; perhaps even custom ordered. There was no doubt that Viserys had the money to afford it.

A wine glass was placed on Otto’s side of the desk, earning him a reproachful look from the lawyer.

“Come on,” Viserys urged. “One glass won’t kill you.”

It was incredibly tempting, Otto had to admit. This wasn’t the first time he had been called to deal with a problem caused by Daemon, and he doubted it would be the last.

The wine went down smooth, something that would no doubt cost a small fortune despite the way that Viserys didn’t blink twice at sharing it with his lawyer. Not that Otto was particularly complaining; he had never been one to waste money on such frivolous things, but he would also never refuse the other man’s ostentatious offer.

The smile on Viserys’ lips was quickly hidden by his own sip of wine.

“It was a gift.”

Otto simply stared at Viserys as he waited for an explanation.

“The wine,” the other man continued. “It was a gift. I’ve had it forever, but…” His shrug wasn’t as nonchalant as Otto would have expected.

“But no time to open it like a meeting with your lawyer?” Otto offered, earning a chuckle from Viserys.

“Precisely.” His hand moved to loosen the knot in his tie, causing Otto’s gaze to dart away. The last thing he needed was to give his client the wrong impression by letting his eyes wander at the wrong moment.

Or the right moment, depending on Otto’s mood.

“So, Mr. Hightower, what does a lawyer do when he’s not busy saving men from the justice system?”

A hum was Otto’s reply. He always did his best to maintain the kind of privacy a top-grade therapist would be proud of, but the feeling of heavy resignation in the air compelled him to open his mouth. Maybe if he shared a little about himself, he could further convince Viserys that he was choosing the best course of action.

“When I’m not hauling Alicent around to her practices?” he said, rubbing a hand over his bearded chin. “I suppose I like to read. I’ve been trying to teach Alicent chess.”

Viserys said nothing. Otto sighed and continued, searching his mind for something that may interest the both of them, a leaping point into getting Viserys’ final agreement to build the case the way he needed.

“And I have a wine tasting event this weekend.”

That made Viserys’ eyes light up, his body leaning forward to rest an elbow on the desk, his chin resting upon the back of his hand. “Wine tasting? Really? I thought you didn’t drink.”

“I don’t drink with clients,” Otto corrected. The glass in his hand felt heavier with the realization. “...usually.”

“Where are you going for this wine tasting?”

Otto’s brow pinched together, pausing for an imperceptible moment. “The Ice Wall.”

“Bah!” Viserys slumped back in his chair like a string above his head had been snipped, his head shaking at Otto’s words. “You disappoint me, Otto. I thought you had better taste in bars than places like the Ice Wall.”

“What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s shite.”

In truth, he had been invited to the wine tasting by his brother, and he hadn’t found an adequate reason to say no. To hear Viserys so openly condemn the choice, however, had him feeling oddly defensive.

“It’s a fine place.”

“It’s not.” Viserys smiled, attempting to bring a levity to his words that made Otto inwardly roll his eyes. “If you settle for ‘fine’, you should come to one of my places. It’ll make you regret ever praising that hovel.”

This was quickly approaching a line that felt dangerous—if not for Otto’s business practices, then his personal life.

“One of your places?” he heard himself ask. “Are you inviting me, then?”

The grin that stretched across Viserys’ face didn’t feel entirely innocent. “Of course. You’ve done good work for the last sixteen years, as you reminded me. Perhaps it’s time I gave you a free drink. Or five.”

The papers on the desk rustled as Viserys pushed them aside, mumbling to himself as he began to search through his desk drawers.

“Ah, here we are.” He extended two business cards, earning another frown from Otto as the dark haired man slowly reached out to take them.

One was black, with a red dragon curling across the top of the card. The letters across it read Dragon’s Dance. The other one was white with blue lettering, proudly advertising The High Tide.

“High Tide is older. Bit of a hole in the wall, really, but the drinks are strong. The Dragon’s Dance is nicer, but the clientele is more…unusual.”

That piqued Otto’s interest. “Unusual?”

Viserys hummed. “Men—and women—of…particular persuasions.”

Oh.

Oh.

Something told Otto that the smirk Viserys wore when he said that was not an accident.

“Right.” He cleared his throat, dropping the cards into his breast pocket. “Well—”

Whatever Otto had intended to reply with, the polite rejection and attempt to redirect the conversation, was lost when the wine glass slipped through his fingers and poured directly onto his white dress shirt.

He leapt to his feet, cursing under his breath as the scent of alcohol overpowered his nose. He could feel the liquid seeping through the waist of his pants, his patience immediately stalling as frustration overtook him.

“I need to leave,” he said, moving to his briefcase.

Viserys nodded, looking almost disappointed that their conversation had been cut so abruptly. “Right. I’ll speak to Daemon, call you with the details.”

Otto nodded as he packed up his briefcase, only half-listening. The papers were shoved inside with little care for order or neatness, the locks narrowly missing his finger as he snapped it shut.

His hand was on the handle when Viserys spoke again.

“I hope to see you this weekend, Otto.”

He grunted in reply, wrenching open the door and leaving the room. His heart pounded in his chest, and he had a feeling it wasn’t only with frustration.

God above. What was that? What was he getting himself into? And why was he tempted to go?

He needed a drink.

[scorpiussage]

The Lost Footage of You | Part 1 (Tom Buckley/OC)

Pairing: Tom Buckley (Red Lights)/OC

Summary: Tom gets called to a review a very odd case involving a young woman and some unexplainable found footage. 

Warnings: Violence, very dark themes

i.

Tom hates dealing with cops and he’s certain they hate him just as much. They watch him with open disdain as he gets buzzed through the locked security check points that keep the patients at Creekwood Sanitarium in and the regulars of society out. 

A nurse with the look of someone exhausted down to their soul meets him once he’s completely through security. She holds out a laminated visitors pass and he barely gets the chance to grab it and fix it to his clothes before she’s marching away from him down the main entrance corridor. 

“You’ll get thirty minutes to talk to her, so make it count,” the woman utters boredly, her gait surprisingly fast given her overall disposition and it causes Tom to have to power walk in order to keep up with her.  

“Er— right,” Tom replies weakly, trying to get his thoughts in order, “Has she said anything since being admitted?”

The nurse shoots him a sharp eyed, pursed lip look, “No.” 

Tom mentally adds “Nurses” to his ever growing list of things and people he hates. 

This entire case is sort of an unconventional one for Tom. Usually he’s exposing supposed psychics and tarot readers as fraudulent— never has he been asked by law enforcement to work on a case. 

Two weeks ago, six people were found brutally murdered at what appeared to be some sort of séance. A seventh person was found unconscious at the scene, a one Y/F/N Y/L/N, and with her a camcorder and a purse full of tapes. Now, Tom hasn’t seen the tapes yet, (he’s still waiting for clearance from the county judge to be allowed to watch them) but he’s been told roughly what they consist of. Whatever is on those tapes has law enforcement quaking in their boots. 

