#Are we all being insane... are we all succumbing....

[hellonoblesky]

Oh holy shit Hannibal trending in 2024 is this an omen of good or evil for the coming year sound off in the notes

[reapersmarch]

remember what the dormouse said.

[gwynbleiddyn]

ive always said my da4 protag would be rion's son because i enjoy the poorly thought out decisions i make on dragon age time

but at best, with a little tweaking and finagling, he'd only be 20 and i sure as hell wasn't a coherent human being at 20

[mrsriddlenott]

The Seventh Day Of Smutmas

[smutmas masterlist] [main masterlist]

~ Stocking Stuffers ~

dom!Theo x sub!Reader x switch!Mattheo

Summary: Insanely horny Mattheo and Theo help you decorate for Christmas in your cute holiday themed outfit and hear you refer to putting gifts in their stocking as needing to stuff their stockings, and can’t help but get distracted by the idea of stuffing your stickings with a gift too.

Warnings: Teasing, Cumplay, Threesome, no Penetration as Punishment, Overstimulation, Sword Fight, Thigh Fucking.

The way you strode around the house in your velvety red dress with matching stockings was driving the boys crazy. They’d already had two talks about the way you swayed your hips and spoke to them in a higher pitched voice than usual, you were baiting them, you knew they couldn’t keep their eyes off you and you loved it. So they agreed to deprive you of all their attention as they continued decorating. That was until they felt your presence behind them, Mattheo locking eyes with Theo, begging him to let him succumb to your desires as your hands ran up their biceps to their shoulders.

“We still need to stuff the stockings,” Theo’s jaw clenched noticeably as he turned to you with angry eyes. Watching as you purposefully poked your chest out further, smiling as his eyes trailed across you before returning to your pleading eyes.

“Are you trying to get another punishment?” Theo asked you, trying to ignore the way you batted your eyes up to him sweetly as Mattheo made his way behind you. His rough hands tugging at your waist, pulling you into him as his lips attacked your neck, unable to control himself as he forced a gasp from you.

“Come on Mattheo,” Theo rolled his eyes as he watched his boyfriend and girlfriend, “You’re too fucking easy on her, you always give in.” He sighed, groaning as Mattheo licked up to your ear, eliciting a moan from your lips before he spoke.

“Hey! She deserves it. Look at her, she’s all dressed up for us,” Mattheo shook your hips slightly in his big hands with a bright smile, watching Theo’s eyes fall to watch your thighs shake, climbing up your body as your tits threatened to slip past the fluffy edge of your Christmas outfit.

“Yeah Teddy, I picked it out just for you guys. Look it barely covers my panties!!” You said excitedly as you turned in Mattheo’s arms, his hands migrating to your ass where the straps of your stockings disappeared, connecting to the matching underwear that peaked out from under the fluff on the hem of the Christmas dress.

“Look at her Theo, she’s been such a Good Girl today, practically giving us a show all afternoon,” Theo scoffed at his boyfriend’s words, rolling his eyes but being unable to stop himself watching Mattheo’s hands as they groped your ass, lifting your dress to expose you fully for your boyfriends.

“If you call being a little tease good than sure, but I think she’s been a but naughty,” Theo joked, stepping forward with a harsh smack to your ass before continuing, “Way too naughty for this little Santa outfit, but I guess that’s what makes it so fucking sexy.” He laughed as Mattheo chuckled, letting Theo tug you around to face him.

“Don’t think you’re getting off the hook, you wanna wear this cute little outfit then you can keep it on while me and Matty….stuff your stockings” The two laughed as your brows scrunched, eyeing Theo and cocking your head back to silently plead with Mattheo for only a second before Theo’s rough hand was tugging your chin back to face him.

“You’re gonna stand here and look pretty in your little outfit okay Baby,” Mattheo whispered into your ear as the clank of two belts filled the room, the boys seemed to know exactly what they wanted to do with you as though they were communicating without you knowing. Soon, Theo was tugging you forward, one hand on his hard cock as he spoke, “Are you okay with this? Do you want us to use you like a pretty little doll to get off?”

You were immediately shaking your head yes and within seconds Mattheo’s hands roughly grabbed your hips, forcing your thighs together before shoving his leaking tip between them with a breathy moan, fucking into your thighs as his arm came around your stomach to hold you in place. Theo watched as Mattheo’s dick moved against your plush thighs, watching his red tip poke fully out towards him before disappearing between your flesh teasingly. Theo felt himself twitch in his hand at the sight, your head tossed back against his shoulder as you squirmed around him waiting for Theo to join in on the fun.

Mattheo’s hooded eyes met Theo’s, his lazy smile disappearing as he moaned against your neck, practically begging him to help him find his release. Theo roughly grabbed your waist, lining himself up above Mattheo and shoving himself through, forcing a whine of a moan from the boy behind you as their dicks rubbed against each other. They timed their thrusts perfectly to rub fully against each other with each pull, Theo’s cock just barley rubbing up against your clit teasingly as he focused entirely on Mattheo’s pleasure as he whined behind you.

The feeling of your thighs surrounding him as the veins of Theo’s dick rubbed against his making him whine uncontrollably as he bit into your neck out of embarrassment causing you to squeal and clench your thighs harder around your boyfriends, eliciting loud moans from the both of them before Theo spoke again, “Don’t hide those fucking noises Matty, you’re almost as bad as her sometimes, you’re getting punished too.” He casually teased as he pushed Mattheo’s face away from your neck forcing him to moan and whine every time their tips touched, jolting him forward against you as you wiggled and moaned from the slightest touch.

Mattheo’s thrusts we’re becoming sloppy and faster, smacking his balls against the back of your thighs with a bruising pace before he was stuttering against you with a loud moan. His breath fanning over you shoulder as thick spurts of his cum painted your stockings and covered Theo’s cock as he continued to thrust into your thighs, pulling away before Theo tugged his front against your back, “I didn’t say to fucking stop, you’re not done until I am Mattheo.”

Theo fucked into your thighs slowly, watching Mattheo shake as his arms fully enclosed you, his mouth focused on your neck and shoulders to keep him from whining. The sight of him fucked out and slowly going limp between your thighs as he drained himself down your stockings sending him over the edge as he stuttered against you, leaning in further to nip at Mattheo’s neck and force him to whine in his ear pushing Theo over his edge as he covered your panties and thighs with his cum, mixing with Mattheo’s as it soaked into your stockings.

~~~~

@timmytime17 @talia-scar123 @spencer-reids-wife @ttsbaby01 @animorose @whydoireadanymore @thievin-stealing @spiderman-stilinski @evycloudberry @shady-the-simp @ashisabitgay @porterport @callsignwidow @cicicicicisstuff @mattheoriddleswifee @junebugin-july @moonlightreader649 @devotedlyshadowytheorist @rubyliquor @perverteddsdreams @mildly-delulu @fairydimples07 @shadowmoonlight0604 @80scinemvasworld @nevillescomslut @annaisabookworm @abaker74 @athenalikethegoddess @limeren @h-------n @kezibear @mattheoriddlemarcuslopez @lovemelikecrazyiloveyoucrazy @curiousshifter101 @tobyr68 @spididerman @hedwigprewett12 @urmomsgirlfriend1 @kiwi475 @stellasdelusions

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

Twenty minutes later, Solace hurries out of his cabin in cowboy boots.

And jeans.

Nico gapes at him.

“Go go go go go, questions later,” Will hisses, herding him behind the Apollo cabin. “We are on a time limit, we gotta —”

“You’re wearing close-toed shoes.”

“Yes, yes, sometimes I wear the clothes that I own. Wild. Let’s go.” Will tugs, uselessly, on his arm, but Nico’s half-certain his jaw has taken root in the ground, cementing him in place, because what the actual shit.

“Solace, you wore flip-flops to the snow-smothered bus stop in January. I thought you had, like, a condition!”

“I do have a condition. It’s called You Are Not Hurrying, Death Breath, let’s go —”

This time when he pulls, Nico stumbles after him, ducking under windowsills and inching around flower gardens. Every time someone so much as looks in their direction, Will plants both hands on his chest and shoves them into a corner somewhere, craning his neck to watch until they move on. Every time he does, another piece of Nico’s soul breaks away from his body and descends into hell. There is an actual trail of bones and tilled earth and dead grass behind him. Will doesn’t need to worry about being stealthy — the death aura of Nico’s dignity is large enough to scare off anything within a four mile radius.

“In here!”

Undeterred by the death aura, for some reason, Will seizes his bicep and shoves him in a crack between the Hypnos and Dionysus cabins. He slips in a millisecond later, crowding him against the warm bricks, forearm pressed awkwardly next to Nico’s head.

“Hnggh,” Nico gasps, mournfully wishing his last sliver of self-respect goodbye. Rest in fucking peace. “Do you have to be so — close, Will, gods —”

“Shhh!”

“If you shush me again I am going to rip your throat out —”

“Go, go, go!”

Yanked forward again, Nico doesn’t have the time to finish his threat. This time, at least, they sprint the final stretch to the shed without any more hiding and shoving.

Thank all the fucking gods. One more second of Will’s stupid torso — since fucking when does he wear polo shirts, huh, what the shit fuck is up with that — pressed against his and Nico’s bronchitis was going to come back. And this time he’s going to succumb to it.

“Okay,” Will says. He stands in front of a tarp-covered lump, gripping one side and jutting his chin out at the other. “On three, we tear this off and start pushing. We need past Thalia’s tree in under thirty seconds. Got it?”

“No,” Nico says stubbornly, “you still haven’t explained what the rush is —”

“One two three go!”

Will, unfortunately, has been tricking ADHD teenagers into doing things they don’t want to do for years, so Nico’s ripping off the tarp and shoving the chariot out of its stall faster than he can register what he’s doing. He practically sprints to keep up with Will, chariot wheels creaking happily as they rush over stones and sticks and forgotten weapons.

“We’re leaving now, Chiron! Bye!” Will hollers, moving too fast to give him a second to respond. Luckily, Chiron is similarly busy, galloping after a speeding Harley without more than a backwards wave and a sharp don’t die, please!

“That dynamite I gave Harley’ll only keep everyone distracted another thirty seconds,” Will mutters, ignoring Nico’s alarmed the fucking what you gave Harley, “so we need to move, let’s go.”

“Will — slow down a half fucking second, Christ, not everyone is seventy percent leg — we don’t even have pegasi!”

“Will you keep it down.” Will looks back and forth, eyes wide, like he’s worried someone is going to pop up with a pack of the winged animals. “Just — stop asking questions! We’re almost home free!”

“You’ve gone insane. It’s finally, actually happened, after all these years, who woulda thought, fully bonkers at age sixteen —”

“Oh, shut up.”

Muttering his complaints, Nico helps him push the infernal chariot down Half-Blood Hill. Among his grievances, he makes it abundantly clear that 1) this is stupid, 2) he did not agree to physical labour, 3) he would not have agreed to come if he had known about the physical labour, and 4) this is stupid.

“Just a few more yards, then we can —”

“Okay, no, that’s it.” Nico lets go of the chariot, letting the wheel dig into the soft ground and send the whole thing halting. He meets Will’s pout head-on; arms crossed, jaw set, foot tapping, refusing to give into those big blue eyes.

“C’mon, Neeks.” A faint explosion sounds off in the distance. Will’s eyes get more pleading, more hopeful. “We won’t have much time after the diversion wears off…”

“You have three seconds before I turn the hell around, Solace.”

“Please?”

“One.”

He pushes uselessly at the chariot. It spins a sad little circle without someone pushing the other side. “Neeks!”

“Two.”

“Alright, fine! Help me push again and I’ll explain on the way down.”

“Much easier when you just do as I say,” Nico grumbles, starting to push the stupid (horseless and therefore useless) chariot again. “Isn’t it?”

Will, predictably, rolls his eyes, although he can’t quite help the smile that pulls at his lips. Nico tells the butterflies that go buck fucking wild in his stomach to go to hell. This does nothing.

“How much do you know about the chariot?” Will asks eventually, after a couple minutes of shoving the stupid thing past a deep trench in the soil, leftover from the war. (Nico is going to set the fucking thing on fire. It’s a flying chariot — shouldn’t it be lightweight? Why is he suffering?) They’re nearly three quarters down the hill, and it takes everything Nico has not to risk it all and shadow travel the last couple dozen feet. Yeah, it might kill him, but then his problem would immediately go away. Tempting does not begin to cover it.

“Uh, big source of drama, right? Apollo and Ares worked together to seize it, argued over who got to keep it?”

He cuts a careful glance over to Will, well aware it’s a sensitive topic. He knows the question isn’t a trap — Will would never do that to him — but it’s probably best to tread lightly. As far as he’s concerned, this is a sore point that’ll take more than a couple years to heal.

Luckily, there’s no tension to Will’s face. “Mhm. I wasn’t there for much of the planning, ‘cause I was busy in the infirmary and also, like, twelve, but it took a lot of time on both sides. When Michael and everyone seized it, though, it glowed gold.”

“…Ah.”

Will snorts at his awkwardness, nudging his shoulder. “Yeah. Sure made it hard for the Ares cabin to claim, as dicey as it may be. Here, help me park it on the side of the road.”

There’s a thatch of weeds and undergrowth separating the road from the base of the hill, so dragging the chariot over is a struggle and a half. Nico can’t help but think that this task would be very easy if the chariot was harnessed to a couple pegasi and flying over the fucking thatch, as it is meant to do. When he voices this very valid thought, Will does not respond.

He does walk into a thistle, though, so Nico feels considerably better about the whole ordeal.

“The thing about the blessing —” Will grunts, yanking the chariot onto the gravel shoulder with one final tug — “is that it’s not that big of a deal. My dad blesses shit all the time. Our cabin is blessed. The infirmary is blessed. Hell, half my scalpels are blessed, and I throw those things out all the time ‘cause they’re dangerous when they get dull. Just because my dad blessed it doesn’t mean we actually have to keep it.”

“Okay…” Nico says slowly, “then why was it such a big deal?”

“The blessing on its own wasn’t.” Will’s voice gets fainter as he lowers himself onto the pavement, dragging himself under the belly of the chariot. Nico is confused for a full three seconds before a particularly rough patch of asphalt snags Will’s shirt and drags, and wow, are those jeans low rise. His throat is suddenly very dry. “Blessing a chariot on the other hand…”

Will makes a dorky little noise of success, crawling back from under the chariot. When he resurfaces, he’s grinning, carved piece of wood the same material as the chariot clenched in his hand. There’s soot smeared across his left cheek, his curls have tangled themselves into more of a mess than usual, and there are three separate scuff marks on his nice jeans.

Nico ducks his head, hiding a smile. What a dorky loser. Even dressed up as he is (boy, has Nico fallen low, if he’s calling jeans and cowboy boots dressed up), he still manages to look like…Will.

A really, really hot version of Will, but. Whatever. Details.

“The hell is that?”

“This,” Will says grandly, feeling around the wall of the chariot until he finds a specific spot, “is the reason my brother gave a fuck about a dumbass chariot.” He sticks the edge of the wooden tool in a tiny groove, wedging it open to reveal a hidden panel and a small, golden button. Nico meets Will’s grin with raised eyebrows, impressed.

“What do you know about Michael?”

“Uh, not too much.”

“You think he, in any reality, would have had that much interest in a hunk of wood?”

Nico had scarcely met him more than a couple times, but Michael Yew made an impression, that was for sure. For someone who was shorter than Nico when he was ten years old, he sure took up a lot of space. In the few times Nico remembers seeing him, he’d been concerned with his bow, his camera, or showing any given person who so much as blinked at him wrong just how quickly he could turn their ass concave. If Nico is correct, actually, the one time he and a pegasus had been in the same vicinity, they’d hissed at each other. Nico didn’t even know pegasi could hiss.

He tries to find a delicate way to say this.

“He seemed more interested in other endeavours,” he says politely.

Will laughs loudly. “He would rather shove an arrow in his eye than race a chariot!” His bright smile is impossible not to match, and Nico is relieved to find him totally comfortable, relaxed; hell, even excited. Usually, any talk of his siblings, even fond, makes him quiet. He’s glad for this change, however unusual. “Man, I loved my brother more than anything, but he was the most ornery motherfucker I’ve ever met in my life. He taught me every swear in every language by the time I was nine, just because he knew it would drive Lee batty. He didn’t care about some spoil of war.”

He smirks, wide and devilish, and Nico’s knees go weak. Dimples like that should be illegal.

“He was smart, though. And he figured, if dad’s blessing made this chariot anything like his own…”

He reaches out and presses the golden button with his thumb, letting go and standing back once he registers a faint click. After a couple seconds, the chariot begins to glow, soft at first, then brighter, then Nico has to squeeze his eyes shut to avoid the stinging burn, and then when he opens them, it —

He gapes. Will grins.

Where the chariot used to be, is now a shiny, brand-new, black and yellow motorbike, two helmets gleaming on the sparkling leather seat.

“…Then it might be a little more than some lousy chariot.”

Without waiting for Nico to pick his jaw off the floor, Will rushes forward. He tosses one of the helmets to Nico — which he barely manages to catch, still working on processing what the fuck just happened — and tucks the other under his arm. Nico happens to notice how his biceps flex with the action, and then vows to have his father bankrupt the entire polo shirt industry, because he can never be caught lacking like this by any mortal soul. It’s humiliating.

There’s a click as Will unlatches the seat, lifting it up to access the compartment under it. He pulls out a bundle mass of black fabric, and with a flick of his shoulders reveals it to be a fucking leather jacket and oh, gods, Nico takes back the polo shirt complaints, he can live with the polo shirt. This is too much. This is —

“Any time you’re done ogling at me, you can climb on,” Will calls out. He doesn’t even have the good grace to look in Nico’s direction, instead sliding on the seat facing resolutely forward, amused smirk on his face. And because he wants Nico to die, actually, he straightens his jacket, making sure it fits his shoulders right (by the gods does it ever) brushes his hair backwards (there is no genuine reason for someone’s hair to actually shine in the sunlight) and slides his helmet on. When he finally does look back in Nico’s direction, through his raised visor, the combined sight of his sparkling blue eyes and the cut of his face under the angular helmet actually gives him tachycardia.

“I hate you,” Nico croaks. “Not joking.”

Will throws his head back and laughs, baring his long, tanned throat. Nico follows the bob of his adam’s apple like Tantalus does the forbidden fruit. It’s horrible, and what’s worse is that Will is visibly preening like the fuckin’ peacock he is. Someone should remind him he’s basically a dressed up turkey. Or something. Nico’s brain is operating at twenty percent capacity, his ability to metaphor properly is a secondary concern.

“Just get over here, you goober. We’re on a time limit, remember?”

Shoving his helmet on to hide his flaming face, Nico does, sliding on with a healthy four inches of space between them.

“Mm, not gonna work, ParaNorman. This thing’s enchanted, we’ll be going well over a hundred. Hold on properly.”

Praying to seven different gods for strength, at once, Nico scooches the agonizing few inches closer.

“Hands around waist, Death Boy.”

“I’m fucking — I’m getting there, you asshole, gimme a goddamn second.”

“Do you need help?”

“I need you to shut the fuck up so I can focus.”

Maybe it’s the healer in him, or maybe there actually is a god looking out for Nico and they decide to have mercy. Maybe it’s a third option. Either way, Will reaches back and wraps his callused hands around Nico’s wrist, tugging them gently forward and resting them on the narrow curve of his hips. Nico holds them there, along with his breath, until some of the panicky tension starts to loosen in his chest, and he relaxes forward, resting his chest against Will’s back.

“There,” he says quietly, humming with approval when Nico’s arms link properly around his waist. He squeezes his clasped wrists once — a silent you good? — and waits for Nico’s minute nod, face buried in the back of Will’s neck, before starting up the engine, revving it twice before leaning forward, body flush to the bike. Nico can practically feel his grin, it’s so clear in his mind’s eye, in the delight thrumming through Will’s entire body, that he can’t help his own smile, too, can’t help but feel the thrum of the machine, the sharp smell in the air. He tightens his hold and Will lets out a loud, whooping laugh.

“Let’s ride, baby!”

With a push off the ground and a twist of a thrusters, they’re off, leaving behind only the echo of the roaring engine and the joyful, startled sound of Nico’s shriek.

———

next

[starsofjewels]

Mama, Papa and Baby Too

Ramsay Snow (Bolton) x Lady Bolton! Reader, Roose Bolton x Lady Bolton! Reader

NSFW!!

Any and all characters depicted in NSFW pieces are of legal age. All characters are also consenting (Unless specificed by piece)

Please read responsibly.

DARK FIC: This piece includes or is focused around a situation some readers may find uncomfortable or disturbing. Know your limits and keep yourself safe.

CONTENT WARNINGS: Incest (Stepmother x stepchild), non-descriptive/ implied incest (father x child), voyeurism, breastfeeding, foreplay (fingering + handjob), riding (Roose), Little(-ish) Ramsay, non-descriptive mention of assault (in regard to Ramsay's conception)

The Boltons are their own warning

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

I've never published any smut before, so why not, in true GOT fashion, start off with a weird little incest-ridden oneshot? The gods may smite me, but Ramsay is still my baby boy, so here we are.

I apologise in advance for this characterisation of Ramsay, even though I fear it fits his character exceptionally well.

· · ────── ·𖥸· ────── · ·

Word count: 2.5k

You had known your stepson was unstable since before you had wed his father. A bastard boy conceived out of rape, raised by an insane servant until his mother grew tired of him, and threw him on the steps of the Dreadfort. Anyone in the North could recount the stories surrounding Ramsay Snow, how he tormented the serving girls in his father’s employ, commanding his pack of dogs to tear flesh from the servants’ bones, and naming each new pup after a girl he had slain. How he burned, and destroyed, and caused so much havoc across the Dreadfort and the lands surrounding it.

When you first arrived, to be married to the boy’s father, your maids told you, with varying levels of excitement, what he had done to Roose’s previous wife, and their only surviving son. Supposedly, your new stepson had tortured Lady Bethany to the point of insanity, to a degree that her hair fell from her scalp and her skin flaked. Her only living son, Domeric, had a worse fate still, succumbing to an ‘illness’ commonly believed to be poison in the hands of his jealous half-brother.

You are given a silver dagger to hide in your skirts, and told to not use it sparingly. Ramsay is unpredictable, and cruel, and Roose will not try to stop him. 

Roose does not allow you to meet him until after the wedding. The day you finally do, the staff refuse to look at you, or speak with you as they usually would. You are taken care of, of course, fed, and bathed, dressed in Bolton pink. You feel like a sacrifice, being made-up to appease some vicious god. 

“Sit, wife.” 

It is not a question, but you answer anyway.

“I have no need to sit, lord husband.”

You watch him roll his eyes, fixing himself a little. You stand in silence for a good few moments, until you hear unfamiliar footsteps, which you assume belong to your stepson. 

Ramsay stops in the doorway, eyeing you up as you are sure his dogs do their prey. You want so badly to reach out and take Roose’s hand, or run off. But there is no comfort for you, not now. You know your fate here, and it is not to be coddled like a doll.

He steps closer to you, and again, and again, until you can clearly see his cold, blue eyes in the dim light, sizing you up, as though he can tell exactly how to torment you.

Instead of striking you, or grasping at your hair and pulling, Ramsay cautiously wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your shoulder. You gasp in surprise, expecting far worse. Glancing up at Roose, you see his brow furrow in apparent confusion, he goes to speak, Ramsay does first.

“Mama…”

He sounds like a pathetic little boy, a baby, and some part of your heart is filled by it. He takes your hand in his and puts it to his own head, and you stroke his curls as he seems to want you to. The boy preens at this, pushing himself further into the embrace.

“It seems the boy likes you, dear.”

You almost smile at his words, looking down to the boy, still hiding away in your hair.

“Aye, it does seem that way.”

Roose has shown no signs of affection towards you before, much less openly giving you pet names. You try to ignore it, putting it to the side as a one-off, a part of his surprise towards Ramsay’s affection towards you.

Your stepson stays attached to your hip for the rest of the evening. He follows you everywhere, insisting he cannot do anything without you, and although you understand the oddness of the situation, if this is what it takes to prevent yourself having the same fate as Lady Bethany, you are willing to indulge the monster. 

He practically squeals in delight when you give him a sip from your wine when his father is not looking, having been barred from partaking after sunset following a particularly violent drunken escapade, the one sliver of actual parenting Roose had enforced. 

By the time he is ready to retire, he is squished up beside you in your chambers, practically on your lap. You are distracted from your sewing by him gently butting into you, trying to grasp your attention. Looking out at the dark night outside your window, you glance back at Ramsay, already nearing sleep.

You sigh, setting him up on the unused side of your bed. It takes barely a moment for him to shuffle across the sheets and wrap himself around you, clinging like a baby. There is no point in denying him, part of you knows he would sneak in later, anyway.

Eventually, Roose comes to you, dressed in his nightclothes. He has never spent the night with you before, much less in your own rooms. He slips in beside his bastard, watching the two of you with mild curiosity.

“You’re good with him.”

“Thank you.”

He scoffs slightly, leaning back against the headboard to look down on the sleeping Ramsay.

“I have never seen him like this. He’ll be asking to suckle from you next, dearest.”

There it was again, a small hint of your husband’s affections for you. You are terribly glad the dim night hides the blush on your cheeks.