Tom has been called in to not only determine the validity of the tapes, but to also see if the young woman involved has some sort of supernatural ability. The police certainly think that the tapes are supernatural in nature. 

For a psychiatric facility, the living quarters of the patients and the inmates are actually pretty nice compared to the standard. Y/N has her own room and it has a few furnishings like a desk and a cushioned chair near the barred window. She’s sitting in said chair, starring out into the gray gloom of the facility grounds and the forest beyond them. 

This is the first look that Tom is getting of her and while they told him she was young, he’s still surprised. She can’t be older than 25 and she’s shockingly beautiful too. He sort of freezes in place when their eyes meet for the first time. He feels all too like the skinny weird kid he used to be and being faced with the local hottie. 

“Remember Mr. Buckley, 30 minutes,” the nurse says, shocking Tom out of his trance as she leaves the two of them alone, locking the door behind herself. 

Tom clears his throat awkwardly and takes a seat on the edge of Y/N’s desk, realizing too late that it probably makes him look like a middle school teacher trying to seem down to earth. 

“Hello,” he says with a weak smile, “I’m Dr. Tom Buckley.” 

“You don’t look like a doctor,” Y/N replies with a voice so soft that Tom has to lean forward to hear her better. 

“Er— I’m not a medical doctor, actually I’m a physicist.” 

Trying to grasp onto what to say next, Tom pulls the desk chair out and brings it over to where she’s sitting, placing himself in front of her, “I’m sort of a specialist in my particular field.” 

The woman stares at him blankly and it prompts him to start info dumping, “I deal with uncovering frauds who claim to be psychic or to have supernatural abilities. Not to say that that’s what you are, but that’s why I’m here.” 

The woman nods, “The police think I killed all those people.” 

Tom winces, “Um, yeah, they do.” 

Sinking into her chair she regards him with those piercing eyes of hers, almost making him feel like he’s being dissected. 

“Sometimes things happen around me that don’t make sense,” she says after a while, cutting off Tom who was about to start asking questions if only to fill the silence, “I carry around a videocamera to document everything.” 

“Have you? Documented these weird happenings?”

Y/N fidgets, her eyes darting to look back out the window, “A friend of a friend of a friend heard about me and requested me to do this séance? Like with a ouija board and stuff? I didn’t really want to do it but he said he’d pay me for my time.”

She takes a deep breath here, seemingly struggling to say out loud what occurred, “I told them it was a bad idea. The weird things that happen around me? The energies don’t like being taunted and I told those people that but they didn’t listen to me.” 

Tom quickly pulls out a notebook and pen, ready to take notes, “Can you tell me a bit more about these ‘energies’? What do they do?” 

“I— I wouldn’t call them ghosts, that seems too simple to what they are. They just— they’re always there, following me around? They get mad if I ignore them too long or if I try to provoke them.” 

“What do they do if you ignore them?” He asks. 

Y/N bites her lip nervously, eyeing him like she’s trying to decide if he’s trustworthy or not. She must come to the conclusion that he is, because she turns around in her chair and lifts up the back of her shirt. 

Tom’s notebook and pen go clattering to the floor, his shock audible in the horrified gasp he lets out. Big ugly bruises and weeping claw marks mar her back, in locations and styles that she would not be able to do to herself. 

Tom thinks that this case is going to end up being more than he bargained for. 

ii.

Tom isn’t sure what to expect when he finally gets approval to view the video tapes. He’s left alone in an unused interrogation room with a small box TV and a larger-than-he-expected stack of tapes. None of them are labeled and the cop that escorted him to the room fucked off without saying anything. 

With a deep sigh, Tom grabs the first tape on the top and pushes it into the VCR. It starts off how all home made videos are want to do, with jumbled, unfocused images before they finally settle.

It’s Y/N filming herself through the reflection of a bathroom mirror. She’s breathing heavily and the camera is shaking with her unsteady hands. Gulping audibly, she starts talking, “It’s— uh— Tuesday, August the 5th. The noises are back.” 

She jumps when a loud thump echoes in the background. She swings the camera to face a closed door— either the door to the bathroom or a closet, Tom can’t tell. Everything is still and quiet before another bang visibly rattles the door in its frame. Like someone slammed their fist into it. 

Y/N drops the camera in fright, the visual becoming that of her feet and the bottom of the door. 

Tom is both captivated and horrified, this whole thing is playing out like a real life horror movie.

“Don’t do it, don’t open the door,” he mutters to himself, both literally and figuratively on the edge of his seat. He holds his breath when she cracks the door.

She stands there for a moment before reaching down and picking up the camera. The door is now open to show a tightly packed linen closet. There’s absolutely no where a person could hide in that. 

Tom turns off the TV. 

iii.

The next time Tom goes to visit her, it’s during the patients’ outside recreational time. She’s sat off by herself under the shade of a large tree and she’s ripping up fistfuls of grass boredly. Tom rubs his sweaty palms on his pants before taking a seat near her. 

“Hey,” he greets awkwardly, “How are you?”

She shrugs and he tries to figure out what to say next. 

“How long have weird things been happening to you?” He eventually lands on, his curiosity getting the better of him. 

“Since I was a kid, I guess? My mom kept making us move because she was convinced the houses we lived in were haunted.” 

The ‘but it’s actually me’ goes unsaid. Tom feels a lot of sympathy for her, he can’t imagine being terrorized by unseen forces for years. He doesn’t really know how to express that sentiment to her though without flat out saying her life is a fucking horror movie. 

Deciding to change trajectory of the conversation, he asks, “Can you tell me more about that night?”

“It was supposed to be a seance,” she tells him and then after a long pause adds, “I think.” 

He frowns, “You think?”

She brushes the loose grass off of her palms, “The set up was really weird. Everyone was in a circle and they made me sit in the middle.”

“You were in the middle?”

She nods, “I brought my camera, but they told me I wasn’t allowed to film. I lied about turning it off and left it recording inside my bag. I just felt weird about the whole thing.” 

Tom bites at his thumb as he thinks. He hasn’t made it to the video of that night yet and this conversation is creating more questions than answers. 

“What happened next?” He finally asks. 

“That’s the thing. I can’t remember.” 

iv

Tom doesn’t know how many more of the tapes he can watch. Each one is more horrifying than the last and if it were him, he would’ve taken a swan dive off a building out of sheer terror. 

For not the first time, he wishes Margaret was still alive to give him some guidance on what to do. Part of him feels relief that there’s another with strange abilities, but not at the suffering of this poor woman. 

He’s only halfway through the stack and he feels like this entire experience has aged him 10 years. With an exhausted sigh, he pops the next one into the VCR and hits play. 

The video starts off with a visual of the end of her bed before she turns the camera around to show her face. The lighting is poor, coming only from the faint glow of her bedside lamp. 