“He would not!”

You can make out Roose nodding his head.

“Really? He’s a man grown, Roose.”

“As if that could stop him. Keep yourself clothed around him, no matter how much you trust him, He’s a mischievous one, our Ramsay. Give him a chance and he might pounce.”

You feel Ramsay smile against your chest, and you realise he’s not yet fallen asleep. Summoning your best act, you look at your husband with mock surprise,

“My boy? Oh, I find that hard to believe, lord husband. Is he not just an angel?”

Ramsay tucks himself tighter against you, and a smile finds itself upon your lips. You kiss his curls gently, the boy giggles, glad that you consider him to be your own.

-    -

The night, though young, is dark. As the Stark words always say, winter is coming. You can feel it in the cold, in the way the trees tilt in the breeze. You rest your head against Roose’s chest. The flames and your furs keep the room almost uncomfortably warm. You are the lady of the Dreadfort, after, you of all people must be shielded from the oncoming trials of winter. 

The storm outside is bitter and cruel. The wind is harsh, and you are certain trees will have fallen by the morning. Every so often, if you try particularly hard, you can hear your son’s dogs howling at the weather from the kennels. You turn, your back now to Roose. He reaches his arm around you, holding you closely to him. 

And your moment of intimacy, in less than a second, is ruined by the gentle tap of a hand against your bedroom door. Just from the sound of it, you know exactly who it is. You smile softly,

“Come in, darling.”

Ramsay shuffles into your bedchamber, like a child, a pout on his face which you can see from the light of the fire beside him. He is dressed in his nightshirt, his hair messy, and you know that you are in for a long night.

“Want to sleep here, Mama.”

He makes no effort to speak to your husband, not when his precious mother is waiting for him. Though Roose attempts to grasp your arms, you reach out for Ramsay, and he leaps into your bed. Before long, he has wrangled you onto your back, snuggling viciously into your chest. His attachment to you has only grown in the months you have spent as his mother, to a degree many might consider unsettling.

“Oh, love, did the storm scare you?”

The boy nods weakly, just the hint of a smile ghosting his face. His father scoffs,

“He is not a babe, my dear, the boy can manage a bit of wind.”

Ramsay glares at his father, before going back to affectionately nuzzling you. You stroke his cheek gently, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“It is very late, Ramsay. You should try and get to sleep now.”

He shakes his head,

“Nuh. Can’t.”

Roose sighs, having given up completely, resting his head back against his pillow. Though your hands are preoccupied by the Ramsay in your arms, you lean over to kiss his cheek, something of an apology.

“Why can’t you sleep, darling?”

“I’m hungry, Mama,” He practically pleads, “I can’t sleep if I’m still hungry.”

This is always his excuse. Hunger. You think the boy must have a stomach the size of the Riverlands for how much he complains of it. But, you know his excuse well, and what it always ends with. So you smile, sweetly, and lean closer to his face.

“And what does the master want for his supper, then?”

He practically paws at your breast, begging with his big eyes, almost whimpering.

“Milk, please. Milk, Mama.”

You sigh affectionately, pressing another kiss to his face, and letting him tug down your nightdress. 

“Just a little to settle your stomach, and then off to sleep, alright?”

“I promise, Mama.”

Though you are yet to have a babe of your own, Ramsay’s consistent suckling has eventually caused your breasts to swell, your body preparing its hardest for a baby who is, in fact, a grown man. This delights your boy, of course, who could spend the rest of his days living off of nothing but the milk you’ve provided him.

He is enthralled when you help his mouth find your nipple, suckling immediately. His brow furrows, waiting impatiently for his reward. He groans when your milk touches his lips, snuggling you more, mumbling thanks, or praise, or something hidden by his face buried in your breast. 

You hear Roose shuffling. He sits up, and roughly pets his son’s hair. Ramsay’s eyes flick open, he glared again at his father, relaxing as you shush him gently,

“You’re alright, sweetling. Mama’s here.”

Ramsay moans again, and you feel him shift against your leg. Roose makes a laughing sound from the back of his throat.

“Someone is in need of a little affection, Mama.” He teases lightly, nipping at your neck. His stubble is rough, adding to your sensitivity. “Perhaps you should take care of our boy, and I’ll look after you.”

“I want to look after Mama!”

The boy has detached from you, pouting once more. You kiss his nose, wiping some of the milk from his mouth,

“You are looking after Mama by being a good, quiet boy. Let Papa have a turn, hm?”

He grumbles, but goes back to your breast, suckling again.

Roose, ever pragmatic, slips his hands quickly between your thighs, delving two fingers at a time into your cunt. He chuckles again at how ready you are, continuing to spread kisses up your neck,

“You get your mother in such a state, Ramsay. Here, taste.”

Your husband puts his finger to your son, you whine at the loss of pleasure, and the boy cleans it off as a starving dog. He looks from his father, to you, and snuggles up against you.

“Milk is tastier.”

And you cannot help but smile, quickly replaced by another gasped moan as Roose goes back to his previous activities. You take his hand, leading him up to your clit with no words spoken. The two of you have an understanding now. In between your groans and little twitches, you notice how Ramsay’s heart rate gets faster, how he grinds just a little against you. 

“Ramsay?”

A pause.

“Mama?”

“Do you need help there, sweetling?”

He whimpers, having been caught, but nods anyway. You help him shift his nightshirt up to his hips, and carefully find his cock with your free hand. Your boy moans immediately, his hips buck, and he looks up at you with a sense of pleading. He whimpers,

“Mama… more…”

“Soon, my sweet boy. Enjoy your milk.”

You stroke him in a soft, rhythmic pattern, making sure to pay just enough attention to his weepy head to keep the boy on edge. Roose continues to tease you, you gasp every so often, reaching out for him, groaning his name. You come first, stopping your movements upon Ramsay to grip Roose’s arm, crying out for him. Ramsay takes your hand, trying to help. You kiss your husband softly, and then return your affections upon Ramsay. Roose leans back, watching.

You wrap your hand around Ramsay’s cock just the way he likes, and his nails dig into your arm. The boy nips on your breast as he comes, moaning with a mouth full of milk. Most of his mess is caught by his nightshirt, which makes him much easier to clean off. Once he has calmed down just a little, you slide him off you. He cries out, still complaining even as you shush him.

“Papa deserves a treat, too, don’t you, Papa?”

“I do.”

You sit Ramsay up, tired and comfortable, and the two of you share a private laugh as you straddle him, sinking yourself quickly upon his cock. There is no time for play, not when you have been so worked up by the evening’s activities. He moans, and you remember the man behind his cold demeanour. The one who loves you, who desires you even more than your son does.

“My- Careful, love- We are not a rutting dog, are we?”

“Hm- Your fault for being such a tease, Roose…”

He scoffs, replaced quickly by another groan. It is, indeed, his fault for teasing you. You bury your face in his neck, and bite down upon it. He moans out in surprise, jolting suddenly. The action is enough to send him over the edge, and he finishes inside of you, just as a self-respecting lord should. 

Ramsay, naked, bathed and half-asleep, lies on one side of you, Roose on the other. You are the lady of the house, after all, you deserve to be treated as such. Ramsay snuggles into your chest again, full and sated.

“Hm- How is my big boy?”

Instinctually, you reach out to rub his stomach, which seems to settle him,

“Sleepy- Mama…”

“Then sleep, silly boy. Mama will be right here.”

It takes him a little longer to drift off, but you can tell, as you boy goes limp, almost drooling against your shoulder. Roose kisses your hair affectionately.

“He really does love you, dearest.”

“Mh. He’s happy, and so are you. That’s all I care about.”

“Everyone is happy tonight. Mama, Papa and Baby too.”

You give him a tired laugh, and kiss your son’s forehead. Feeling yourself begin to sleep,

“Goodnight, darling.”

“Hm- Love you.”

[the-midnight-blooms]

violet crazy | jyh

pairing: psycho!jeong yunho x wife!reader AU: yandere au, modern au word count: 14.5k warnings: yandere themes, violence, sexual assault, strong language mentions of: alcohol, substance abuse, paranoid schizophrenia, abuse, neglect. (mc and side characters are referred to by their surname, not forename, apologies for any grammar errors)

masterlist

There must have been a divine current in the air that subdued her to fall in love with Jeong Yunho. An ethereal essence that led her to sway into the forsaken lands, a push that had lured her into the forbidden depths of his insanity. For he was a deceitful soul, born with an angel's face wrought with the heart of a devil. It should have not surprised her, when had men ever been purely good beings?

Despite his obviously charismatic demeanour, affirmed by the long bridge of his nose, the smooth curve of his plump cheeks, his pink lips and wide-brown eyes feigning curiosity and innocence. Or his evidently tall stature, and pleasant airs, attractive smile: he was very much a deceitful man. So much so that when Jue first glanced her eyes in his direction; as his wife she found herself reminiscing ignorance and dismissal. If only she had not given into his toxic wiles. If only she had not succumbed to him.

He's a thing of beauty, a being crafted from the essence of light; an angel drawn from the depths of heaven. It was enough to get drunk on his illustrious beauty, falling in love was a sin. What ghastly misdeed had she committed that she had been conserved to such punishment? What crime of her past life was she now paying penance for? It must have been something bleeding with horror that Jeong Yunho had chosen her to be his dutiful subject.

They stand outside the library, the cool wind tousling his soft hair as he pushes the thin-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose. Her arms wrap around herself to keep herself warm, her jacket is too thin and worn to do the job anymore. Myeong stands with her, his classmate from law school, whilst he's standing with San and Yeosang. Yunho is supposed to be arguing with Yeosang about how Psychology is a science, he's almost tempted to give up with his eyes tightly fixed on her.

"Jue would agree with me." Yeosang pompously declares, huffing as he shoves his stethoscope into his bag. Typical STEM student narcissism, though he stares at his best friend in confusion. He's heard that name before but can't help but think where he's heard it. "The girl you've been staring at like a weirdo for the past five minutes, did you think we didn't notice?" San and Yeosang snicker at him, shaking their heads as they call for Myeong. Myeong sends San a look of disgust as she ambles over with her friend he's only caught a few times in passing. He thinks she's gorgeous but Yunho's too bashful to pluck up the courage to talk to her.

Her heart flutters at the sight of him clad in a formal blue shirt and tailored black trousers that completely juxtaposed San’s casual wear. Though right now, Jue is not sure if she is supposed to hate him as Myeong hates San to the core right now. It's something like he's her academic rival and for the past semester San has been scoring higher than her.

“Fuck you, and fuck your 89%.” Myeong scolded, she's not even sure why she bothers with him anymore. It's Yeosang, the middle-man, who's practically stuck, choosing between the two of his friends.

“Myeong, it’s one percent, goddam it. It’s not the end of the world.” But nobody could understand how succeeding was exhausting. Pouring herself over textbooks and questions on late nights, eating less so there would be more time to study, spending hours in the library and feeling terrible for time not spent revising. In all fairness, it was the end of the world for Myeong. Baring her teeth, the law student is dragged away by San, conversing in a heated argument. Yeosang disappears in less than a minute too, claiming he's late to Clinical Skills, but not before quickly embracing her. In the end it was just herself and Yunho who, tentatively, follows after as she sits under the large oak tree.

"Hi, I-uh." Yunho stuttered over his words as her doe eyes stared up at him. "Can I sit next to you?" He asked hopefully, heart palpitating violently in his chest. After nodding her head, dubiously, he slumped to the ground next to her as if there wasn't enough grass, or enough benches stretching out for miles awaiting for his graceful figure to bless the earth beneath his feet. It was silent between them as they intently stared at their respective friends fighting.

“I feel like I’m watching a K-Drama." She stated, breaking through the abrupt air as they both pulled out their lunches from their bags. Flickering her eyes towards him, she sought a delightful grin form across his beautiful features.

“Sponsored by Subway.” He joked presenting his subway sandwich as if it was a trophy. Giggling, she shook her head huffing as Myeong looked at San disinterestedly. "It's honestly so stupid, both of them. They both think they're better than everyone else." Humming in agreement, Jue subtly directed her gaze to him again tired of the occasional chirping of crickets rattled in her ears.

"Would you agree Psychology is a science?" Her head snaps towards his, mirroring the leaning in of his own head. A smirk falls on her lips, she loves this question.

"No." He's stunned, scowling as he realised it's two against one and San refuses to give his opinion on the topic; he left science a long time ago. "Science is a study of the natural world. Psychology is composed of biology but is not raw science it itself." He ponders her argument for a second. Her look reads one of a victory, happily munching away at her sandwich, as Yunho is rendered completely silent. Though he can't tell if he has just given up with arguing altogether, there was a figment within him that told him to bow to her every word, follow her every lead as if she was the beacon of light guiding his way through the darkest of tunnels.

There was also something so celestial about Jue that stemmed deeper than her quick wit. It roots were deeper than her undeniable beauty, there was a fragment of her which magnetised Yunho’s frenzied soul. Every remnant of him desired her in a way he had never desired for anything before. Faithfully, he believed she was born to be plastered by his side so as he sunk to his knees in Mass he prayed for his omnipotent God for her and her alone. She admired him too, though she didn't fail to notice how the smile on his face would falter when she laughed with San or playfully ballroom danced with Yeosang.

Jealousy, perhaps. Maybe he likes me.

After all, a little delusion didn't hurt anyone.

In the dull autumn evening, the streetlights began to flicker as the days became shorter. The laughter of children could be heard down the street as they escaped from the shackles of hell (school), dashing towards their homes. Studying in the autumn and winter months was particularly exhausting. With the sky losing its colour too quickly, no one wanted nothing more than to crawl home to their beds and slip under the covers. A false irritability roamed through her, as Yunho dragged her to the derelict convenience store off-campus as a big man like him needed as much food as he could get his hands on. There's an assignment due in two days, an exam in about two weeks with so much content and dealing with a demanding six-year-old and fifty-something-year-old is difficult.

Yunho also wants to know why all the kids at the local infant school think that she’s the mother of their favourite classmate.

"Oh, probably because it's just me, my younger brother and my dad. Mum left a while back, she has two boys now. I think?" She explained to him, as he couldn’t help but let his inquisition get the best of him.

"Why did she leave?" He asked softly, staring down at her under the dim lights of the convenience store. The delicate hum permeated into the solemn air, replaced by a sense of dismissal; Jue shaking her shoulders with disinterest.

"I don't know, she just didn't like us. I still see her around, Mum lives close to the university, actually." He wanted to follow her to ends of the earth as she aimlessly traipsed along the length of the aisle. "I still talk to her, help her around the house, steal her concealer." A sad smile painted across his features, the urge to just enamour her in his arms. God knew she deserved to be held in such a sincere way, that for the first time in her life she wanted to be held in a way that didn't feel like her skin was on fire.

“You’re really pretty.” Yunho blurted out.

Oh.

A faint blush tickled her cheeks as his ears heated red with embarrassment, the sudden proclamation instigating her to suppress a fit of laughter.

“Ok Yunho, what do you want? Help with statistics?” Her fingers danced across the aisle of packaged goods, each too expensive for her to buy. In a desperate attempt to avoid his stern gaze, she searched for the cheapest price tag.

“I’m being serious, you are very pretty.”

“I’m not Myeong pretty.”

“No you’re not.” She had no reason to be offended at that, it was a cold, hard fact that she had just accepted growing up. Myeong had always been the one boys wanted to talk to, be friends with, take out on dates and invite to parties. Jue had just been her quiet shadow that one would occasionally acknowledge. 'Oh, you're here too' as her friend tries to instigate them to include her. “You’re prettier. Smarter, yes she works hard but you work harder and at times I feel like it’s selfish that she overlooks that. You care a lot, maybe even too much, about other people more than yourself. So, you don’t have the right to stand there and say that you’re beneath her when you’re not. You’re on another plane that even she can’t reach.” His words had stunned her to the core, a quietude fell amongst them as his literature sunk into her skin her gaze tore away from the price tags to him. Her eyes brimmed with a sense of validation and adoration. Yunho stood firmly opposite her, his words were like a sworn oath he would take with him to the grave.

“Thank you. Nobody has ever said that to me before.” Her gratitude was sincere, bestowed from the depths of her heart and laid at his feet as if he was an emperor of ambitious lands and she was his follower.

“Well then they must have been blind. Because heaven knows how gorgeous you are.” With a breath lodged in her throat, she held tightly onto the shelves to stop herself from falling straight into his arms. To stop herself from pressing her lips tightly against his, to stop herself from devoting her life to him.

A weak soul she was, for she did it anyway. His touch softened the symphony of yearning trembling through her bones. The yearning that stemmed from years of neglect, all of the pent up love but nowhere to project it. Her knight, her lover, had arrived from distant lands to soothe the persisting ache of her vulnerable soul. When he went down on his knees, it took her less than a second to say 'yes', for she had already granted him every fibre of her being and became his dutiful supplicant upon a single sight of him.

Mr Jeong, a respectable criminal defence lawyer spent a majority of his time either in the office, or in the court of law, came home always around half five in the evening. Whereas his wife, Mrs Jeong (née Jue), worked as an engineer designing and processing equipment for manufacturing chemical products. She'd arrive an hour earlier on his command. The couple were a diligent pair, preceding their reputations as the best workers in their industries. After a long day of living up to their employer's expectations, Mrs Jeong came home to dreary night of living up to her husband's expectations.

Mrs Jeong couldn’t believe it took her to marry Yunho to realise how suffocating he really was. It took her too long to realise, his innocent face was a mask; beneath it lay a vicious, malformed creature who was self-conceited, rude and dissatisfied with those around him. Though it was particularly hard to prove, especially to herself at times. There came a period of love woven in between his callousness in such a subtle way that had her believing she was deserving of his aloof behaviour. Nights where he'd kiss away her tears, hold her hand and make promises to never lash out at her again. Now, three years into their marriage the fine line between his anger and love became so blurred that each pernicious trait went overlooked. There was also the notion of children suspended in the air, that she had tried her hardest to avoid, which her husband was constantly earnest to bring into a conversation.

They both slumped onto the sofa, the whirring of the television emptied into the room as he ran his slender fingers through her. Soft sighs and sweet hums permeated the restraint of their married home, despite its air of suffocation there was a paradoxical sense of amenity in the idea that they were there for each other.

“What do you think about a few children?” Yunho inquired, staring intently as she gradually shifts the position of her body to face him. Holding back a weary sigh, her fingers trace over the bridge of his nose, the smooth curvature of the soft cheeks and his sharp jawline.