“It’s 2:38 am,” her voice is in a hushed whisper like she’s afraid of being overheard, “There’s something under my bed.” 

She peeks the camera over the edge of her bed to show her wooden floors. Nothing happens for a long moment before the camera jolts as the bed is shaken in its frame. She lets out a scream and buries herself under the covers like a child would, bringing the camera with her. The video goes on with a close up of her panicked face until eventually she falls asleep. 

Tom feels like he’s the only one who’s capable of protecting her. 

to be continued...

Part 2

[tomorrowusa]

Right now is the time to get involved in the defeat of America's most dangerous enemy since the Cold War.

The traditional election season, starting on Labor Day, is a thing of the distant political past. And considering the magnitude of the threat to democracy, even waiting for the end of the primary season may be too late.

The worst president in our history is, arguably, stronger within the leadership ranks of the Republican Party than he has ever been. He is now the most dangerous presidential candidate in U.S. history. As a consequence, the great question before the rest of us is whether enough of us are ready to do whatever is necessary to defeat this threat as we have all those that have come before. Sadly, there is reason to believe that this time we may not meet the challenge. Right now, Donald Trump is one of two people who could be our next president. The race, at the moment, between him and President Joe Biden, is too close to call.

The people with their heads up their ass over Biden's age are either hypocrites or dissemblers. On Inauguration Day 2025, Donald Trump will be 95.66% of Joe Biden's age. And Trump will also be older in January of 2025 than Biden was upon assuming office in 2021. Biden may have a lifelong stutter but he is still grounded in reality in a way the narcissistic nepo baby Donald Trump never was.

Joe Biden by any objective metric has been one of the most successful presidents in modern U.S. history. He has led the creation of more major legislative initiatives benefiting the American people than any president in 60 years. He oversaw the creation of more than 14 million jobs during his first three years in office. He has brought down inflation and reduced the prices of vital medicines to affordable levels. He has restored American leadership worldwide, expanded our vital alliances like NATO, and stood up to our enemies. All presidents face challenges and make missteps. But it is hard to deny that in the wake of the U.S. economic recovery, the passage of the American Rescue Plan, the Bipartisan Infrastructure Bill, the CHIPs and Science Act, and the Inflation Reduction Act, the expansion of NATO, and the creation of new Indo-Pacific alliances, Biden’s record is formidable. That a president with this record is in a horse race with a candidate who is a menace to the country, who led an insurrection, who is a pathological liar whom courts have found to be a fraud and a rapist, and who has no real ideas, no credible policy proposals, no record of actually ever achieving anything for the American people is chilling.

In normal times, over 40% of US voters would NOT pick a notorious sex offender for president. But these are not normal times.

You would have thought that the sight of mobs carrying Trump flags and weapons and chanting for the death of Vice President Mike Pence on January 6, 2021, would have been alarm enough. You would have thought the same of Trump’s Access Hollywood tape, in which he confessed his impulse to abuse women. You would have thought the two dozen women who accused him of abuse would have had that effect. Even if none of those things were quite warning enough, you would have thought the findings in the E. Jean Carroll case would have been enough. After all, respected federal judge Lew Kaplan wrote, “The fact that Mr. Trump sexually abused—indeed, raped—Ms. Carroll has been conclusively established and is binding in this case.” It should have been enough. But so far, it has not been.

And who would have thought that the party of Ronald Reagan is now led by a stooge of the Evil Empire?

You would have thought that Trump reaching out on national television to our Russian adversaries for aid during the 2016 campaign would have been enough. You would have thought the conclusive findings of every major U.S. intelligence agency that Russia sought to aid Trump’s campaign would have been enough. You would have thought that Robert Mueller’s finding 10 instances of possible obstruction of justice by Trump would have been enough. You would have thought Trump kowtowing to Vladimir Putin and taking his word over that of our intelligence and law enforcement communities would have been enough. You would have thought his illegally withholding aid to Ukraine to seek dirt on Joe Biden would have been enough. You would have thought his impeachment for that would have been enough.

Are you willing to spend more time and money than in previous election cycles to end a major threat to Western democracy and to undermine homegrown fascism for at least the rest of this decade?

So, ask yourself, is that enough to make you do more than you have done? Is that enough to commit for the next 10 months to do more than you have ever done during an election year? To give more? To canvas more? To spread the word more? To help get voters to the polls? To ensure every member of your family, your friends, your co-workers do the same? The stakes are too high to do less than everything you can.

I rarely quote Margaret Thatcher and would probably disagree with at least 90% of her views. But she did know something about winning elections and combating the USSR. If she was good for just one thing, it's for this observation in a speech made in her retirement.

[N]o battles are ever finally won; you have to go on winning them by example and by being prepared to defend your way of life against those who would attack it.

If we learn just one thing from the Trump threat, it's that we can never rest on our past laurels. A slacker democracy is one which will not outlast a determined demagogue.

Civic involvement by pro-democracy citizens is absolutely necessary to maintain freedom.

[canonsinthehead]

Naruto Modern AU/Hollywood pt.6 - More Basketball Info & The IBL Finale

KONOHA'S BASKETBALL TEAM:

Name: The Red Leaves of Konoha

Asuma Sarutobi took over 3 years ago when the previous coach Genma resigned without warning. At first, he was a controversial choice because his father Hiruzen got arrested and demoted from his high-ranking position as a Minister of Finances of the country of Fire for fraud, mishandling of funds, and abuse of power. Asuma was met with a lot of resistance but overturned the public opinion in his favor as he “built the team back up” leading it to a new path of constant victories.

The team has been secured with being #2 behind Kumo. They’ve accepted being their natural enemy because Kumo is undefeatable, and it is what it is. Their position maintained itself for years until Kiri’s team's emergence. Konoha’s team then dropped to third position in the world rankings. There is no need to worry because they are still above average and are promised to maintain their position for years, but Konoha started putting their bet on other sports anyway.

Regardless, with Asuma’s efforts and the Hyuuga clan's generous donations, they formed a strong and determined basketball team made of diverse players:

Konohamaru Sarutobi:

the star of the team

highest stats

Fastest

Basketball has been a passion for him since high school

As suggested by his surname, he is not a nobody

 Comes from a family/background involved in politics. Asuma broke away from it by marrying a woman from a different clan, Kurenai, and ending the generational curse of corruption who ran in the Sarutobi’s bloodline for decades.

Kawaki:

Most recent recruit

Youngest member

He has an amateur basketball background

He was recruited after getting in a fight with Kiba during a friendly match in an urban area

Most red cards/accidents are linked to him

He is a fan favorite, especially with the girlies for his looks and edgy personality

Kiba Inuzuka:

All bark, No bite. Loves to run his mouth while being the least skilled

His specialty is the element of surprise

Friendly extroverted butterfly

Loves to drink and always found himself with insta model grade “groupies” along with Torune

It is often awkward for him and his sense of humor because of the wide age range of the team

Torune Aburame:

Oldest, tallest and most muscular (Do your thing Wonho!)