“Define ‘few’.” She teased; he pursed his lips, in thought, as if he had never spent an endless number of nights thinking about it.

“Like two, three? Hell, we’re stable enough to have as many as we want. It’s up to you of course, you’ll be carrying them for nine months at a time.” His fingers drew to her stomach, gliding up and down the surface of the silk fabric, like there was a child settled in there waiting to meet its father.

“I don’t know if I’m ready for children yet.”

“What are you so afraid of?” Resting her forehead on his shoulder, his hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her deeper into him; his larger frame enveloping her.

“I don’t know—what if I’m not a good mother? I was barely raised by my parents, and I didn’t do a good job of taking care of my brother, either.” Her reason was valid, yet Yunho’s persistence had made her feel that she wasn’t mature enough to understand his wants. It was ruthless, in its own sense, for she understood him in profound ways that even she couldn’t understand herself.

“That wasn’t your choice. This is your choice.” He was wrong. This wasn’t exactly her choice either, if it was up to her, they would wait a little while longer—even if it was just a day to herself to truly think about their future together. Mrs Jeong hummed to fill the empty space, her thoughts flooding with memories of her brother and their childhood. Sure she fed him, clothed him, took him to school, helped him with his homework but at the end of the day, he still did not become the man she hoped he would be. It was if that was a testament to how poor of a mother she would be. “Do you know how much it hurts, seeing everyone live the life I’ve always wanted, while I’m questioning if my wife still has feelings for me?”

“Is this not the life you wanted, with me? There’s more to life than being fucking parents.” Reaching for the cushion beside her, she threw it against his head. “You’re not even mentally stable enough to treat me like a human being, god knows what a child means to you.” Wrangling away from his grip, his wife stalked out of the room, the slam of the bedroom door reverberating off the narrow hallways of their home.

The afternoon light had dimmed, significantly, the sun dropping into the sky to be replaced by the moon. Her eyes had wavered, opening and shutting, occasionally, as an obscure sense of guilt tugged at her. Perhaps she should have not been so crude, there were many more sincere ways to reason with Yunho however- at times- he seemed heedless to her concerns. It was always what Jeong Yunho wanted and never his wife. She couldn't really put her finger on how, or why he changed, it just happened so drastically. The door creaked open, her wide eyes fixing shut as he sauntered in the room. With the bed dipping beside her, he lifted up the covers to shuffle by her side; pink lips moving closer to her ears.

He knew she wasn't asleep.

“Don’t hit me again, even if it’s with pillow.”

“It’s not like it hurt you.” She grumbled, dragging the comforter over her shoulders, a surge of warmth glissaded over her body. A discontented sigh escaped from his lips, snaking his arms around her waist he nestled closely against her, the heat from his body radiating onto her. On instinct, her entire figure shifted to embrace him closely within her arms.

“Oh, are we friends now?” He teased, gently lifting her chin so she could bore her eyes into his.

“You’re my personal radiator. Nothing else." He grinned, as her fingers nimbly ran through his hair.

“I love you so much, darling. I just wish you tried to understand me.” Humming into his chest, her eyes fluttered to a close falling deep into a peaceful slumber within her lover’s arms.

Once again, she’s met by the voicemail machine, huffing to herself as the crisp autumn air comes to grace her again. Standing outside her office building Mrs Jeong waits for her husband to pick her up; phone in hand trying desperately to reach out to Yeosang, their psychiatrist friend. He had become a lot more reserved upon beginning his new job as a doctor after completing five difficult years at medical school. Such was expected, they knew his hours would be long and exhausting though with psychiatry being his chosen speciality, they expected him to slightly return back to his sociable ways. Mrs Jeong hadn’t spoken to Yeosang in about three months and she was worried now.

After seven 'o'clock in the evening, she's settling their ironed clothes in the wardrobe, her husband in the living room on the gaming console. Momentarily, his grunts of agitation and loud groaning annoys her but Mrs Jeong is so used to his borderline childish behaviour that she dismisses the actions over her shoulder and persists with the house chores. The buzzing of her phone, immediately, tears her away from her duties in a hope that her childhood friend has returned to her call.

"Jue?" His voice is so timid and wrought with fear, her heart lurches in her chest. Rattling with anxiety, she settles the phone putting it on speaker.

"Yeo, what's wrong?" It's all so sudden. The way he erupts into a fit of sobs which empties out into the derelict bedroom, a sound she thought she would ever hear in her life. "Yeo, talk to me dear." She urges, her soft tone gently easing him out of his melancholia.

“I love you, Jue. I love you so much, I don't know how to stop." The beating of her heart had ceased, any moment now she'll be taking the Angel of Death's hand, joining her brother in a land far away from this world. "I spent so many years wishing that you wanted me too, but I’m no one in comparison to Yunho. He’s taller, more handsome than I-,” His words all bled together, body rattling as his wailing fails to stop. Yeosang sits in his bedroom, curtains draw and the lights off ready to sink into another world.

“Yeo, you are perfect in your own way. You're funny, clever. I have nothing but adoration for you." Her reassurances are menial, sycophantic, her friend thinks.

“I am a fool. A broken, drunken fool to think you’d want me.” She can't even get a word in before he continues to ramble, he just wants to speak. She just needs to listen. “Of course, there’s this girl at work that really likes me. But she’s exactly like you, I talk to her and all I can hear is the sound of your voice. She looks like you, thinks like you. Perhaps it’s the version of you that would have been mine if you’d never met Yunho.” Her eyes well up with tears, realising why Yeosang had become so withdrawn from everyone. A small piece of her imagination flickers to what her life would have been like if she never met Yunho or even married him. It's still a pretty dream but one she finds hard to fully forge and it breaks him. Her body shifts around finding Yunho paralysed by the doorway, full tears pool in his eyes.

"One last time, I love you Jue. I always have and maybe I always will until my last breath." Large tears slip down Yunho's cheek, his palm slaps to his mouth holding back the grieving dissonance of pitiful sobs. The line cuts, her phone is discarded somewhere as she reaches out for her husband but he ignores her grasp moving towards his bed. At the foot of the bed, his body racks in agony as he bawls his heart out to the moon.

“So this is why you don’t want children. You really don’t love me anymore, you’re going to leave me for Yeosang.” Crawling on the bed to him, her arms wrap around his neck rocking him back and forth.

“No, Yunho. You misheard, he said he loved me, but I didn’t say I loved him. My heart only belongs for you, dummy.” His wails are distressing, prolonging over a vast period of time, her heart waves in anticipation that he’ll never see her the same again. “There’s no me without Jeong Yunho, baby. Come on, stop crying.” His cries falter for a few seconds, collecting himself whilst he nuzzles deeper into her hold.

“You still don’t want my children though, do you?” He peers up at her through his long, wet lashes, cooing at his pouty face. Her lips travel down his face to ease him of his pain, before her arms circulate around his neck.

“Of course I do, I just want there to be you and I for now.” Tugging him under the covers with her, his hands mildly roam over the surface of her skin, lips a tease as he pecks so slightly. Their mouths move in sync, the sanctified synchronisation proves their understanding of each other. He knows her in such a way, he plans a response to her next movement as he pushes his body so he is hovering over her. His lips plaster chaste kisses down her neck, fingers playing with the hem of her shirt; her soft moan consumes him. With a growl, he snakes his hand under her shirt as a ripple of goosebumps litter her skin. His wife is oblivious to his next move, he’s done this before and retracted later. It’s only when he’s moving closer to her cleavage, a breath hitches in her throat at his unfaithfulness.

“Yunho.” She squirmed under his touch, feeling trapped under his body. “I don’t want to.” She breathed out, the cold circulating over her as the hem of her shirt hitched up.

“Please. For me.” He presses his lips to hers once again. As if that was any consolation for his indecency, any justification for him throwing his body over hers leaving her captured under the emblem of his own desire.

The stars scape across the night in the landscape of the dead, a fragile soul awakens in the aftermath of his despotism. Her heart lurches out of her chest, feeling the aches of his vulgarity inflicted upon her.

It must all be a sick joke.

It’s a joke, the way the moonlight streams in through their velvet curtains forging a halo around his slender body.

Reeling away from him, she slipped out from under the covers, picking up remnants of her modesty from the ground beneath her. A demeaning silence fulfilled the sombre atmosphere as she trudged to the bathroom, the light shattering the fabric of her dignity.

Hot water spurted from the shower head, as she weakly slathered the soap over her body before grabbing the loofah from the stand. Violently, she rubbed the sponge over her skin, scrubbing hastily in all the places where his touch had lingered upon hers. Scrubbing in all the places where she had felt like a clay pot indented by fingerprints before it could be hardened; moulded by his barbarity. But no matter how much she cleaned her skin, even until it littered red and flakes began to peel off her arms, even when it lacerated—blood boiling as she itched and plucked her neck; it wouldn’t remove feeling of his tender touches burning her. The water could dissolve the soap off her body, the sponge could be rinsed clean, the room could be scrubbed, windows opened, but the memory could not be eradicated. The memory of her begging him to stop and under his reticent command she was rendered subservient. His toy to play with, his doll to admire. Sinking to her knees, her hand slapped against the cool marble; figure convulsing as pained teardrops slid down her cheeks.

A woman’s body belonged to her own, it was to be forged from the roots of her femininity, whether it was to express her sexuality freely or maintain a figure of modesty. It was a not a man’s to hold or to control. Here, he had torn it ruthlessly from her grip, claiming that it was his, all his, as if when she had been bound to him in matrimony it was her body she was giving to him and not herself. Those vows. Those wretched vows he’d spoken at the altar, they were just bewitched lies glossed over by his insatiable beauty.

‘But you belong to your husband, he is entitled to each and every part of you.’ The old wives would say. Yet, a woman’s words are weak, a single plea, a cry, a laughter can so quickly be obscured by his own.

Just this once, hear me, my love.

I just wanted you to hear me say: No.

Mr and Mrs Choi were accounted as distinguished lawyers in the court of law. Whilst Mr Choi worked as a criminal defence lawyer, alongside his closest friend, Mrs Choi laboured in prosecution much to the surprise of her peers who had concluded that she'd been chasing and competing with San in his own field. Again, Yunho had been the one to prove to be much more reputable and the best dignitary in law. When they weren't advocates for justice, they came home to their beautiful daughter Choi Soo-Ah, who inherited her mother's beauty and her father's intellect.

Mr and Mrs Jeong stand outside the terraced home, constructed from red-bricks. They surpass up the staircase, the bow windows outcast over the front lawn, showing San play gently with his daughter alongside his old plushie, Shiber. Her hands raise to provoke the door knocker, where her husband leans closer to her ear.

“Just think baby, that will be us soon.” Placing a chaste kiss on the top of her head, they patiently awaited for the door to swing open. She had thrown herself into Myeong’s hold, the childhood friends squeaking and giggling like little school girls upon their reunion. Until Choi Soo-Ah comes to join them, jumping up and down herself as if she is too an old childhood friend. The old wives do say that you are carrying your child and your child is carrying hers even before they are conceived. In a comical way, little Soo-Ah has been with them for so long.

“Ach, Yunho, what’s this?” Yunho is carrying a heavy chicken dish in his hands and there’s dessert in the car that he’s careful about passing over to San who silently thanks him for saving their dinner party. Myeong’s cooking skills are pitiful, to say the least.

When they finally sat down to eat, Mrs Jeong draws herself out of conversation, reserving her attention solely to her food. For the first time in her life, she wants to scream. She wants to break down into a fit of sobs, howling until the midnight escapes from the sky, convulsing until her body begins to deteriorate and all that’s left is her husband burying her six feet under. She can’t tolerate the way his touch pierces her skin, her clothes feel too tight on her back, hair sticks to the back of her neck as beads of sweat form. Those wretched memories and lies she told him are creeping back. Walls shimmer, the shape of the spoon has somehow distorted, the food all bleeds together to form some sort of mush.

“My, you’re quiet today, brainbox.” A sheepish smile rests on her lips, at San’s comment, her eyes almost flutter close in the midst of her burdening exhaustion.

“Parenthood seems to have taken a bigger toll on you than your wife, San.” She goads, leaning back in her seat. Yunho’s hands draw closer to her own. Her eyes flicker, but they are dams holding back a flood of emotions that are threatening to fall. San laughs, it’s so natural that she envies him for it. She hates how in love he is with Myeong and would never force her to anything she doesn’t want to.

“Soo-Ah is a daddy’s girl.” His fingers raise to tickle his daughter’s cheek who giggles, revealing a dimple on her left cheek. Yunho has dimples too but they’re only really prominent when stress overtakes him and he loses too much weight.

"Has anyone spoken to Yeo? It's honestly almost like he's dead." Myeong jokes, a breath is lodged in her throat calculating what the next best word to say is. But her mind is spiralling out of control, because it was that tragic day when Yunho depravedly ripped her apart.

"I spoke to him the other day, he's doing ok. I've been meaning to get back to him but I haven't had the time." In truth, she's been calling Yeosang at least four to five times a day, spamming him with messages. Sometimes she even pounds on his front door when she knows he will be at home. Heaven knows, a flicker of a shadow has crawled across the floor, receiving her presence but he ignores her like she did to his feelings. They sit there, knowing its incomplete without all five of them.

Stood by the Choi family household's doorway, Yunho slips on his shoes his wife loitering behind him.

"Are you sure you want to stay here for so long? I'll miss you." His pout no longer makes her heart throb with reverence. The sight of him repulses her, the tsunami is rising high above the waves, there is no longer a fragment of her that would breathe at his will. “I love you.” His declaration reverberated of the walls in the foyer, the beating of her heart paused momentarily. It felt too quiet, as San’s dimpled smile behind them, Soo-Ah’s wide eyes and Yunho’s longing gaze rested heavy on her figure. As if they were all awaiting for her to say the words back to him. Her face heated with the pressure, which one would have mistaken for a love-sick blush.

“I love you too.” Love. A word that didn’t hold any meaning anymore, what even was it? She once thought she knew what love meant, after all, love was Jeong Yunho. Love was waking up beside him every morning to his groggy voice and a fit of kisses. Love was dancing to songs in the kitchen, chasing him through the park but failing because of his long legs. Love was discussing remnants of the future together, not forcing it to happen within a single beat. Love was him. Was. Past tense, something long gone to the wind and would never return.

"I don't know if something has happened to you, but it's almost as if you've completely shut down." They sit on Myeong's bed as both her husband and daughter have skipped down to the park. Her eyes outcast from the window, the bare branches of the trees sway with the billow of the window, the leaves drift across the pavement as a few pedestrians stalk down the street in their work attire. The Choi's neighbourhood is so full of sophistication, its enough to make her domestic village seem inferior. Her head turns to meet her friend's concerned eyes, prevailing as if she is so eager to make her way through the labyrinth of struggle Mrs Jeong has been plunged through. "Did Yunho say, or do, something to you?"

Tears well up at the front of her eyes, the pace of her breathing quickens, everything has blurred so suddenly. A malicious monster has plunged his hands to her lungs, suffocating her airways so much that she cannot breathe and is denied the pleasures of living. His slender fingers lodge in the lumen of her airpipe, mouth locked in place all that escapes her are muffled cries. Chains ensnare around her legs too, tightened she cannot even as so much move her leg a single inch. A voice is attenuated at her ear drums, the tumultuous tides have rushed into the shore, sweeping her body into the vast expanse of the cerulean sea. Her anguished roar saturates the room, much like the water filling into her lungs.

"He-he-" Her voice stammers so pathetically, her arms wrap around herself because a touch of another will just kill her. "He hurt me. I said no but he wouldn't stop, he just kept on going. I said, please but he wouldn't stop." Her head falls onto the pillow and she just gives up allowing Myeong, and Myeong alone, to embrace her. The cry is no longer so silent, no longer expressed in the loneliness of her married home when he is not there to hear her. It is spoke in a house where the notions of absolutism do not exist. It speaks to Myeong's soul, watching her cry is a nightmare for she had never seen any other emotion other than happiness on her face.

"I can't go back. Please don't make me go back to him." She wails, gripping onto her forearms as if any moment now, he would tear through the walls and yield her back into prison.

Slumped on the leather sofa of Myeong's office in her home, as the lawyer ardently works through reads of paperwork and emails. Little Soo-Ah’s body is draped over her own, her small chest rises up and down, soft snores escaping her. On maternal instinct, her arms wrap around, holding her closer. There’s a poignancy in the idea that this is what she could have had, had he not forced it upon her.

"We have TRO-temporary restraining order for up to two weeks until a full trial is scheduled. The judge needs more information. You are aware that Yunho can make an appeal to get his restraining order revoked, right?" Chewing down on her lip, she nods, knowing that things will only get much worse from here.

The Magistrate’s court is where all court cases begin, even sexual assault cases. It’s when the suspect pleads “not guilty” that things get messy, and it’s established as “indictable only” that cases are handed over to the Crown Prosecution Services. Jue is even surprised that it’s taken a few weeks to reach the trial; normally cases like hers take months upon months. Yet what hurts the most is that for the second time she reads out aloud her statement and it’s almost like she’s begging to the judge for mercy. As if they are the ones who can cure of her this ailment.

The court room is cold, is really all she can think about as she avoids her husbands deceived gaze across the room. Jue knows that if she looks into his eyes, even once, she might feel pried to take back all that she has set against him. She doesn’t live with him anymore, she moved as quick as she could to a women’s hostel—the feeling of living alone terrifies her.

“A work convention? So soon?” His eyebrows furrow in confusion, he doesn’t quite believe her but there is nothing from the tone of her voice or body language that suggests she is lying.

“Yes, dear. About a week?” He snakes his arms around her waist, inhaling in her scent.

“You’ll take the pregnancy test, won’t you? God knows how much I want that baby.” Ignoring the pounding of her heart, she nods eagerly, cautiously pressing her lips to his soft cheek. “Fuck, I love you so much.”

There’s a number of officials, including a circuit judge and a jury of twelve members of the public all awaiting for the case to start. The defence lawyer is yet to walk in.

The wooden doors swing open, following a gust of air as a pair of shoes click against the floor. The prosecution follow their eyes across their shoulders, Myeong’s heart stops beating for a second.

Her husband stands there in all his glory, their eyes meet in a quick second before he dips his head sitting next to Yunho. She cannot her believe her eyes, yet the same way she would protect her friend with her life, San would fight Yunho’s case for as long the blood ran through his veins.

The war begins.

Mr and Mrs Choi both prepare succinct, detailed opening speeches for the court. In cases like sexual assault, there needs to be a sufficient amount of evidence for the perpetrator to be punished. In marital rape, it’s a lot more difficult and is categorised under domestic assault. It’s her word against the court, and god was it difficult for Myeong to pull something together.

It seems like this wasn’t the case for San and Yunho, for when he presents his opening speech deeming his client isn’t guilty and his argument begins, he has the physical evidence Myeong was scrounging for.

"The defence argues that Mrs Jeong’s appeal extends from her ongoing paranoid schizophrenia. Here, we have a letter of diagnosis issued on the 12th September, three years ago, by Dr Park Taeo, working for the Light Goeul Medical Foundation." San dropped a folder in front of the judge, a copy handed to Myeong who flips through the folder at a rapid pace.

“The defence would like to call Dr Park Taeo to the stand.” A man of average height with jet black hair ascends to the stand. He is clad in a smart suit, but Jue furrows her brows. She had never seen or met this man before. Granted, at one point Yunho had her meet a counsellor for her 'feelings' (an old woman who retired and had just passed away last year), yet there was no 'Dr Park Taeo' she had ever spoken to. Her lips move closer to Myeong, whispering words of defence.

"I have never met this man before. I don't even know who he is." Taeo is sworn in by the bible, pledging to the tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

“Could you inform the court of when you had first met Mrs Jeong, and what exactly had led you to believe she had paranoid schizophrenia?” San interrogates, he musters all the courage he can to avoid his wife’s gaze for he feels her stare burning holes in his back.

“Mrs Jeong came into my office on the 22nd of February, three years ago. She told me her husband had requested her see someone as she was particularly suffering from hallucinations, so seeing things that weren’t there. Hearing things. Delusions, withdrawing herself away from her family and friends. I also recognised a particularly disorganised train of thought, she stumbled over her speech.” Her heart stops in her chest.

22nd February. The same date she first saw her counsellor.

“And these are all symptoms of schizophrenia?” San provokes, to which Taeo nods followed quickly by a verbal confirmation. “Could you tell the court of her delusions?” The doctor sucks in a deep sigh, typically there’s ‘patient-confidentiality’ at play which is inherently discredited in the court of law.

“She perceived people were trying to hurt her. Usually it was people she was working with, sometimes it was her husband.” Jue squeezes her eyes shut.

That fucker.

“Can you elaborate?”

“Mrs Jeong stated, and I remember this so boldly: ‘Sometimes I feel that he doesn’t love me for any other reason other than to use me, or that I am of some value to him. Sometimes I feel he may hurt me, or is the wrong person to protect me from danger.’” A hand slaps to her mouth, her fingers squeezing her lips. Her heart palpitates in her chest, hastened breaths escaping her.

It’s exactly what she said, three years ago, to her therapist.

“What makes you say that?” Mrs Go’s soft voice is a dream, a melody dropped from the banner of a celestial plane. Her attitude eases the incessant pulsation of her heart.

“I wonder when he sees my scars if he loves me. Or when he hears of my past, that I am still the same woman he is in love with.”

“Why would any of that stop him from loving you?” Mrs Go never took notes. That woman had an impeccable memory, she wrote things down after the session, claiming her clients required her undivided attention.

“Men don’t like broken things.”

“Was there anything you believe could have been the cause of her condition?” Her ears have mellowed out San’s voice, she cannot bear it and it’s hard to avoid Yunho’s gaze now. She stares at him, though there’s no longer a betrayed look that settles in his eyes. A glimmer of triumph, a paint of melancholy.

“Yes, particularly her childhood is the main factor. Her father was a raging alcoholic who engaged in substance abuse. Her mother left him for that reason. His erratic behaviour eventually transgressed into acts of physical violence which he inflicted on his daughter and son. I believe Mrs Jeong’s brother—,” Her chair scrapes across the floor, she stumbles her line of sight blurring. There’s a mixture of voices and faces, they all wanting something to do with her. She wants nothing to do with them. Before she knows it, a spread of darkness fulfils her vision.

“I must look like a fool for fainting in court. That screams guilty straight away.” She breaks the silence in Myeong’s office, her body draped across the plush sofa. Her friend simply hums tightening her gaze across the spread of sheets littered upon her desk. Darting her eyes across the room, Myeong looks as deceived as Yunho did. After all, it’s her first time hearing any of this and despite her friend’s pleas that the diagnosis was never true—Myeong doesn’t know what to believe. For the first time since law school, there are dark circles under her eyes as she hasn’t gone home to sleep in a long time. Soo-Ah is with her grandparents and she doesn’t have the strength to face San. “I-my father did beat me.” Jue confesses, but the words splutter from her mouth. Disorganised, as Taeo would state. Passively, she gets up from the sofa, taking off her jacket revealing the t-shirt underneath.

Her arms are scarred, several indentations seem like streaks of white paint over her skin. None have faded, and they’re all relics of her past which seem like trophies of wars she has fought. Myeong has seen similar bruises, scars and wounds on victims of domestic violence; she may have never gone through it herself but seeing it in others is what prompted her to be a lawyer. Knowing that her friend was suffering whilst she was training to be an advocate is like a blow to the heart.

“How did we never notice?”

“Lots and lots of my mother’s concealer. Long shirts and jackets even in the summer…” She trails off feeling herself want to collapse. “I just—never expected him to use it against me. I confided in him, and he creates this lie that’s enough to close this case.”

“It’s absolutely boiling out there and you’re wearing a hoodie?” Yunho scolds as he rifles through their wardrobe, hands running through the hung fabric. They’re all long sleeve shirts, turtlenecks, jumpers and nothing with cropped sleeves. “I’ll have to give you one of mine.” He takes out the white shirt, slipping off the hanger before handing it to her. Her hands reach out, slowly, a fear striking through her heart. What if he sees those scars and doesn’t love her anymore? Muttering her thanks, the hoodie is replaced by the t-shirt. Yunho has noticed straight away, within an instance he’s on his knees whilst she bawls under his inquisition.

“We’re going to fight this, I’ve got evidence to prove he’s a fraud and this whole thing is fake. Second, I’ve called Yeosang in. We’re proving to the court you’re sane.” Jue just hopes there’s no bitter feelings amongst them; not after she completely disregarded his feelings in light of her husband’s.

The shatter of glass against the wall sent a jolt through her; the fragments bounced off the surface splitting into all corners of the living room. The black, leather sofa is pushed forward so she can squeeze her body through the tight spot. If she stays here long enough, he’ll eventually give up and leave. But she’s as wrong as she’ll ever be because when Mr Jue is drunk, he is the most persistent man on earth.

“If you come here now, then I won’t hit you.” Lie. He was stood by the doorway, blocking the exit to her bedroom. His body swayed from side to side, heavily intoxicated; having spent two weeks worth of food on a shit ton of alcohol and drugs in one night. “I can wait all day.” His low voice sending a wave of fear over her. Taking in a deep breath, she darted towards the space between his body and the doorway, wrangling away from the harsh grip of his greasy hands before scrambling up the steps. He pounded up the staircase behind her, hands outstretched for her legs, jerking her down, forearms slamming into the piercing edges. A cry escaped her lips as his elbow pummelled down on her head, his iron fists gripping her hair sending a violent punch through her head, the pain rattling at her core.

“That’s what we’ve got to do to clever bastards like you, go straight for the fucking head.” He snarled, throwing her body against the staircase. Where’s your brother?” He questioned, darting up to the stairs. Plastering her hands over her ears to drown out the sounds of his screams, tears soundlessly poured down her cheeks until the shrieks reverberated mercilessly through her head and she darted up to his bedroom.

“That’s enough, stop!” Her bellow carried over the expanse of the bedroom, her younger brother on the floor cradling his face in his arms.

“My own fucking children are ganging up on me now.” He cackles, mercilessly and she’s on the lookout for the Grim Reaper. But she doesn’t see him and she’s disappointed. The sight of him is better than the sight of her father. “Your mother was a dirty whore! She wanted fucking kids and then left me to deal with them. I didn’t even want you!”

“Tell me something I haven’t heard before.” He scowled, deprived of the energy to lash out again at her stumbling out of the door; slamming it behind them. Sinking onto the floor, her arms outstretched to encircle her brother into her—his body crawled in. Rocking him back and forth she ran her fingers through his hair as he sobbed pitifully into her chest.

The Jue siblings have been physically abused for as long as they’ve lived. Every morning the eldest child wakes up her brother, washes him, and applies a layer of concealer over his bruised skin. Then he wears long sleeve shirts, or a short-sleeve with a jumper on top, before being fed breakfast and taken to school. He is eight years old and doesn’t understand why he’s thrown against the floor like a rag doll. Often when he sees the father of his classmates hug them after school, he’s confused. So he asks his sister who’s only rendered silent as they eat dinner in her room behind a locked door.

Jue can’t tell him it’s his way of loving, because she doesn’t want to prepare her brother for a lifelong relationship of abuse. He deserves to know what love feels like, he just knows a bit of love is his sister staying hungry so he can have the last slice of oven pizza. He knows that a bit of love is her sneaking chocolate cake out of events so he can get a treat after dinner. Or her saving up from her measly wages so she can buy him a toy he’ll treasure forever. But he’ll never know what paternal love is.

Nobody knows of their secret. It’s something she’s forced her brother to not open his mouth on. If the teacher asks where the bruise came from, say you fell over. If the teacher asks where daddy is, say he’s at work. What about mummy? The truth. Mummy doesn’t live with us anymore.

(Mummy doesn’t love us.)

Myeong never knew, nor did San or Yeosang. No matter how deeply rooted Yunho’s infatuation was: he never knew either. Not until after they had married and he’d seen the scars on her body.

Having no maternal figure was awful for her, especially on days where she needed to rest and she physically couldn’t move her body from the bed. Her father storms into the room, he’s in his work attire but she knows he’s had one too many drinks from the pub on his way home from work. It’s a wonder how he’s never been sacked yet.

“Get up.” He roars. “What are you laying down for? Lazy bitch.”

“I can’t get up.” She croaked out.

“Get the fuck up.”

“I can’t.” She whined, groaning loudly as she pushed up her body from the bed. A scream erupted from her lips as he gripped her by the hair to drag her out of her room, her lower abdomen pummelling a wave of agony through her. He hauls her down the stairs, launching her body into the kitchen. Her figure slaps against the floor, a breath lodged in her throat as tears well up in her eyes.

“One of the men at the pub has told me you’ve been with a man. Not the doctor or specky-four-eyes.” She holds back the urge to roll her eyes, he’s only ever seen San with glasses on, she doesn’t bother to correct him that Yeosang is a medical student. “The lanky one. He’s supposed to be tall as fuck, I’m told. Who is he? Whose dick are you sucking now?”

“I’m not. He’s a friend, Yeosang’s friend. His name is Yunho.” She sits a little properly on the kitchen floor, but not up. Jue knows better than to shun her father’s superiority complex.

“What does he study?”

“Law and psychology.” He simply hums, she wonders what he’s thinking.

“Well don’t whore around with him, otherwise you’ll end up pregnant and he’ll leave you.” A breath of relief escapes her as he disappears from the first floor and enters his bedroom. She’s surprised. There is at least five objects in the kitchen that he can harm her with, she anticipates his arrival for the next fifteen minutes preparing herself to be battered by him. When he doesn’t reappear, she takes the opportunity to trudge back to her bedroom.

It was funny. Perhaps her father should have warned Yunho to not chase after her. After all, he was the one who ‘whored around’ with her and she was the one leaving him. But that’s all her past feels to her now: irony. Something to laugh and laugh like a crazed man. Perhaps her husband is right, she is insane.

Here she is, sitting opposite Yeosang in the clinic he works at. Unlike Mrs Go, he scribbles down her words as if he’s transcribing them across the page furiously with his fountain pen. When she stops speaking and a distasteful quietude fills the air, Jue knows exactly what he’s thinking and doesn’t have it in her to meet his scrutiny.

“I can’t believe you went through all of this, and never told us.” Those words she expected. “What happened to that bastard afterwards? I remember him at the wedding but what happened to him?”

“He just left of the face of the earth. I don’t know if he’s dead, or in jail or just shit faced in another city. Doesn’t matter, I won’t forgive him for what he did to my brother.” Wiping her nose, the scrunched up tissue is shoved back into her pocket; she peers at him through her lashes as Yeosang stares at his sheet.

"Well, the good news it that you're sane. It is normal to suffer as you have done and still be 'sane'. You've created a somewhat healthy coping mechanism to be relatively unaffected. Any history of mental illness in the family?" She shakes her head. There's just a history of abuse after abuse but somehow they've all managed to be escape the grasp of mental illness. For a minute she wonders if she ever had a child and if they would be the one to break. "Good. I'll pass this along to Myeong and I'm more than happy to testify."

"Thank you, Yeo. Are you ok? You didn't respond to my calls." He takes off his glasses and throws them to the side, his face falling into his palms as a long groan emits from his lips.

"I'm fine, I'm sorry I burdened you with what I said the other day. It was merely a moment of weakness." But it wasn't. It took him all the strength that laid within him for every moment it roamed within, it felt like his organs were being toxified.

"But did you mean what you said?"

"Yes. Without doubt."

In the middle of the biting winter, she shoves her fists into the deep pockets of her trench coat; as her heels click against the steps up to the court. Thank goodness the building is warm, she makes her way down to the room, the security guards are familiar with her now—after all her case seems to never end. Meeting Myeong outside, Jue gives San a curt nod as the couple engage in a private conversation.

A figure clears his throat from behind her, her head turns to find her husband loitering awkwardly by the double doors. His eyes are slightly tired, face sunken. He’s lost weight, so much so she can see the dimple his healthy face hides.

“Have you been eating?” She confesses, the words escape her before she can suppress them.

“Yes, my mother has been taking care of that. You?” She nods, though it is false nonetheless. Eating, sleeping, living is a luxury. All she can do is breathe and sometimes even that comes at a price. "You look like you've lost weight." She shrugs, perhaps she has. She's never neglected herself this much in her life, there's nothing to live but for freedom now. A spectral silence is suspended in the air before the door swings open and they are allowed into the court room. Myeong hooks her arm around her own, they walk in leaving their husbands behind.

There’s a quiet chatter as the prosecution lawyer discusses a few matters with her assistant. It’s tense at the moment, their witness has not arrived yet and session is about to start.

“Counsellor?” The judge prompts, all the eyes fall on her. Jue quickly texts Yeosang underneath the table but the message isn't received on his end.

There is no Yeosang.

Myeong's heart flutters with dejection, her face heating up as she feels the burning stares of tens upon tens. Her fists ball at her sides, her sharp eyes digging Yunho's grave.

"The prosecution would like to call the defendant, Jeong Yunho, to the stand." Ignoring the small murmur, Yunho is sworn in by the bible before he seats himself to be questioned. San narrows his eyes, flickering his gaze to Jue. The prosecution only speaks up after a few beats of silence.

“How long have you known Mrs Jue and how long have you been married for?” He pauses. Mrs Jue. As if she didn’t tear her father’s name away from her own the second she married him.

“I have known her for five years, and we’ve been married for three.”

“At what point did she begin to display manic behaviour?”

“Four months after we married. I suggested she went to see a psychiatrist.”

Lie.

“That’s funny, Yunho. Here, it states. She went to see Mrs Go, a psychotherapist—not a psychiatrist—on the 22nd February.” She picks up her folder, holding the receipts Jue managed to find in her folder. “You do know there’s a significant difference between a psychotherapist and psychiatrist, right?” He snickers, cocking his head to the side. It’s the small flickers of his egotism that roams within him, infiltrating into the cold, court room. It’s there and gone, as if it only belongs for his wife to see.

“I’m a psychologist by background, I think I know better than most people, Mrs Choi.” Myeong’s chilling laughter reverberates through the room, his eyebrows crease. A sentiment of annoyance.

“So then tell me the truth, Yunho. Who did she see on the 22nd February. Was it Mrs Go or Dr Park Taeo?”

“Dr Park Taeo. We didn’t need to see a therapist when it was a diagnosis she was seeking.” The folder is thrown onto the table, her hands rest on her hips, digging into the crevice of her cinched waist. A long, deep sigh.

“Seeing as though you’re a psychologist by background, what are some of the treatments available for schizophrenia?”

“Medication, cognitive behavioural therapy, there are care plans in place as well.” Yunho’s brown eyes move to his wife, her eyes tear away from his as quickly as she can.

“There are no medical records, not even on her past medical history that states she was ever on medication, such an Olanzapine. It doesn’t even state that she is schizophrenic, but for arguments sake: she is. If she was really was batshit crazy, wouldn’t you as a loving husband ensure she is under the correct medication? Wouldn’t she have made these allegations before but in order for her to make such a statement: wouldn’t you have had to have done something to prompt her?” Myeong sucked her a deep breath, her chest heaving in anger. “There’s nothing from her childhood that can even do so much as enable her to conjure such a thought. Yet you, her husband, a man who has continually emotionally blackmailed her throughout your marriage— is the man she deems has hurt her the most. Tell me, Jeong Yunho, what did you do to her? Tell the court what a vile man you are.” His bottom lip quivers, pearl tears welling up in her eyes.

“I would never hurt her. I love her too much. She didn’t go on medication because she refused to.”

“Bullshit! She was never offered medication from that fraud.” There's a slight warning from the judge on her language but Myeong will say all the profanities in the world if it means provoking her enemy.

“I never touched her without her say, even if it was to hold her hand. If she said no, I backed away within a second. You can’t force someone to go on medication, Mrs Choi and she is not ‘batshit crazy’ she is ill. All I ever wanted was for her to get better.”

“There is no illness, Yunho. Look.” Waving a piece of paper in front of his face. Before handing a clean folder to the judge. “Dr Park Taeo isn’t real, your honour. There was no illness to begin with, other than a surmountable amount of childhood trauma—which in several cases doesn’t always resolve to mental illness. I have a report from Dr Kang who carried out her psychological examination, proving this statement. Unfortunately he could not make it here today. Might I add, you, Mr Jeong was her her anchor in the entirety of your marriage. And you, had ruined that by assaulting her, a man who, may I also say, is a man of the law.” Her shaking hands run through her hair, San knows she is on the brink of collapsing. Her face has thinned significantly, Myeong hasn’t eaten; it’s why she’s reached this far in the case.

A pearly tear slips down Yunho’s face, glossing the curvature of his plump cheek. His body wracks with prevalent cries and the court is stunned by his vulnerability. His wife sucks in a painful breath, God he knows where it hurts her the most.

“Why did you do it, Yunho? Hm? To feel powerful?”

“I object, your honour. Question leads to speculation.” San rises from his seat, raising a questioning brow at his wife.