Bestie with Kiba for their unhinged antics

He must be the one who spent the most time at Konoha’s basketball academy. Before getting drafted, either he never gave up or was killing time in a sport/hobby since he is a trust fund kid of the Aburame clan.

His specialty is long-distance shots and he rarely misses

Unfortunately, he often acts like he is the only player on the court.

Iwabe Yuino

Shortest

Same age as Kawaki

One of the few people who will proudly defend the position of “defense”. He takes it seriously.

Was drafted the month he joined the basketball academy. Something about him spoke to Asuma without formally introducing himself

His playing style melts into Konohamaru’s hence why they get along so well.

Star Players: Knohamaru, Kawaki, and Torune. Konohamaru and Kawaki receive the most brand deals. The young Sarutobi benefits from the image of being “Mr. National Hero/Konoha’s Pride” which opened doors for him in all areas of life; documentaries, variety shows, and TV series cameos. Meanwhile, Kawaki is a teen magazine favorite. Torune is receiving as many opportunities but is busy participating in every athletic competition or sport -based tv show known to man. The Aburame has a secured spot in men’s magazines for his strong and defined physique.  

KUMO’S BASKETBALL TEAM:

Team’s name: The Lightnings of Kumo

The greatest & undefeatable. It has been the case forever and ever since the team has been under the management and coaching of Mabui.  She is a businesswoman by profession but took over as a coach after Killer Bee’s relentless begging (he is an investor).

The team is made of 5 players going along like ingredients of a cake recipe;

Omoi:

“Either you’re gonna crank that Soulja Boy or that Soulja Boy is going to crank you”

The star of the team

His devious game tactics became the trademark of Kumo’s team

Him, Atsui, and Darui are the same age and were drafted at the same time

He is a professional prankster and is heavily present on social media

In his free time, he likes to play video games (he plays 2k lol)

His studies in advanced mathematics allowed him to tweak the team’s tactics on the court, hence why Kumo has a million techniques and ways revolving around strategically passing the ball (THIS IS SCIENCE YALL!). Their training is way more calculated than it seems. It is so hard to intercept the ball after they put their hands on it

Like street fashion and has a PhD in dunking.

Atsui:

Dynamic duo with Omoi. They do everything together

He seamlessly integrated the team even if he stands out like a sore thumb. It doesn’t bother him since he easily adapts to different situations and environments.

He never thought he would play professionally and sent his application to Kumo’s basketball academy after losing a bet.

He mastered the art of crossovers

Darui:

Becoming a basketball player was not the direction he expected his life to take

Omoi got him drafted by referral saying “Hey, I know this dude and he’s not bad”

Darui is the introverted quiet type of guy living the extroverted life

Being so composed and quiet allows him to sneak on his opponents without warning

Thanks to his immunity to stress, he often chimes in and organizes his coach’s commands on the court ending in endless arguments with Omoi

Kakui:

He is not that old, please stop calling him Unc.

Marui:

Youngest member.

Designated photographer

Star players: Darui, Atsui & Omoi. The Raikage himself supports all team members financially. Atsui receives the most brand deals while Darui is backed by few major companies and is content with it (because they don’t go against his personal values). Omoi found a new avenue that fits his personality which is MC-ing. He became a permanent member of Killer Bee’s Showtime variety show cast and makes a good living out of it.

CHEERLEADERS AND THE TRADITION OF THE FINALE:

Cheerleaders and mascots are important parts of each team, especially during the finale of the IBL (International Basketball League). It has gained a reputation for putting on a show along with the hottest artists of each nation making the finale such an event every year. Each nation has a different way of operating (including the important celebrities/public figures attending the match.

KONOHA Their mascot is named Kurama and is a nine-tail Firefox. Its theme song is “Fire Burning”.

For the finale, it will perform along with the largest cheerleader team in the world of basketball and a marching band. They carry the performance and hype the crowd until introducing the team’s members into the arena.

In recent years only and imitating other nations, they invited top artists to perform. Unfortunately, last year Konoha did not participate to the finals since it was Kumo vs Kiri but the new pop singer Mirai performed her most popular single as an opening act since the finale took place in Konoha.

She is Asuma Sarutobi’s daughter and Mizuki blamed nepotism as a reason for her being included in the event which doesn’t matter since her song is an international success and had undeniable popularity with the public.

KUMO

It’s a show! Some think their pre-game introduction is a mess while others can’t wait to see it. Kumo never sleeps on the gas when it comes to their basketball team. Knowing they have been dominating the sport for the longest and haven’t yet met a “worthy opponent” in decades, the finale is just a big ole party for them. As follows their tradition, Killer Bee introduces the performance with one of his songs along with the team’s mascot Gyuki also known as The Anpanman. On last year's finale, he performed his most popular hit and the mascot’s theme song.

Due to the circumstance of going against a brand-new team instead of Konoha. They went all out with large street dance/breakdancing crews and as expected the basketball players joined them on the dancefloor to introduce themselves. It’s a tradition with them to always participate with the dancers. To add oil to the fire, the most popular singer Samui and the most awarded rapper Karui offered a special performance together.

KIRI: Being a new team and recently entered the world scene, it was THE opportunity to formally introduce themselves not only as a team, but as a nation. Saying “Kiri, we are here. Modernized and our dark past is behind us.” Hence why they decided to introduce the team along with a large group of musicians performing traditional percussion-based music belonging to each players' respective ethnicities.

Having a smaller cheerleader team and no mascot, they were represented by the country of water’s current gem, the singer Sera. Her background as a professional dancer allowed her to put on a show by herself as much as whole cheerleading teams from other nations.

Her production team came up with a catchy song for the basketball finale that she performed along with her most popular single. Zabuza performed another song with her meanwhile the rest of the team performed along Utakata, the new pop singer making waves in Kiri these days.

NEXT PART

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[bestworstcase]

…….. So not the same anon. But. I personally think the nature of Jacques getting in trouble by having evidence of his wrongdoings brought to light….is the biggest punishment for him and the best way for Weiss (and Winter and Whitley and Willow) to start healing from all that.

Sure there could’ve been some super cool back door hack for Weiss to find. Why not.

But what is satisfying in this content is a man who has been able to skirt the law and abuse it and use it to his advantage….getting caught up in the most lawful way. Which is having irrefutable proof that he is guilty.

Also it WAS a Sneaky back door way. Why? Because Willow installed security cameras in her own damn house Just In Case. She didn’t trust that man. She wanted to have proof if he ever did anything that could get him Legally in trouble. He knew nothing about this. His own wife did not trust him and so he brought Watts into his home where surely nobody would ever find out bc he has complete control of his wife and son who would never disturb him or go into his study.