“Objection is upheld.” The judge agrees, yet Myeong has exhausted all that she has to say. She knows that if Yeosang was here with them, her argument could have been made stronger.

The homes on her street have stood still, like a broken clock whose hands don’t move as time steals by. It seems the very essence of the wind has defied the laws of nature—the leaves do not bustle in the winter air. Myeong sits alongside Jue, in her kitchen, Soo-Ah plastered on her hip as she stirs the steaming pot of food under her friend’s careful instruction. San is at his parents’ home, unwilling to stay in his house as he ferociously fights the case against his wife.

Mrs Jeong is at her table, the computer screen blaring at her. Too tired to continue, she gathers all of the diagrams compiling them into a neat stack before packing everything up. Everything feels too normal, it’s as if she isn’t fighting a brutal case against her husband. The TRO has ‘expired’ and she never bothered to get it extended knowing that at the end of the day, it will be a divorce she gets from her husband.

“I try to reach out for him, in my dreams, before I realise that he’s not the same man I fell in love with.” She blurts, the attention of the women in front immediately moves to her. Myeong watches her friend stuff food into her mouth at the kitchen table; her eyes glistening with tears, body wrought with exhaustion spending sleepless nights roaming the hostel and long days at work staring into the dull screen. Days at court, days at Myeong’s home, avoiding the ghost town where their home used to be. “I realise that I want him to hold me again, and pretend he didn’t ruin me the way he did. Sometimes I wish I never said anything, then at least I would have had someone.” Her friend’s eyes litter with empathy, though it feels so sadistic in an other-worldly sense. How can a woman in a secure marriage understand her? Biting down on her quivering lip, she refrains from letting out the sobs that have clogged up her throat. Painful sounds are released, her teeth grind against each other as her body lurches forward.

"J--," Her hand is held up to censor her friends movements, she has done this before on several occasions at the hostel. Nights curled up on the floor, suppressing a fit of miserable emotions. She doesn't need any of this, not now when her lover is long gone.

Kang Yeosang is officially missing; the local community searches for him when they get a chance. Though his best friend has spent the last few weeks trying to track down his location. After he psychoanalysed Jue, he remained in his clinic until 1700 hours in the evening. He arrived at his home at 1738 hours, information given by the courtesy of his neighbour. Nobody knows anything after that.

She can't help but go back to his house, maybe there's something there that can tell them where he's gone. The old neighbour walks outside to throw away the bins, when she catches Jue, Myeong and Soo-Ah roaming in his front yard.

"Excuse me!" Jue calls out. "I don't know if I remember me, but I asked about Yeosang a while back." Gesticulating to the front door as if she might remember, the old lady does. Nodding, she gravitates to the garden wall.

"Yes. I do. The poor boy hasn't been found yet, has he?" They shake their heads. "I think I forgot to mention, there was a man that passed by his home a few times. I think they may have been friends." Myeong meets her friend's eyes, urging the woman to continue talking.

"Ah, he was very tall, wore glasses and a suit almost every time he was here. He was here the same day he went missing." She pulls out her phone, rushing to her camera roll.

Pressing her phone to the older woman's face, "Was this the man, by any chance?" The neighbour nods, profusely. "Why didn't you tell us earlier?" She snaps before grabbing Myeong's hand leaving from his lawn.

It was Yunho.

She is sure of it. There is no one else in the world that would possibly want to hurt Yeosang more than him, for what reason: she can only speculate but pieces of her mind refuses to jump to those forbidden thoughts. Mrs Jeong is once again stood in Myeong's kitchen as the lawyer paces up and down her kitchen aisle.

"Well San says he left his house a while back, he's not at your in-laws." She doesn't even want to reach out to her mother-in-law, they know of the court case and probably hate their daughter with every fibre of their being. "Maybe he's at that summer home you have?" Myeong suggests. That's exactly where he is, but with no substantial proof they can't exactly storm in with the police or a search warrant. Besides Yunho is incredibly intelligent and resourceful, as if the court case isn't a testament to that already.

"Don't do something stupid like walk into his house. He's fucking dangerous at this point." She scolds knowing Myeong's stubbornness holds no bounds. The lawyer holds back a scowl, not long before she redirects the words back at her. "He won't hurt me, if he wanted to this fiasco would have been over a long time ago."

Yunho is mirror image of Mr Jue, his father-in-law. She has become her mother, running away from him except she has not left him with two young children.

"Amma, where are you going?" The younger version of herself stands by the doorway of her parents' bedroom as Mrs Jue profusely shoves the clothes into her bag discarding the hangers onto the floor.

"Baby, pick up the hangers from the floor will you?" Her mother orders, and obedient-her listens earnestly, placing the hangers inside the small ironing basket. She repeats the questions, to which her mother pauses in her actions to look at her daughter. "I'm just going to my mother's. Alone. So don't pack your bags. You'll be ok taking care of your brother, won't you?" She's still so eager to attain her mother's validation so she nods as if handling a young child is the easiest thing one can do.

How could she have not realised that her mother was leaving for good? It's not until her younger brother passes away that, at the funeral, her mother's wild cries boil her blood. There's something like a spurt of anger brewing within her as the jarring dissonance cripples her ears. Yunho is stalking after her as she saunters over to her mother.

Her hand raises, striking a harsh blow against her mother's cheek; there's a pin drop silence in the room. "How fucking dare you. As if you were his mother, you cry? You left us." Her voice cracks, Yunho's hand rests on her shoulder pulling her back towards him. "You left us and you're crying as if you raised him? You may have given birth to him, but I was more of his mother than you have ever been!"

Soo-Ah will be raised with lots of love, she knows that much. Mr and Mrs Choi's love is too strong to be torn apart by Yunho, no less. There's no need to be envious, a poor love is hereditary something that the Jue's are undeserving off. That's ok with her, she is last of them. There will be no more of them.

The front door blasts open, her grip on the handle of the knife tightens as a figure charges down the hallways through to the kitchen. San's clothes fit loose on him, hair dishevelled and with a flushed face he meets her stare.

"Where is she?" He demands, lifting his daughter off the high chair, holding her smaller frame closely against his body. As if she is anything like her husband and will harm her too.

Myeong left her home at 0900 on Tuesday morning, entrusting the care of her child with her friend. Jue has been taking care of Soo-Ah, taking a few days off work but when she doesn't arrive home by 1730; something is deeply wrong. She called everywhere including her office, San and his parents and in-laws.

Like Yeosang, Myeong is nowhere to be found.

"Do you know where she may have gone?" Jue slumps down on the chair, sucking in a deep breath.

"Yunho's. The summer home we have." He gives a look of pure confusion, that his friend cannot help but feel sorry for him. As intelligent as he may be, he is also incredibly oblivious. "Open your eyes now San, Yunho is not who you think he is. He's a goddam psycho."

"But why would she drive two and a half hours away from here, to your holiday home?"

"We believe he's the reason Yeo is missing. His neighbour said she saw Yunho on the same day Yeosang went missing." Pieces of the puzzle have now been put into place, San can envision the big picture now; he just wishes he listened to his wife when she scolded him for taking on the case. His heart palpitates within his chest, cursing himself for endangering his family.

"I'm going to go pay him a visit and you're going to listen to every word I say."

Their summer home is just of the coast, maybe two miles away from the beach. Regardless it stands in all its glory, with a large porch circulating around the home-it's antique salmun doors had been replaced for contemporary ones, panelled windows outcast the front lawn. In itself the driveway is a massive field with a pavement large enough to carry a vehicle up and down it. It's serene, at any time of the year yet its a 'summer' home because Yunho always drags her down there when the sun peaks at its highest. A low grunt and she rolls of the drivers seat, eyes scanning over San's message before she makes her way to his front door.

Yunho has already noticed her, settling down the book on the coffee table before dashing to the door to swing it open.

"Jagiya." He breathes out, it feels silent before she ambles in staring at him before taking of her shoes. Mrs Jeong knew she had to face him but she doesn't really know what to say now that she's here. Yunho seats himself on the sofa, motioning for her to do the same. "Why are you here?" He doesn't bother to ask how she knew he was here, his wife isn't unintelligible.

"I wanted to talk to you. But now that I am here, I don't know what to say." Her profession stuns him a little. Mrs Jeong always knows what to say. It's one of the things he loves about her.

“I always imagined you and I and a little toddler. Just the three of us." His eyes squeeze shut, she feels the urge to wrap her hands around his slender neck and wrangle him until he drops dead. How is her body the only thing he cares about?

“I could never give you that, Yunho. I believe that there is another woman who can give you the family you want.” Yet the plain truth is that he doesn't deserve to remarry and have children. He will just hurt them. He will suffocate them, the same way her father suffocated her.

“No but you could have. You’ll give another man exactly what I wanted.” Oh god. The incongruity. He took away Yeosang and Myeong, she wonders who is next. He will take away the next man that even so much as blinks in her direction.

“There won’t be another man after you, because it took me to fall in love with you to realise that I wasn’t brought on this earth to be a wife or a mother.”

“If you weren’t born to be by my side then God would not have listened to my prayers. He wouldn’t have listened to me when I went down on my knees and begged for you.” Gulping the lump in her throat she blinked back the tears holding in her eyes. "I really do love you, it just hurts me that you made this false allegation against me-," Raising from her seat she rushes towards him, glaring down at him in fury.

"Let's not begin with false allegations when all you did was lie in court. I fucking said no. God is my witness. I loved you more than you ever loved me, and you broke that by treating me as if I was your doll." Tears well up in his own eyes, he simply says nothing slouching further in his seat. With tiredness, Jue leaves the room, analysing the setting before her eyes fall on the basement door. "I'm going to the bathroom." He hums, picking his book back up as she carefully slips down to the cellar.

The lurid scent of damp perfuses the atmosphere, gentle steps descend the staircase where a dim light floods into the room. Her heart is heavy in her chest as she makes her way down, a warning sign that she is not going to see something she likes. The basement is small, with a low ceiling that she knows has her husband crouching down as he enters, its concrete floors and grey walls are unsettling.

Gripping her lips with her fingers, she sinks to the floor holding back an ear-splitting scream as two limp figures sprawl over the floor in a puddle of dried scarlet blood. Tears flood down her cheeks, a low hiss escapes her as she crawls towards the masculine figure. His face is almost unrecognisable, beaten to a pulp with a split lip and swollen eyes. His long hair is rumpled, his own saliva and blood sticking the oily strands to his neck.

"Yeo." She chokes out, his unresponsiveness deconstructs her. Resting his head on her lap, her tears drop onto his face bleeding into his own; he can just about make out her face through his weak vision. Her howls increase by an octave, but his hitched breaths diminish her by the second. "Please. Say something so I know you're here." He says nothing. Yeosang just breathes.

Until he stops. There's a beat of silence. Then another. She waits with some false delusion that he will breathe again, but he does not. A shriek, and the cellar door erupts open Yunho pounding down the steps. Her head whips around, launching of the floor she swings her body at him but he holds down her fists with an iron grip.

"You monster! You bastard! How could you?"

"You said you loved me more than I ever loved you, how could that be true when I killed someone for you?" His voice is so mellow it disgusts her. He speaks as if he did not take another life. "Nobody is allowed to love you but me." Shaking her head, she parries against his strident grip, launching a brutal punch against him. An annoyed look floods his face, he holds his ground stalking towards Myeong's limp figure.

"Let her go. This is between you and I." She orders. Yunho simply scoffs, grabbing a water bottle-draining its contents across her face. Myeong squawks for air, as she jolts away from her unconsciousness, drops of water dribble from her lips as she tries to strengthen herself.

"And this one. This witty, little bitch." He grips her hair, yielding her closer to him ignoring Myeong's cries. "She really tried to fuck me over. It's a shame that she's never been better than me at any point in her life." He bends down to Myeong's level, drawing his lips to her ear.

"You're good. But you're not better than me." His taunts irritate her, and she squirms, ferociously, in his hold yet it pains when all he seems to do is rip her hair from its roots. His wife's howls fall deaf at his ears, a look of pleasure fills his features. A cruel blade departs from his pocket, holding it close to Myeong's neck. "What do you say, baby, get rid of her too? All she's doing is separating us."

“YUNHO. PLEASE.” His knife draws close to Myeong’s throat dancing on the surface of her skin. “I’m pregnant!” His head snaps up, his grip on the knife almost falters. It's a long shot, but she knows how to hurt him.

“What?”

“Yes.” She chokes on her sobs. “I’m having our baby, so please don’t hurt Myeong. Then our baby won’t have an auntie and Soo-Ah won’t have her mother.” He drops the knife, stalking towards her in a few single strides. His pale hands rest on her cheeks, tilting her face so she is looking at him.

“How long have you known?”

“It’s been a week since I’ve known, but I’m 8 weeks along.” He holds back a cry, he’s a fucking monster. A second ago he was ready to take Myeong’s life. Her face is tightly fixed in the palm of his hands as he peppers kisses on her forehead, down the bridge of her nose and finally on her lips. She allows him, just this once, to roam his hands around her body. “Just leave Myeong.” Yunho is so sure that there’s a patter of footsteps behind him, yet his wife’s hands drag him down her neck deeper. His soul is completely intoxicated by her essence, there is some figment that has him so utterly devoted to her.

Her heart pounds, incessantly, against her chest as she storms down the hospital hallways ignoring the burning stare of the clinicians and nurses. It’s not long before she skids into the emergency ward—pummelling towards the end of the room.

Her brother is lying on the bed, so weak and helpless she cannot help but cry out for his ruptured soul. He does not deserve this. He did not deserve every minute of torture he was subjected for every second he was alive. His small lips form her name as he barely sees through the slits of his eyes.

It’s her baby, after all.

His body is cradled in her arms, repressing tears. There is something so inhumane about the way his body is butchered, the depth of the lacerations astound her—as if they were trying to cut down to his bone. His staggered breaths send a wave of fear through her heart.

“Who did this to you?” Her whisper, low enough for him to hear.

Dad.

A silver blade ruptures tissues, indenting the skin. Blood bursts from its banks like a scarlet river flooding through the ghost town, he grunts; breath hitched in his throat.

“Before you, there was my father. Before him, was me.”

“My darling daughter! What brings you here?” He slurs, sliding down the wall. Her hand shakes as she screams at him, her ears are deaf. Jue doesn't really know what she's saying to him other than a plethora of vulgar words that she deeply despises.

"How could you hurt him, you fucking bastard!" Her bellow carried over the humid atmosphere, her father barely snickers. It is a gift from god that he is intoxicated. But a curse from hell that his daughter has been brought to his doorstep, in a fit of frenzy. "You have lived to hurt us long enough."

The knife in her hand is not unfamiliar. The way it has dragged under supple skin is not new. She has done it in a time before, Yunho is unbeknownst to this as he sinks to his knees clutching his abdomen, a roar erupting from his lips. His wheezes infiltrate the atmosphere, but his wife is quick on her feet as her arms outstretch for Myeong—eyes widened in shock. Is she an accomplice to this crime?

"Come on!" She shouts, panicked their footsteps launch up the basement staircase, an attempt to escape onto the upper floor in a haste. The door handle rattled, profusely, in her harsh grip yet the door won’t budge.

Fuck.

Their hastened breaths quicken in a deep panic, before a quick thought rushes to mind. There's a hidden tunnel that leads out. They run past Yunho's frail body, ignoring his threats she summons all of the adrenaline she has before pushing past the massive wooden door covering the exit. An ache grinds at her muscle but as her husband raises from the floor she flocks out of the basement in a frenzy.

The smell of the hallways is enough to make them nauseous, but the magnetic force of apprehension is stronger that all they can do is run whilst he chases after them. The end is in sight, the door at the end is always open; seeing as though Yunho could never find a builder to fix it shut. All of a sudden, something sharp drills through her leg, a distressing yelp escaping from her. Groaning she falls to the floor, a metal rod from the unattended copper pipes has obstructed her path.

“Run, Myeong! RUN!” She screams, cradling her leg; a torturous wave of pain lays within her; enough to render her paralysed. His pounding footsteps quicken behind them, grunting heavily as he limps down the hallways to them. Myeong’s movements falter slightly but she dashes through the door leaving it open as she darts through the open field.

A cool gust air blesses her bruised skin, she has never ran this fast before in her life. A sense of guilt resides as she ponders if her friend will make it, yet the car in the distances rips away that thought. It’s San’s car and she clamours his name as loud as she can.

The coolness floods into the narrow passageway, grappling onto the copper pipes for support she staggers feebly towards the exit, the metal rod inserted in her leg weighs her down. Each step is like walking on a million shards of glass, it’s as if coal sizzles under her skin. Was she born just to be in pain?

“Nae sarang, come back. You’re only going to hurt the baby.” The tears draw in her eyes, tickling the edge of her jawline before they clink onto the earth below. The sound of his voice lingers too close to her ears, beckoning all her might she stumbles faster towards the exit breaking out into a run.

Screams expend from her, she doesn’t care to refrain them as she bolts down the fields where Myeong is in San’s arms. There are shackles tied to her feet, the force of gravity is strong.

“Come back here right now!” Yunho roars into the wind, as if they bow to him they stop to let his voice circulate the atmosphere. She will not return to him, she would rather die. Her heart savagely crushes against her chest—phlegm clogs her throat. Pain gnaws at her. Why does the distance to San’s car seem longer than it should be? She shrieks his name while Yunho calls after her.

I’m so tired.

Her knees drop down to the earth beneath her feet, chest hurling with exhaustion. The vast fields are met by an excruciating howl; enough to shatter her voice box. With fingers gripping around the locks of her hair, tears endlessly cascade from her eyes—she’s begging for the Angel of Death to take her away. So much so as her head hits the earth, she speaks to its entity.

“Amma! I can’t do this anymore.” Because what does a child in pain do when the world turns against them? Nothing more than call out for their mother. There’s nothing more left for her to do. She can run to San with a metal rod prodded through her leg. Chances are: she won’t make it when Yunho can easily outrun her. She can stop here and allow her husband to consume her, force her to give birth to a child she does not want.

Or she can turn the weapon against herself. What can go through the leg can go through the heart, right?

Her head whips around to meet Yunho’s stare. There’s no anger, there never is any when he’s looking at her. He’s slowed down in his path, arms nimbly outstretched for her.

“Come back to me, baby.”

In the valley they run, the grass tickling her feet as she dashes across the landscape. A melodic laughter escapes him, like a chorus sung by angels. She’s always been fast at running but it’s never been a chore; it’s a joy to skip through the meadow at lightning speed. The sun illuminates their figures, nobody but them for miles and miles.

Perhaps this is what death feels like.

Or this is what death should be, for now she knows how her fate should resume.

All Right Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

DO NOT REPOST, TRANSLATE, REPURPOSE, OR PLAGISRISE ANY OF THE WORK HERE

'Jue' of chinese origin, stems from 'zhou' 'Soo-Ah' meaning butterfly 'Myeong' meaning bright or clear

A/N: please do NOT romanticise this piece of work, it addresses heavy issues. if you have ever been sexually harassed/assaulted by your s/o (or ANYONE), please report it!!! just because they’re your husband/boyfriend e.t.c doesn’t mean that they’re allowed to be let off the hook! I wanted to write this fic because I’ve-first hand- seen the exploitation of female bodies to establish male superiority. take care of yourself and know your worth, I know it’s difficult to speak out against someone who you’re supposed to love but you’re worth much more than that. i hope you enjoyed reading this, it was a little difficult to write but I believe it’s a fic that’s been worth writing.

big thank you to @poartz-writes for hyping me up during this writing process

let me know if you’d like to be added to the tag list for any future fics I post!

tag list: @n0v4t33z @potatos-on-clouds @jjongwho @barbielibra

[blueikeproductions]

I’ve said before Transformers has struggled recently with its villains and recent material doesn’t change this.

Ever since this happened…

We’ve largely been stuck with poor man’s Vegeta Megatron.

And as such the series has lost its main villain, and become directionless.

The modern version of this trend started with Rescue Bots & RiD15, but it made sense in their respective series, and the replacement villains were treated like actual villains and are fondly remembered because of that.

It’s also not the first time Megatron was succeeded in leadership, as the Marvel Comics did this shockingly frequently.

With RatBat being the most unique case, in that he was the only one who largely succeeded in his efforts, and was a result of sincerely wanting to try something different.

I think that sincerity is long gone in favor of brand stagnation and “DEI” despite the later going out the door as of typing.

The usual replacement tends to be Galvatron, often depicted as an evolved Megatron through mystical means.

But Hasbro seems very reluctant to use Galvatron lately for whatever reason, instead usually having him as a (technically) separate character if he does show up.

Cyberverse kinda shows the current problem two fold. The bad writers convinced themselves they wrote a sympathetic Megatron when the writing shows him to still be certifiably insane and going through what is essentially an on the nose bad break up with Optimus. This extended to Megatron somehow being worthy of using the Matrix, and able to use it, despite Decepticons never typically being able to, and imply Optimus isn’t worthy of the Matrix, but never follow up on it.

To convince themselves and the audience that the regular CV Megatron was still a good person despite his atrocities, the writers pulled an Archie Sonic, and brought on their own Robo-Robotnik in Megatron X.

He too is apparently worthy of the Matrix and able to use it, despite completely destroying Cybertron and most, if not all, of its non Perfectcon inhabitants.

(To be fair, the idea of a Decepticon being able to use the Matrix goes back to Marvel G1 Thunderwing, but his actions helped corrupt the Matrix, creating the Dark Matrix Creature, but Cyberverse never states this is the case at all. This isn’t really a popular concept the series goes back to either, making Cyberverse the outlier.)

This ties back to Hasbro’s reluctance on Galvatron, as X was originally supposed to BE Galvatron in a Marvel G1 homage, but Hasbro said no.

So we’ve been left with a weird, but non committed, experimental phase of trying out different Villians to less than stellar results…

(Mandroid and Scourge are pretty good villains, but Mandroid quickly succumbed to bad writing, & Scourge was fairly quickly killed off, with no clear intent to go back to the Terrorcons and have a Movie Cyclonus based on the Armada version to take Scourge’s place.)

This feeds back into fan complaints about Hasbro’s unwillingness to try new things I’ve seen recently. In context the complaint was more wanting another Beast Wars like thing with new factions and new non G1 characters.

Like we HAVE been getting that with the Terrans and Terrorcons, but it’s clear kids aren’t that interested in them, and adult fans are as fickle as ever and not supporting it super well either. TFONE is pry the most damning, where it’s doing poorly across the planet theatrically, despite trying a new non-evergreen art style, and a much better version of Aligned/IDW caste system that simplifies it to Cogs & Cogless.

It’s not for lack of trying, but it’s also not grabbing kids well either.

This weird flip flopping recently came into play with Galactic Trials, the crappy looking racing game.

The game casts Nemesis Prime as the main villain, who tried to steal the relics of the Primes, but fail and cast the Chaos Emeralds, er, relics across the galaxy.

Here’s the weird part: this happens before the Great War began, with the Autobots and Decepticons now finding out in the present and scrambling to collect the relics for themselves. The story isn’t expanded and confuses things. Nemesis typically isn’t even a Prime, but a Decepticon clone of Optimus. Barring a few exceptions, the main deviation this MIGHT be referencing is IDW Nova Prime, who briefly became Nemesis Prime, powered by a Matrix like relic from the Dead Universe.

So does that mean in this universe the Matrix chose a guy literally named Nemesis to be Prime? Is this actually supposed to be Nova Prime via IDW? Is this Orion Pax’s black sheep of the product line? So many questions this game isn’t going to answer.

This is the frustrating part about all this. I like that they’re trying to branch out still, and I liked Nemesis Prime in IDW and back when he was Scourge in RiD01, but…

He’s kinda pointless here.

Why are we using a “new” character for a failing on launch, not-mobile game, when the plot would be much simpler in that Megatron or Starscream raided the vault of the Primes only for Optimus to intervene and launch the relics into space. Why is Nemesis the villain? For that matter, since it’s a racing game, shouldn’t the Stunticons be the villains?

This is where CyberWorld might be the make or break now.

I think slowly but surely, Hasbro is recognizing their past ideas on overusing antihero Megatron isn’t working, and that they need to properly commit to a successor if they don’t want Megatron to be a villain anymore.

Going by toy leaks, it appears they’ve decided to go BACK to Galvatron proper, but they also include Scorponok, who’s typically cast as a leader in some capacity (excluding Beast Wars).

(Until we learn more, I’m leaning towards their roles being similar to Superlink’s.)

So I think that’s a step in the right direction so far; going for Skybound’s aim of familiar but, they’re willing to pivot under better writing.

I think that’s where TFONE D-16 doesn’t work as a concept.

Like it if not, casual audiences and kids aren’t that invested in the idea of a wide eyed good boi Megatron who fell from grace or wants to redeem.

They want these kinds of power hungry megalomaniacal Megatrons, who are willing to go the extra mile just to upstage Optimus to stroke their own ego. Not high school bosom buddies with gay lover subtext that Stereotypical Tumblr-Twitter wants. And hopefully with what we’ve seen with Skybound, we’re going back to that Megatron soon. And if we don’t go back to Megatron strictly, then Galvatron might be the way to go cartoon wise.

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Elements of the 10 Story Genres

by Blake Snyder

The 3 elements of a BUDDY LOVE story

An incomplete hero who is missing something physical, ethical, or spiritual; (s)he needs another to be whole.

A counterpart who makes that completion come about or has qualities the hero needs.

A complication, be it a misunderstanding, personal or ethical viewpoint, epic historical event, or the prudish disapproval of society.

DUDE WITH A PROBLEM

An innocent hero who is dragged into a mess without asking for it—or even aware of how he got involved.

A sudden event that thrusts our innocent(s) into the world of hurt—and it comes without warning.

A life or death battle is at stake—and the continued existence of an individual, family, group, or society is in question.

FOOL TRIUMPHANT

A fool whose innocence is his strength and whose gentle manner makes him likely to be ignored—by all but a jealous “Insider” who knows too well.

An establishment, the people or group a fool comes up against, either within his midst, or after being sent to a new place in which he does not fit—at first.

A transmutation in which the fool becomes someone or something new, often including a “name change” that’s taken on either by accident or as a disguise.

GOLDEN FLEECE

A road spanning oceans, time—or across the street—so long as it demarcates growth. It often includes a “Road Apple” that stops the trip cold.

A team or a buddy the hero needs to be guided along the way. Usually, it’s those who represent the things the hero doesn’t have: skill, experience, or attitude.

A prize that’s sought and is something primal: going home, securing a treasure, or re-gaining a birthright.

INSTITUTIONALIZED

Every story in this category is about a group—a family, an organization, or a business that is unique.

The story is a choice, the ongoing conflict pitting a “Brando” or “Naif” vs. the system’s “Company Man.”

Finally, a sacrifice must be made and you get three endings: join, burn it down… or commit “suicide.”

MONSTER IN THE HOUSE

A monster that is supernatural in its powers—even if its strength derives from insanity—and “evil” at its core.

A house, meaning an enclosed space that can include a family unit, an entire town, or even “the world.”

A sin. Someone is guilty of bringing the monster in the house… a transgression that can include ignorance.

OUT OF THE BOTTLE

A wish asked for by the hero or another, and the clearly seen need to be delivered from the ordinary.

A spell, which we must make logical by upholding “The Rules.”

A lesson: Be careful what you wish for! It’s the running theme in all OOTB’s. Life is good as it is.

RITES OF PASSAGE

A life problem: from puberty to midlife to death—these are the universal passages we all understand.

A wrong way to attack the mysterious problem, usually a diversion from confronting the pain.

A solution that involves acceptance of a hard truth the hero has been fighting, and the knowledge it’s the hero that must change, not the world around him.

SUPERHERO

The hero of your tale must have a special power—even if it’s just a mission to be great or do good.

The hero must be opposed by a nemesis of equal or greater force, who is the “self-made” version of the hero.

There must be a curse for the hero that he either surmounts or succumbs to as the price for who he is.

WHYDUNIT

The detective does not change, we do; yet he can be any kind of gumshoe—from pro to amateur to imaginary.

The secret of the case is so strong it overwhelms the worldly lures of money, sex, power, or fame. We gots to know! And so does the Whydunit hero.

Finally, the dark turn shows that in pursuit of the secret, the detective will break the rules, even his own — often ones he has relied on for years to keep him safe. The pull of the secret is too great.

Source ⚜ Writing Notes & References

[hanihazeljade]

TikTok Tim

TikTok has been a blast and of course, Richard has been bothering Tim to make an account for siblings bonding. But Tim got himself a newfound confidence and a new way to irritate the people around him.

(CW: thirst traps, TikTok, possible femboy content, swearing)

"Can we just talk about Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne?" A TikToker with million followers said, "Like this dude is seventeen turning eighteen in like 3 months and what he done in his almost 18 years of existence?" It showed a screenshot of a headline way back when he was attending grade school that he skipped two grades, "He skipped 2 years in school and even though he dropped for two years, because some tragedy happen in his life, he still managed to graduate high school the same year in his age range." Which is true, but with all hacking the school systems, he graduated.

"And I also discovered that he is emancipated from his foster parent, Bruce Wayne. Like at first it was insane because you got the Wayne to finance you but look at him, he is one of the biggest shareholder in the Wayne Enterprise and he already got so many praise especially from Lex Luthor," and then screen showed a clip of Lex saying, "I commend the young Drake-Wayne, even he doesn't have any degree in business, he knows how to handle one unlike some people that I know that have bachelors degree. But if you think about it, it must be in his blood after all his mother is Janet Drake, that woman is the scariest socialite in Gotham." And the screen turned back to the TikToker, "Dude doesn't have any degree yet get a praise from Lex Luthor? He is a genius I tell you." and with that the TikTok video ended.

It all started with that one video on how perfect and genius Timothy Jackson Drake. And it snowballed to edits, a thirst trap if you will, of Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne. One TikTok video and the whole internet has been sleuthing every single picture, video of the new most eligible bachelor of Gotham City. And with that, #tim drake on TikTok have millions of views in span of 2 days. And it also doesn't help that Tim's life has been exposed in the different tabloids since he was a kid, being a member of a elite society especially in Gotham. He doesn't really know and care but with so many people doing a deep dives in his life, it kind of unsettling.

He scrolled again and it was a thirst trap edit. And he decided to exit the app, enough internet for the day.

"Timmmyy." Dick whined as he was begging Tim to make a TikTok account for 1, he can do those trends with Tim and two, he wants Tim to see those thirst traps edit of himself and it has been seven days straight. And Tim's patience has been wearing thin.

"I will, once I finished these reports." he said with no intention of doing it and gonna said that he forgot about it.

"No, do it now. I know your schemes, Timmy." Tim sighed with the insistence, "Then come back here later for you to remind me then."

++++++

"So, my brother Richard has been keep bothering me to make one of this account and apparently, many people tried to make a little clout so I am going to make one to gather all the clout." Tim said with a blank stare but let out a snort at the last part. "I will probably never upload anything again but yep, hope you are happy, Richard." and with that the video ended. 2 hours later after that video got uploaded, his account boomed to 2.3 million and his first video got featured in some internet forums and articles were being published online.

++++++

"And he finally succumbed to the Tiktok." Jason said as soon as he walked to his penthouse and Tim rolled his eyes.

"What are you doing here, oh mighty Jason?" Tim rolled his eyes, sarcasm is dripping to those words.

"I thought you are better than Dick but it seems like I was mistaken."

"Pot. Kettle. Just because I was on the side of edit Tiktok and you are in booktok doesn't make you the top. You are giving pick-me vibes, ngl."

"Did you really just said ngl instead of not gonna lie?"

"Did I stutter?"

++++++

Tim thought it will be cool if he just upload another Tiktok video after months of abandoning his account. He look at the trends and some old trends and he particularly got stuck in the transition videos and he took liking on the one audio edit of Jade West saying, "What's the prob, dog?", and he is a gremlin for a reason.

So, he was there chuckling at himself with the thought of the internet will never know what's gonna hit them.

+++++++

Tim likes to do a little bit of thirst traps in his content but he also like just to gave his audience what he does in his free time whenever he is done reading and signing the needed papers, like typing in his computer or solving a rubiks cube. And he keeps getting millions of views every time and it is such a ego boost for him.

But he also likes the videos with prominent people in United States, most is just him and Lex Luthor doing stupid shits and every time it will happen, both the stocks of WE and Lex Corp is going up and somehow that made both Tim and Lex being close yet hating each other so much.

The Justice League, specifically Superman, is very much annoyed and not happy about Tim's association to one of the prominent villains in the existence. But all Tim does is send them a lip sync video of him with the audio of, "Do I give a fuck? No, not one. How many fucks do I give? Zero. Exactly, so therefore your comment is irrelevant." And he called it a day. He is still fucking salty of about his worst year of his fucking life. He will not going to forgive those assholes when they didn't even apologise.

But somehow the limit of his TikTok freedom is having him doing a thirst trap in a form of being a femboy. Listen. Tim knows he will never be a brickhouse like Jason and Bruce but god forbid his BMI doesn't go up to 20 even in his peak body mass. He was always has been a twink and he also doesn't like that but apparently, that type of body is a perfect "bottom/submissive" material based on the different manhuas he having been indulge himself the past month.

++++++++

Dick was scrolling at his fyp page that was full of animals, gymnastics and Justice League edits - because, and he got in a video of a guy sitting on a red couch doing a simple transition of throwing his black shoe and then changing his casual fit to a more formal attire and it was a smooth transition on Dick's observation and he subconsciously goes to the comments because he wants a laugh at the thirsty comments.

Did anyone notice how smooth that transition is?

Lol, that is a big ass shoes

He is a mighty fine fella

WHY DOES NOBODY IS COMMENTING THAT THE ACCOUNT IS TIMOTHY JACKSON DRAKE-WAYNE?

Dick blinked once at that comment. And he blinked again. He closed the comments and swipe left. And the comment is right, it take him on Tim's verified account with now two videos.

When did Tim had a 5.6 million followers?!

Tim already on the same following count as him and he was still definitely gonna get more. Dick is now kind off regretting his decision if putting Tim in TikTok.

+++++++

The next month was shown that Tim doesn't have any schedule that follows his uploading, it seems like he upload wether he like. But the ones that broke the internet is the one thirst trap that Tim posted.

Ashley, look at me

Tim made the hand movements for the transition and from the Saint Laurent sweater, it is Jason's, Dick knows because he just saw Jason wear it like two days ago and it was paired with a black slacks and it turns into a oversized silk dress shirt and it looks like nothing underneath and Dick hopes that there is a boxers underneath because God forbids, he will delete Tim's TikTok account. In that video, it showcases Tim's long, pale, scarless legs, which is a fucking lie, he doesn't how Tim did it but that is a fucking lie. And oh boy was the comments are wild.

He is a sugar baby with the money of a sugar daddy

I'm straight but damn

yeah that's it, I'm bi now

I can hit that any time if he hit me up

Wait! I AM CONFUSED

Am I.. into this?

bottom vibes ngl

Dick stops reading the comments. TIM IS HIS LITTLE BROTHER! Sure he's nineteen but Dick felt uncomfortable looking at his brother's thirst trap, that he made himself. He immediately message Tim to stop posting thirst traps and Tim just reply with, 'Well, you have to face the consequences of forcing me to this damn app'.

He will be damned, he thought.

[queenimmadolla]

Do you think some of Eddie peers are jealous that he’s got wife and 3 kids at home, sure Eddie feel into the rock and roll lifestyle but he didn’t let partying, groupies or drugs consume him, he’s got a loving wife and adorable kids waiting for him and they see that all of eddies love and devotion is for his family and music. Eddies just like “I do my job, rock out and go home”

Say he got invited to a big after party where he’ll party with Ozzy or Metallica but he declines because he just found out his kids are having their own Wrestler Mania back at the hotel room and he can’t miss that again

Or Eddie takes you to the party and y’all are getting approach and people like your relationship vibe and yall are getting hit on that you get both get a invitation to go to a “different party” in a hotel room and it goes over your head like “oh actually we aren’t staying long we gotta get back before the new Simpsons episode start”

Or when the band gets interviewed we see the kids in the background and the world gets to see Eddie being the best dad and loving husband. Every 80/90’s musician in the rock/metal scene are single, loves to party, and is reckless so Eddie was a change they weren’t expecting.

Sooo….You’re not gonna be very happy with me. Let’s go through this together and hopefully you wont hate me too much because it does get better.

Yes, Eddie’s peers do experience a little jealousy at the family he has, the constant love surrounding him—but he does succumb to the partying, drugs….and almost a groupie (THIS WILL BE TOUCHED ON MORE IN THE FIC IM PERFECTING, DONT THROW THE TOMATOES). He does his job, rocks out, and sometimes he craves reaping the rewards (drugs and parting and soaking it all in—not the groupies, that’s a related situation but not a part of what he craves) of his success. This was a once in a lifetime opportunity, he gets caught up in it. And it eats at him because he also knows his wife and his beautiful kids are also a once in a lifetime opportunity. That’s what kicks his ass back into gear.