So no. It wasn’t a super grand and elaborate plan. Because it didn’t need to be. Jacques Schnee being arrested in the most normal law breaking way is cathartic and narratively impactful bc it was Normal. He was doing typical shitty CEO greedy madness. And he got caught in 4K.

Chef’s Kiss.

(Also Cinder and Rhodes is a whole can of worms but No massive fraud and triple murder after being kept in an abusive home for five years with the only adult you can trust not helping you get out are Not the same crime or same circumstances. Like at all.)

^ the whole point is that he was careful to stay within the boundaries of the law, or at least to not get caught, until he went for a position where (in his mind) he would be above the law and free to do whatever he wants in atlas just as he does whatever he wants with the SDC. and then he immediately started committing fraud to get there. as soon as he felt he could do whatever he wanted with total impunity, he got caught and slammed back down to reality. because no one should be above justice, and that’s the idea team rwby represents and brings with them to atlas. lol

[mightyflamethrower]

Since 2021, the left has waged a veritable war against the American legal system in a variety of ways.

One serial target of Democrats and the Left has been the Supreme Court.

In 2020, Senate Minority Leader Chuck Schumer (D-NY) spoke to an angry throng of pro-abortion protestors assembled at the very doors of the court chambers.

He threatened two of the justices, Kavanaugh and Gorsuch, by name. Schumer yelled to the volatile crowd that the justices’ views would make them “reap the whirlwind,” and the two would not know what “hit” them.

In the ensuing months, protestors mobbed some of the conservative justices’ homes—likely committing felonies. The sympathetic Biden Justice Department chose not to follow the law, and so did nothing—although eventually a would-be assassin turned up.

Joe Biden himself bragged that he would try to ignore the Supreme Court ruling banning his arbitrary cancellation of billions of dollars in student loans. Indeed, he boasted, “The Supreme Court blocked it, but that didn’t stop me.”

In response, no one on the left ever complained about endangering the “rule of law” or Biden as “a dictator.”

For three years, four local, state, and federal prosecutors warped the law to neuter Donald Trump. Most of the charges had never been brought against other political figures in similar circumstances.

The vast majority of the 93 weaponized indictments backfired on the liberal prosecutors, who had contorted the legal system for political purposes and now face their own ethical or legal quagmires.

The federal prosecutor Jack Smith belatedly reported accepting $140,000 in free legal services.

Georgia prosecutor Fani Willis was removed from the Trump case and fined, and is now under further investigation.

New York prosecutor Letitia James is now facing allegations of falsification of documents and loan fraud.

Federal immigration law prohibits the illegal entry into and residence within the United States. Yet the Biden administration deliberately violated the law by allowing somewhere between 10-12 million illegal aliens to cross the border. Thousands had criminal records.

No one on the left decried any of these various affronts to the legal system.

In polls, by overwhelming majorities—above 70 percent—the public wants the Trump administration to close the border, begin deportations, and start with criminals or those with violent histories and gang ties.

The recent deportation of Kilmar Abrego Garcia, an illegal alien from El Salvador, to the vast majority of Americans seems to fit that profile.

Garcia entered the U.S. illegally and was later found consorting with members of M-13—a State Department-designated terrorist organization—who were selling drugs. Informants reported that he was a gang member. His own tattoos likely confirm those accusations.

Two prior immigration judges found such evidence sufficient to allow deportation proceedings. In 2019, a third judge allowed Garcia to stay temporarily, but only on the grounds that hostile gangs might harm him should he return to El Salvador.

Garcia was pulled over for speeding without a driver’s license—but with eight illegal aliens who reportedly all lived at the Garcia residence. The officer released him, despite suspicions that Garcia was engaged in human trafficking.

Garcia’s live-in girlfriend, now wife, was physically assaulted by Garcia on two occasions, suffered injuries, and initially sought restraining orders against him.

The left claims Garcia is a “Maryland man” without an arrest record.

But he is not a U.S. citizen or a legal resident of Maryland. Instead, Garcia is in legal limbo and remains what he always was—a citizen of El Salvador with gang ties and formerly residing illegally in the U.S.

Garcia is now back home on El Salvadorian soil and was mistakenly sent to a high-security prison. But his own government in El Salvador will ultimately decide how involved Garcia is or was with M-13 gangs. And then, as a sovereign nation, it will act according to its own policies about its own citizens’ associations with that terrorist organization.

The left has demanded that Garcia be returned to the U.S. He has become a cause célèbre as a purported victim of the supposedly fascist Trump. Returning Garcia is seen by leftists as a performance art-act to derail the Trump agenda, which otherwise they have neither the power nor public support to thwart.

The left also ignores its own hypocrisies and ironies.

Those who weaponized the court system and destroyed the border now rail that Trump is acting unlawfully by not returning an illegal alien, an M-13 member, and a domestic abuser with a propensity to ignore our laws.

How ironic that those who rail about colonialism now sound like 19th-century Yankee imperialists.

Democrats do not own El Salvador—although they act like it when dictating to its government that El Salvador cannot detain one of its own citizens on its own soil for its own reasons.

[lisbeth-kk]

Continuing the May prompts with a letter story. Thanks for the tag @calaisreno

Healing letters

After grieving Sherlock for months, John decides to write down his feelings, just like his therapist, Ella, advised him to. First he tries to actually write. Physically. It’s too strenuous. He’s not used to writing by hand anymore. Besides the pages more often than not, gets soaked from his dripping tears, and the ink gets smeared all over the paper.

He'll use the blog, but he’ll disable comments. Although he does it for his own sanity, it may help the few friends he’s got to understand what he’s going through. He hasn’t exactly been socialising since Sherlock jumped off that roof, and he rarely answers his phone. 

He wants it to be a system to this. Each blog post will have its own topic. If not, John’s confident it’ll be just him babbling, not even making sense to himself. Today he feels a bit less depressed, and he can start with the anger.

I’m so angry with you, Sherlock. How could you kill yourself in front of me? Making me witness my best friend jump off a building to his death. Did you think I wouldn’t mind? That I wouldn’t grieve you just because I was pissed with you when I left you? You, the most observant man who’s ever walked the earth. How could you not know, you meant the world to me? What do you think it was like talking to you when you stood up there? I heard the tears in your voice, and you must’ve heard my despair as well. When I saw you lying at the pavement, my life ended too, you know. My whole world shattered. You were taken away before I could say a proper goodbye. How do you think that made me feel, Sherlock? Damn, you!

John’s mentally exhausted after posting the entry. He’s shaking with anger against Sherlock. Without giving it a second thought, he grabs his jacket and heads out to get some air. He walks quickly wherever his feet carries him. He doesn’t care much, and he must look quite intimidating, because other pedestrians are clearly avoiding him.

He makes tea and toast when he gets back. The anger has dissipated a bit. It’s actually liberating to feel something again. For weeks he’s just been numb. Haven’t cared about anything. He startles when his phone buzzes. A text from Molly. He deletes it without looking. She has most likely read the blog entry and wants to comfort him or something. Mike and Greg texts him a few hours later. John deletes those texts too. 