It’s a life that you enjoy sometimes, love being on his arm, at his side, watching him glow underneath all those flashing lights. That confident smirk on his face, he belongs. It’s completely his element, what you knew he was always meant to do. And for the most part, you love being his wife, the wife of a Rockstar. How he’s always ravenous for you, the way he handles you when he’s fresh off the stage—be stadium stage or a some big fancy hall stage for an award ceremony—the parties he takes you to, the material things, not having to work your ass off to survive anymore, not having to work at all. You hate how women literally throw themselves at him, constantly expose themselves to him (the amount of flashing is INSANE, you see more titties than you ever did in the girls’ locker room back in high l when you’re tucked under his arm) but he only ever has eyes for you (shhh, we’re not talking about the groupie rn, that will be explained and you will understand).

And sometimes, being the wife of a Rockstar is hard. The tabloids are relentless, he tours the world and you stay with the kids, he’s doing coke with his pals and their gals while you’re washing the dishes halfway across the world. He’s partying after tour nights, you’re reading bedtime stories. You’re the wife of a Rockstar alright, and while he doesn’t have a mistress, sometimes the world acts as one. Sometimes the world gets him more than you do and he forgets that. Sometimes you don’t want to be the wife of a rockstar. You just want to be Eddie’s wife.

He gets there though, he gets to the points you’re talking about. Maybe not all of them, but he doesn’t become that messy playboy the world wants him to be. Still looks like a bad boy, but interviewers always note in articles they write, about the toys lingering around the house. Empty spaces on the walls, tables and shelves that had no doubt held picture frames prior to the journalists’ arrival, he was intent on keeping every precious moment and memory with his family private and away from the vicious prying eyes of the public. It’s interesting for you to read, because the first thought of an outsider’s mind is maybe something along the lines of Eddie not being sentimental or ashamed of the family, when it’s the entire opposite.

He starts ditching parties early to go back home and party with his favorite people before their bedtime (and then party with you all night long), starts having you and the kids closer during his shows again (you used to come to a few when Corroded Coffin made it bring, would bring the kids, until the shows got even bigger somehow, rowdier and fans get invasive). its difficult, especially with having to wrangle Maple—but Eddie doesn’t mind it when she runs onto the stage. if he’s feeling particularly nice, he’ll share her with the crowd for a song—but not much longer than that. He’s stingy with his family, protective, doesn’t need people thinking they can throw their unwanted opinions about his own damn kids out there—he’s assaulted people over it. And that’s not to say he hasn’t flaunted all of you, either. Fame is such a bittersweet accomplishment, he wants to show you all off to the world and sometimes he does, but the world is not kind, so he’s gotta keep you close and away from the cameras. He struggles with the back and forth a lot.

Again, the media is not kind to him, even while watching him be a father. But a couple of years from then, when his kids are older, the media/internet/etc. will pull up the photos/videos of him from the past with his kids, being so tender and playful with them. Loving. And he’ll be properly appreciated by them then. The two of you will have risen to be one of Hollywood’s golden couples, by then too. Heavily romanticized—and they’re not wrong.

It gets messy, gets cleaned up, gets messy, gets cleaned up, stays relatively clean. That’s the late 90s and Y2K, baby 😎

[dailycass-cain]

As promised many months ago to end this day, here's a 🧵of the insanity Cassandra Cain's "human" body can do due to what David Cain put her through (besides the two obvious ones of body language and various forms of killing he trained her in).

The best issue that showcases that is of course Batgirl Vol. 1 #14 where various government agencies look at the footage Cass got caught filmed in.

The first few pages are literally showcasing how inhuman, but still bordering on human she is due to what David Cain put her through.

This is always fully covered throughout Batgirl Volume 1 and is usually forgotten when writers and editors tend to have their job. Not saying any names or storylines of any RECENT kind where a WAR broke out in GOTHAM.

is still salty YES

We've seen Cass's speed all the time throughout the Puckett run. To just showcase the prior issue's bullet dodging or her issue of Tim (#18) be child's play (along with her taking several shots up close and dodging each one from a certain corrupt government bastard).

Nah the best example of Cass's true "speed" is in #34 facing the mob boss Ving and his gang.

Yeah, you're seeing that right she is faster than a freaking bullet. Surprising how SOME seem to forget that in other comics. 🙄

Something even Batgirls remembered (#15) when Cass was playing shogun dodge with Cluemaster who was trying to shoot her with a shotgun.

But what of Cassandra's strength? Just how strong is she really?

#19 where Cass is faced with the obstacle of three-inch quartz preventing her from escaping a gas chamber. So let's examine just how thick three-inch quartz is.

Well, let's google just that.

A SEVEN on the hardness scale. Further research says that it can only crack due to "extreme impacts" which wouldn't ya know:

As for her body itself, Batgirl/Ghost: The Ressurection Machine #3 suggests this about Cass being immune to A LOT of poisons:

Something Batgirl Vol. 1 "sort of" delves in #50 when both she and Bruce are doused with a new batch of super drug but it turns out they were both immune to it due to them being built differently than normal humans.

This is all the more surprising because a few issues prior to (#46) Cass is doused with a version of it, but you could say given what she "sees" Cass is under A LOT of stress (the building tension with Bruce, Babs breaking up with Dick, Superboy/Black Wind stuff). Plus she does "sort of" snap out of it to beat the bad guys in that issue.

Just like in #51 she avoids the pheromones to Poison Ivy even though she is showing signs of falling under the hormones but snaps out of it due to willpower (something Bruce was almost succumbing to before he fully snapped out of it too).

It really feels like "this anti-poison" ability Cass had was all but forgotten once the series ended. Of course, naturally with a certain "infamous" story ONE YEAR LATER, but also Batman & Robin Eternal as she is affected by Fear Toxin (among other stuff too).

#9 & #59 showcase that David Cain shot Cass regularly so much that she can not even feel it. This could explain also HOW she was eventually able to dodge bullets and become so fast.

#22 also showcases this as well so this is not something simply just randomly put in. This was something the writers wanted to show the sickening lengths David Cain put Cass through.

Again, #14 brought up Cass's metabolism and how off the charts it was. I think something we just overlooked is that in #26 Cass slept for 20 hours a day for four days (or perhaps longer) straight until she fully recovered from fighting Lady Shiva.

That's not even going under the amount of food she consumes. This little detail was first showcased in #39 when Cass ate like she was freaking Goku.

This little bit of detail was brought back in #66 when she ordered THREE burgers (I'm assuming with everything on it) with three sides of fries and a BIG milk.

Amusingly, this detail was recently brought back in Nightwing #106 & #108 where she FEASTED on who knows how many pancakes.

Lastly, I feel this bit is worth mentioning as well from #47 with Doctor Lewis Friedman who started the theory on body language that David Cain made a frightening reality with Cass (shame he was never brought up again after this issue).

All this isn't even counting on the extremely LONG hours of shower time Cass picked up in the Gabrych run that even Willingham's Robin (which went on during this) teased (something again Batgirls kept up on).

So there you have it. The utter anomaly that is the body of one Cassandra Cain.

[jewish-vents]

(I'd like this to be anonymous)

I'm exhausted. Ever since October I've been fearing for my life while juggling this insane idea of "yes people around the world wish for my death since I'm Jewish and live in Israel but if my online friends knew they probably wouldn't want me harmed?"

Fandom spaces are unwelcoming. Content creators spend every day talking about how bad Israel is. I go on discord and have to mute whole channels to avoid being told how bad I am. Every drop of empathy I have left goes to the families in Gaza that are suffering, but it's SO hard to not succumb to hatred. It's so hard to not just go "you know what fuck you too" whenever people post about jews being bad and zionism and israel and genocide. Fuck you. My family is still recovering from the Holocaust, don't talk to me about genocide. My cousin is in Gaza and my aunt hasn't known rest since he went there, don't talk to me about families hurting. My mom is constantly sick from overwork just to take care of us during this time, to make sure my siblings can be safe, so don't talk to me about Israeli people being monsters. All we want is to live. And through it all I just hear people discuss the war like it's a fandom war. Like it's their favorite character vs some villain. This is my life. I'm so tired. We're all so tired but never once do I hear anyone claim they wish ill on the people in Gaza. We just want to live. We wanted that less than 100 years ago, more than 3000 years ago, and now. I just want to exist without having to prove to someone I deserve to.

.

[bumblebeehug]

That's a very good point! Although I guess you could argue that we already had Natsu thinking Lucy was dead in the Alvarez arc? (And in GMG he literally watches a version of Lucy die.) I suppose the responsibility part would be different as you mentioned (especially if it's Ignia. Or! Lucy could die in the process of saving Natsu). But I also wonder if the 'one wish' is a fakeout plot. And if we can truly trust Elefseria. I mean who is powerful enough to grant a wish? Any wish? That's some karmic justice Genie shit type beat. (Thank you btw, for answering these asks)

(In regards to this https://www.tumblr.com/bumblebeehug/763935002780172288/ive-been-thinking-about-that-too-or?source=share )

I'm a firm believer of the fact that natsu needed all the different stages of Lucy dying. First time around it was a "fake" Lucy, the one from the future. It's the fist time we reallsery see Natsu in that broken anger, but he doesn't go insane. He's still very Natsu, no END-mode or anything, because there's still hope in his mind that he can save his Lucy (plus another bunch of factors that makes it so he doesn't activate demon mode).

The second time is during their war against Alvarez. This time he's quite involved with the whole END thing, he knows he's riding a fragile wave and that he can succumb to the demon stuff soon, so losing Lucy tips him over. At the time, he's ready to die (see shiiro's suicidal-natsu post https://www.tumblr.com/shiiro-arts/764022215033389056/is-natsu-sucdal?source=share for better insight) and he doesn't really consider a life without Lucy. He didn't think he'd make it out of that war alive, because Lucy (in his mind) wouldn't.

He naturally didn't expect her to be alive, or for him to snap out of the demon-mode, so when they all somehow made it out the other side, I think a small, thin string of hope deveoped in Natsu's heart. The bad thing is that it completely relies on Lucy's life. He can't afford to lose her again, because as far as he's concerned, he can't blame his next strike of insanity on being a demon. But he'll go completely insane if Lucy dies. He'll turn into a demon, or at least a monster, stopping at nothing until he's burned everything. An earth where Lucy dies isn't an earth worth existing.

The one wish being a fakeout plot is absolutely something I could see being true. Maybe it isn't even on purpose, Elefseria could have a scewed idea of what he's capable of, hence the reward that should be amazing in theory. It's also possible that Elefseria won't make it out alive of the 100yq. Mashima is sadly not above taking the easy way out of the corners he writes himself into. I just hope that isn't the case, cus I also know that if Mashima puts some effort into his plots, they can end up as masterpieces (Tartarus for example)

[siremasterlawrence]

Factory Reset !

Detective Harrington in early morning of the first Friday of the week pours himself a cup of joe as his cellphone begins to vibrate in his pants as he alerts himself about the importance of the day.Jays phone rings after he takes a inhale of the aroma traveling straight through his nostrils and his nerves rush in to overdrive sendings him in shivers as he wakes up for the morning.The minute he presses a answer call button placing the cellphone by his ears as a buzz worthy sounds vibrating through his ears in to his soul as he stops cold and he mindless stares ahead.A young man’s voice enters his ears leaving him to his core as his mind begins to spin in to a new atmosphere and whirling in to the sky everything fades out of existence like his soul jumps. He cannot fight the idea that something he is off in to a new life like his life has changed completely in a matter of seconds falling out of his body as he transported through time and space. A man appears in the midst of his darkness he is being called to him like a moth to a flame his feet begins to life and he is going insane deserving my absolute control over everything.

“Detective Harrington Welcome!”

“Where…where am I?”

“You are being processed”

“For what? I never asked for this?”

“So what my friend”

“Your white ass did”

“I am about to break you “

“No stop!”

“SHUT UP!”

“You are fucking pig”

“A white piece of shit “

“Look at me”

“Why are you doing this to me?”

“You arrested me “

“I don’t remember “

“You deserve this”

“You framed me”

“What if I did ?”

“Take a deep breath”

“Heavy and heavier “

“Stand your ground “

“Lock your house down”

“Go to your office “

“Close the door “

“Good boi”

“Mmmmm”

“Go kneel on your desk”

“Bark like a dog”

“Smile for me”

“Change your clothes “

“Go to the train station”

“Step on it”

“Travel to this location “

“Take three rides and get off the train”

“Walk down to the street and down the block “

“Enter the alley side door and greet me”

“Watching the suspect enter the train sir”

“Good job officer “

“Advise “

“Make sure he gets off at three stops “

“Guide me! “

“Give him a shove “

“Yes Master”

“Sir Yes Sir”

“Officer Harrington “

“Oh Hey!”

“Are you alright?”

“I am drunk! I think”

“You’re fine”

“I promise”

“Take our hands”

“Ok we need to get you help “

“You are high”

“No! I don’t do drugs “

“You did yesterday “

“No! I can’t “

“I wouldn’t “

“Guys! Wait”

“Where are we?”

“Guys!”

“Who are you ?”

“Master “

“Why are you calling him that?”

“Flick the lights on”

“Yes Master”

“The fuck!”

“Take the needle”

“Firmly “

“Inject him”

“Woah! Wake up “

“Must obey “

“Must submit “

He stops cold at fainting on his new masters command he hits the floor as his eyes are whirl around and slide back his eye balls in to an upper position inside of his socket and he succumbs. The man exits the shadows in to the lights in a super fashion knelt next to him placing his palms on him rubs his stomach slowly but steadily waking him up and he stirs back to reality.

His body loves the sensation of my hands on to bin with love crawling on him as he cock straightens upward hard with pleasure in moments of rock hard nature throbbing him to the side.Harrington can’t help but smile taking up his hand in mind as he kisses or slowly up to his neck and flowing to his lips in time to meet his neck and the two are forced to kiss as they are connected.

The man points to his bed wear he lays out new clothes for him to which Jay felt a very renewed desire of this life to begin yet ever again as our lips connect them again and with that he held on to me with craving he cannot and will not control.Sitting down on my bed just watch him go on his transform removing his shirt over his head, letting his pants drop exposing his underwear to the world, his dress shows kick off and he quickly dresses now in all back a sign of submission to his Nubian king.

I am on the scene Master Lawrence “

“Find him, hunt him down”

“With pleasure”

“Use every skill in your book”

“Use your badge correctly “

“I will bear him to he submits “

“Good boi”

“Mmmm! I love being bad”

“I tracked him down”

“Go off grid “

“Capture him”

“Yes Master”

“Rub through it”

“Bring him to the station”

“Enslave him and my fellow cops “

“Yes Master”

“I love you “

“Will call you soon with completion “

The end

[goldensunset]

💎 lokiss

🔁 traumaadcaelum Follow

———————————————————————

💎 lokiss

i think a snickers would’ve fixed baldr tbh

🙅 traumaadcaelum Follow

hi! can you NOT make jokes about the worst massacre that’s happened here in centuries?? my girlfriend was murdered that day but i guess people like you just love taking advantage of tragedies for funny internet clout. i hope you lose your heart in another world.

💎 lokiss

she baldr on my dr until i bald

#get off my post i literally lost someone too

479 notes

💐 my-other-car-is-a-keyblade-glider

my missing brother, brani, is finally back!!!! i’ve been so so worried for forever. thank you everyone who prayed with me 🙏

#he is acting a little weird though if i’m being honest #freya speaks

5 notes

🌸 dandelioneater

🔁 the-fourteenth-original-darkness

———————————————————————

🍎 valkyrie-of-dreams Follow

sometimes i feel like my taste in men is bad and then i remember there are multiple secret societies entirely dedicated to thirsting after master brain

🔑 its-kee-not-kai

you ever see a post that just looks like someone swinging a keyblade at a flappy bugs nest

#kingdom hearts grant me the serenity to not look at the notes #courage to not look at the notes #and wisdom to not look at the notes

56907 notes

🌕 tardyfleetfoot

Asking for a friend what do you do when a cable car stops in midair and starts shaking and swaying on the wire while you’re in there up there way high above the ground? Time sensitive question asking for a friend.

3 notes

🌚 the-fourteenth-original-darkness

🔁 my-other-car-is-a-keyblade-glider

———————————————————————

🧜🏻‍♀️ ieatchesspieces Follow

let’s explore the nearby abandoned towns together!

108500 notes

🔑its-kee-not-kai

🔁 master-odin-retire-challenge

———————————————————————

💍 ladyofsilver-fountains Follow

it’s really awful how people are acting like it’s illegal to have a sense of humor anymore. even in the wake of tragedy, humans have always been humans. plus it’s been almost a year now. life goes on, you know?

👢master-odin-retire-challenge

the context for this post is op lost their job and reputation because they laughed at the funeral of a little girl named vör when the person giving the eulogy couldn’t be bothered to learn how to pronounce her name correctly. please for the love of light stop blindly reblogging things like this.

#oh ewww i hate people

239 notes

🌘 xehanerd

to the anon who just sent that long-winded ask: my blog is my space. if you don’t like what i post then move on.

#xe.post #delete later

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🌘 xehanerd

🔁 dajokerofscala Follow

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🌗 balancewillprevail Follow

It drives me insane whenever people frame it like Baldr 'succumbing to darkness' and going crazy was inevitable. Sure, darkness played a part in that tragedy, but it completely overlooks the reality of how Master Odin failed to take care of that child at every step of the way. The boy was lost in grief, and the adult who was supposed to take care of him shoved him in an asylum-like room alone? Are we really going to leave that part out in favor of pushing the narrative that people prone to darkness are simply evil at heart? He could have lived a happy life being himself if he had been supported and nurtured. It didn’t have to be this way.

🌕 tardyfleetfoot

Right? We could have saved him from his darkness! He was our friend….

🌗 balancewillprevail Follow

That’s… not at all what I was saying, but I suppose a stupid comment like this is to be expected from somebody with ‘darkness dni’ in their bio. Thanks for trying.

🐓 everyoneshutupplease Follow

‘darkness played a part in that tragedy’ not you sugarcoating what happened for the sake of pushing YOUR narrative that the thing that’s been killing people since the dawn of time can possibly be anything but toxic. how many people have to die before people like you get in touch with reality???

🌗 balancewillprevail Follow

Sounds about right from someone who went through the Scala Ad Caelum public school system. Have you ever tried reading a book other than what was assigned for class? Please check your natural-light privilege and ignorance. Thanks.

🪐 fenrir-fanatic

look out lads we got another conspiracy theorist ‘homeschool your kids’ dork lmao

🌗 balancewillprevail Follow

And do you read anything other than sigurd x reader fanfiction, based on the first seven posts on your blog?

📈 whats-your-favorite-staircase-to-heaven Follow

the notes on this post were so toxic staff just axed ‘em

#sent to me #thank you joker

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