***

A few days later the anger is long gone. Another feeling has emerged in his mind the last couple of hours. His faith in Sherlock. It’s always been there, but never as strong as it is now. Curious, that.

From the first day I met you, I had faith in you, Sherlock. That drug bust at 221B told you that much. Perhaps I put you on a pedestal for a while, come to think of it. Nevertheless, despite all your odd habits, sulks and annoying behaviour, I always believed in who you were. The core of you. Not to flatter myself, but I think I knew you quite well. Perhaps not as well as Mycroft, although he once said that I knew you best of all. All that’s been said about you after you died, makes me believe in you even more. Because I know, Sherlock, that you never were a fraud. You may have shammed and tricked people for a case, but you were never a fake. To the day I die myself, I’ll deny that with everything I’ve got.

Again, John’s mentally exhausted after posting the new entry, but in another sort of way. The adrenaline doesn’t zing through his veins. It’s more like he’s poured out his soul. And in a way he has. He’s never uttered those words to anyone. 

Before the day is over, his phone buzzes with texts from Molly, Greg and Mike. He deletes all of them without reading. This quest is something he wants to execute without input from anyone.

***

A week passes without the urge to write. When the familiar nightmare appears one night, John knows it’s time for another blog post. He had waked screaming Sherlock’s name, seeing him fall from that roof again. His heart pounded like he’d run a marathon and his face was wet from crying, sobbing really.

How did I fail to see that something was amiss, Sherlock? I loathe myself for not observing you more thoroughly. Moriarty clouded my vision. You were so absorbed in his endeavours to get your attention. Flattered maybe, that another genius wanted to play with you. I should’ve seen that his only goal was to destroy you. He said so the first time. At the pool. “I’ll burn the heart out of you.” Whatever he meant by that. He certainly burned the heart out of me, if he had anything to do with your suicide. It must’ve been that. You would never do what you did unless you had no other choice. Am I right, Sherlock? I think I am, which makes it even harder to bear. The thought that if I’d been just a little bit smarter, more alert, less stubborn and angry with you....I might’ve saved you.

John shuts his phone off and drinks half a bottle of whisky after posting that entry, or letter as he’s started to call them. 

***

This will be his last letter. John knows that this also will be the hardest one, and maybe it’ll be the one that starts his healing properly. His grief’s still raw. Some days are better, other worse. This one tip more in favour of the latter.

How much can a man grieve before it destroys him, Sherlock? All I know is that I’ve grieved enough to last a lifetime. That said, I’ll never stop grieving you. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. Being in your orbit, saved my life. I was so lost back then, and now I’m even more lost. Because now I know what it’s like to be whole, to have a purpose, to wake every day, feeling excited about what may await me. A new case, a severed head in the fridge, listening to beautiful music from your violin, having takeaway from our favourite places, or dinner at Angelo’s, bantering with you about the lack of milk, or nagging you to eat something. There are so many things that vanished from my life when you died, Sherlock. Are you aware of that? I’m just existing nowadays. The amount of tears I’ve shed could fill the pond in Regent’s Park. I’ve hid them here at Baker Street. Out and about I put on a mask. Motionless. Stony. Speaking of. I’ve only been to your grave once since the funeral. The stone fits you. Polished, black with golden letters. Only your name. No dates or quotes. I talked to you when I stood in front of that stone. Asked you for a favour. To do one last magic trick. For me.

For an unknown reason, John enables comments after this entry, but hours go by, and the comment sections are still empty. Maybe he’d miscalculated people’s interest in him. After all, the readers of his blog were all interested in Sherlock, not in him, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise.

He takes a shower and heads for the bedroom when he hears a sound he hasn’t heard for ages. Someone’s commented on the blog. Probably Molly or Mike. His curiosity gets the better of him, though. The comment is on the last entry.

I heard you. SH

A bit angsty. I can reveal that I shed my share of tears throughout alongside with John...

@totallysilvergirl @notjustamumj @raina-at @meetinginsamarra @topsyturvy-turtely @peanitbear

[abybweisse]

I like your idea about Druitt and Unny still in cahoots. It fits well with them both involved in what occurred at Weston. Redmond called on uncle Druitt so he knows the secrets of the Music Hall and the school. And of course none of it would've been possible w/o Unny, and there they both are on the Campania. I never did buy Undertaker's excuse for refusing to reap Druitt or let him be killed. Your idea makes much more sense. Toboso makes us laugh at Druitt so we won't suspect him 2 much, right?

⚠️ long post ⚠️

Undertaker and Druitt connections

I suspect that -- unless they are somehow related, and they might be -- Undertaker first became interested in what Druitt was up to when the viscount began selling off children and young women at auctions, if not sooner (and I'll get to that later in this reply).

If Undertaker was called upon to remove remains from any of the buyers, or from Druitt's estate, he'd want to know what they were doing to those victims/bodies. We know he's picked up remains from Phantomhive Manor on numerous occasions; Sebastian has the other servants pile up the remains from the circus troupe attack and cart them to some back or side gate for Undertaker to collect them. Most likely, this was done whenever there was a failed attack at the manor, even before our "Ciel" became earl and master. The Phantomhives, going back however far they go, would have been common targets to anyone who wanted to get rid of the queen's watchdog. And we know that before other servants were even hired by Sebastian and our earl, assassins and thieves were showing up on a nearly nightly basis. Somewhat regularly, in any case.

We now know quite a bit about how our earl ended up with his current servants, but we've learned very little about how he ended up with his various connections; we don't even know how he connected with Vincent's old, remaining network. I imagine that one of the first reconnections he made (besides Madam Red and Tanaka, of course) would be Undertaker. People would show up to the manor, Sebastian would kill them, and then what? Sebastian would have asked his young master how he wants to dispose of the bodies. At first, our earl might have suggested to bury them on the vast estate. But, as the numbers mounted, this would have taken more time and space, plus it could open them up for investigation, if remains were found (by others) that weren't proper burials in the family cemetery. Another option would be to dump them off the grounds, as far away as possible. This could still become a problem. Our earl would remember the creepy undertaker that popped up around the manor (and possibly also the estate grounds) from time to time, back when his predecessor was in charge. During the instruction both boys received about being earl and watchdog, Vincent might have already explained why he has Undertaker in his network... at least the professional reason, though definitely not the personal reason.

I don't know whether Druitt was ever in Vincent's circle, a member of the evil nobles. They probably attended Weston together, but we don't know if he's the Scarlet House prefect. Either way, Druitt might have actually become a subject for investigation before. There's even a scene during the curry arc that could be a hint to that. The jeweled lady that Druitt recalls might actually be Vincent in drag, at some event years ago, there to investigate Druitt or someone else in attendance.

We have no idea how long ago Druitt started trafficking humans, so perhaps it was related to that... and he just got away to do it again and again... much like we've seen him get away with the things he does while our earl is watchdog. Even when Druitt is arrested, he goes free. Probably bribery to corrupt officials. Some of the higher-up ones might be clients/buyers. Yana-san really drives home how much corruption and fraud and abuse there is in her Victorian England. Sadly, it's not too far from reality.

Doctors were largely detested during the era because of some shady practices that many engaged in. Practitioners would be hired to have people committed to asylums... or even to examine girls to see if they were still virgins, so their families could prostitute them out and charge more for their first assignations. Surgeons (for practice) and anatomists got their human dissection subjects through various means; some were acceptable and others were downright despicable. They prescribed dangerous substances as medicines; sometimes the "cures" really were worse than the conditions.

Though Druitt doesn't have a medical practice, he has a medical license. Before he even got into selling live humans, I wouldn't be surprised if he was involved with supplying and/or buying corpses for study. It would be interesting if Druitt cut out the grave robbers by going straight to undertakers for a supply, because he seems like the sort of person who would do a lot of studying on his own, particularly since he's an aristocrat with no intention of opening a public medical practice. Druitt's connections to Undertaker might go back quite a long way, maybe even back to Druitt's Weston years... when Undertaker would have likely re-entered Vincent's life. Who knows, but I'd be very interested to find out.

When Sebastian investigates all the people with events for the social season, narrowing down the ones that might line up with Jack the Ripper, we don't know where he gets all of his information. It's entirely possible that some of it comes from Undertaker, particularly about people like Druitt. Which supports the idea that Undertaker might already have a history of dealing with the remains of people who have passed through Druitt's doors.

Well, they definitely meet before the events of the Campania, since they already have some sort of dealings with each other, including the Aurora Society. Druitt could easily be the one who introduces Undertaker to Stoker. I very much doubt it would be the other way around, with Stoker making introductions between Undertaker and Druitt.

I'm sure there was more I wanted to get to here, but this reply has been sitting in draft for ages, and I've forgotten whatever else I'd wanted to say. 😬

But Druitt has got to supply more to Undertaker than simply laughter. Knowledge and/or experimentation that leads to medical technology would be very helpful for his current activities.

And we can't ignore the possibility they are also related. Particularly if Undertaker ends up being Cedric K. Rosewood, Rosenthal, Rosedale or any other last name that would make him sound right at home in Scarlet House....

[bopinion]

2023 / 39

Aperçu of the Week:

"I would like to ask you what language the Palestinians speak? Was there a Palestinian coin at some point in history? Is there a Palestinian history or a Palestinian culture? There isn't. There is no such thing as a Palestinian people."

(Bezalel Joel Smotrich, Finance Minister of Israel and Chairman of the right-wing "Religious Zionism" party)

Bad News of the Week:

Serbia and Kosovo. Sadly, proof that the tensions that led to the Yugoslav Wars in the Balkans from 1991 to 2001 are far from over. The conflict over Kosovo is centuries old. The area has special significance for Serbia because it is home to numerous medieval Serbian Orthodox monasteries. Serbian nationalists also see a symbol of their independence in a battle against Ottoman Turks in 1389 in Kosovo. However, the majority - then and now - are ethnic Albanians living in Kosovo. They are mostly Muslims. They regard the area as their country and accuse the Serbs of having oppressed them for decades. Formerly granted special rights have been revoked, for example. In February 2008, Kosovo declared itself independent, and since then the region has been up in the air, with NATO stationing KFOR protection troops there.

Now the situation is escalating again. Already last April, there were clashes when Serbs boycotted local elections in the region. In the process, 30 NATO peacekeepers and more than 50 Serb protesters were injured. The fuse has been smoldering ever since. Last weekend, a conflict broke out between armed Serbs and Kosovar police, ending in deaths. Allegedly, however, this was not an official Serbian military unit, but the private militia of a Serbian businessman. What nobody believes.

Now for days Serbia has been pulling together an unprecedented amount of infantry, tanks and artillery - at 48 points directly on the border. Of course Serbian President Aleksandar Vučić, speaking to the Financial Times, denied that his country was planning military action. But John Kirby, the usually well-informed spokesman for the U.S. National Security Council, confirmed it. "We are seeing a large Serbian military presence along the border with Kosovo," he said. This includes "an unprecedented deployment of Serbian artillery, tanks, and mechanized infantry units."

It is with some trepidation that I currently pay attention when a "news alert" goes ping. For once again, a cold war may become a hot one. In the middle of Europe. Because of the imperialistic claim to power of one nation against another. Geostrategy and testosterone. Frustrating.

Good News of the Week:

"Judge's ruling on Trump financial empire poses existential threat." was a headline on CNN last Wednesday. Donald Trump and his Trump organization had committed "financial fraud for years." Is that a surprise? No. At least not to Europeans. Who never understood that a windbag like Donald Jessica Trump could get away with such obvious lies for so long in a state of law. And then also leads the forecasts for the upcoming US presidential elections. Excuse me?

Finally, on Friday, Trumpist Scott Hall pleaded guilty to multiple counts of attempted election fraud in the Georgia trial. Trump is among the other 18 co-accused. I can't believe anyone could be so naive as to believe a bail bondsman would have completely independently committed the exact acts that were in Trump's playbook - "I want you to find the votes!"

The GOP seems to be unable to break with the 45th president in U.S. history. Various potential opponents, but especially the powerful super PACs in the background, are increasingly disillusioned that the candidacy is unlikely to be taken away from him. His approval ratings seem rock solid. But slowly I'm getting the sense (or the hope) - from across the ocean - that the legal manifestation of his constant misbehavior is having an effect on the American (voting) people. I've lost track of how many cases Trump is currently charged with in which court anyway. And it's all there: Fraud, Porn Star, bribery, Rudy Giuliani, rape, defamation, fixer, tax evasion - you name it. Seriously, a guy like that couldn't even get himself nominated for the Recording Secretary of a flower growers club anywhere in the world. And yet could become president for the second time in the Land of unlimited opportunities? The supposedly most powerful man in the world?

I fundamentally believe in the good in people. But there are exceptions. Trump is one of them. When I think about which personality would put the greater good above personal ego, I certainly can't think of him. So when there are again and again brave prosecutors and special investigators who stand up to Mar-A-Lago, the Proud Boys and Matt Gaetz, I pay them my respect. And in the end this guy is simply unelectable. Now all we need is for enough hockey moms in the suburbs and used car salesmen in the rust belt to realize that. He's not one of you. He's not anti-establishment. He's a notorious egomaniac. He doesn't have your best interests at heart. But only his own.

Personal happy moment of the week:

Hello again! The coronavirus is back: as soon as it gets cooler, the variant BA.2.86, called "Pirola", starts to spread. With new symptoms, an extensive resistance to the previous vaccines and practically without monitoring - because a test regime or even a data collection does not take place (anymore). The shock was correspondingly great when a colleague first called in sick at the beginning of the week and then submitted the information "COVID infection". I am one of the three colleagues who had the most intensive contact with him in the preceding days. Immediately, a colleague got rapid tests, all of which were negative. A follow-up test two days later also confirms that I got away with it once again. Lucky me.

I couldn't care less...

...about the political future of Rishi Sunak. The British prime minister, in office for less than a year, looks pale and erratic. There is no sign of leadership or vision. There are plenty of headwinds at the current Tory party conference: the Conservatives are 20% behind the Social Democrats in polls. The economy is not recovering, there is no normalization after the Brexit chaos. The migration issue is inflated and not solved. Climate targets are being softened, climate measures put on hold. Rail infrastructure measures are being cut, mobility with automobiles is being supported. His party's populism is becoming more and more right-wing, and increasing radicalism is dividing the country. Soon, Labour may adopt the old Brexiteer slogan "taking back control."

As I write this...

...I am glad that a deal was brokered between the Writers' Guild of America (WGA) and the Alliance of Motion Picture and Television Producers (AMPTP). Lasting 148 days, the strike was one of the longest in the history of writers for television and cinema in the USA. So my much liked late night show hosts will soon be able to entertain me with their monologues again.

Post Scriptum

For 40 years there should have been a worldwide holiday on September 26. Because the Russian Stanislav Petrov prevented the third world war in 1983. The computer in a Soviet control center reported an American nuclear attack. However, the responsible officer Petrov believed in a false alarm (in the end, a spy satellite was irritated by reflections of the sun), refused to trigger the nuclear counterattack and thus saved mankind.

[all-eyes-lead-to-the-truth]

All Eyes Lead to the Truth | Biogenesis (6x22)

In the past, Chuck Burks always got the call from Agent Mulder. His partner, ever the skeptic, had never requested his services. Chuck’s methods were, after all, a bit freaky-deeky for her. So when he heard Agent Scully’s voice on the other end of the line, full of concern for Mulder, he knew something was different. 

Before, it was always about solving the case; this time, it seemed personal.

“So, uh, what exactly are you experiencing?” he asked Mulder, who was a little caught off-guard seeing Chuck and Scully discussing the artifact they’d discovered, but happy to see him nonetheless.

“Noise, aural dissonance,” Mulder replied, indicating his head. “It comes and it goes.”

“Is it happening right now?” Scully asked.

“No, but it was a few minutes ago.”

“And it's only affecting you? Triggered by the rubbing?” Chuck asked. Mulder nodded. “Wow. That blows me away.” 

“Why?”

“Because the rubbing is a fake,” Agent Scully piped up. “And I'm not the first one to say so.”

It was true; Chuck’s findings did, for once, support her down-to-earth read on the situation. But as usual, with the X-Files, there was always more to the story. Chuck explained to Mulder everything he and Scully had found, including the fact that their suspect, Dr. Barnes, had a particular interest in debunking artifacts exactly like the one that was affecting him.

“Barnes has made something of a career exposing science and religious fraud,” Chuck told them. “Name your wonder of the world. He's been there, debunked that.”

Mulder wasn’t convinced.“Yeah, but wouldn't it be in his great interest to hide something that he couldn't disprove?”

“Mulder, if it were real, why would an American Indian artifact be fused in rock on the west coast of Africa?” Scully interjected.

“In 1996, a rock from Mars was found in Antarctica. How did it get there?”

Scully gaped at him. “It was from outer space.”

Mulder threw up his hands. Exactly! He tossed a triumphant grin at Chuck, who put up the image of the artifact on the overhead projector one more time. As he did, however, Mulder doubled over in pain. 

Chuck was absolutely stunned. He was witnessing its power in real time and he was fascinated.

Agent Scully gently ushered Mulder outside the room, her voice laden with concern. Chuck considered following to see if he could help, but decided against it; it seemed rather clear Scully had it under control, and even if she didn’t, it was even clearer she wanted to be alone with him.

Chuck had only met Agent Scully a couple of times, and despite her repeated blunt shutdowns of his and Mulder’s wild theories, he liked her. And he could see why Mulder liked her, too. She was a tough cookie, and just as passionate about science as he was. There was a reason she’d stuck by his side for so many years, though, and as he watched them conversing intimately in the hallway, he couldn’t help but wonder if that reason was a bit personal, as well.

After a minute or so, they came back into his office. Mulder got right to the point. “Hey Chuck, have you ever seen anything in your work regarding… well, mind-reading?”

Scully let out a loud, exasperated sigh, touching her hand to her forehead.

“I’ve never seen it demonstrated,” Chuck replied. Was Mulder suggesting….?

“Let’s just do this. Pick a number between one and a hundred.”

Scully appeared to have had enough. “Mulder, this is ridiculous. We need to get you to the hospital.”

“Just wait a minute,” Mulder said to her. He turned back to Chuck. “Pick one.”

Chuck was game. He thought hard. Nineteen. Nineteen.

“Nineteen,” Mulder responded immediately. “Was that it?”

Chuck could barely speak, he was so shocked. “Incredible!”

Scully furrowed her brow. “Enough,” she said. “Mulder, if you want to play fortune teller games later, I’ll be all ears. After you get examined.”

He turned to her. “Scully, I know Barnes killed Merkmallen, and he framed Dr. Sandoz. I can prove it to you because I heard it in his head, back at the lab. He hid the body at Sandoz’s place. Before I do anything else, we have to find it.”

Scully regarded her partner, and Chuck watched an entire story cross her face. Frustration at his stubbornness, but a similar desire to solve the case. Above all, he could see how worried she was about him. But if she knew Mulder the way he did —and he suspected that to be true— the resignation he now saw in her expression indicated that she knew arguing was futile. Mulder on a mission was as unstoppable as a freight train.

Mulder didn’t look away from her for a single second as they engaged in what Chuck could only describe as an entire conversation using only their eyes. It was almost more fascinating than the mind-reading, the way they operated.

“Okay,” she said finally. “We’ll check it out. Then home to bed, Mulder. I mean it.”

He gave her a smirk. “Understood, Doc.”

They looked at each other for another moment, and although Chuck’s forte was graphics analysis, he needed no expertise (or mind-reading abilities) to analyze the heat drifting between these two. 

“Thanks, Chuck,” Mulder said, shaking his hand. “Until next time.”

Chuck observed their body language, the way Scully was watching him closely, the gentle hand Mulder laid at the small of her back as he led her towards the door. There was something different about them, and he dared not speculate how their relationship had evolved since he’d last seen them, but they’d come a long way, that was for sure. 

Chuck took one last look at the garbled Navajo on the screen, then shut off the projector, following them out and closing the door behind him. 

He wondered how much further they’d go before he saw them next.

Read the rest of All Eyes Lead to the Truth on Archive of Our Own!

@admiralty-xfd