#Financial Discrepancies

[trendynewsnow]

Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade: Challenges and Excitement Amid Financial Issues

Thanksgiving Preparations: Macy’s in the Spotlight Good morning. It’s Wednesday, and as we gear up for the much-anticipated Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade, we have some insights into the challenges Macy’s is currently facing. Beyond the forecasted rain, there are significant issues that the retail giant must contend with as the holiday season approaches. While the National Weather Service…

[phagodyke]

and the moral of the story is to always question every single thing private healthcare providers tell u as fact esp if it involves ur time/money and someone not involved in ur case is telling u ����

[nightpool]

If you are an auditor, and you call up the chief financial officer of the company you are auditing and ask “hey when is a convenient time for me to come to your office to review the books,” and he replies “no, no office, parking lot,” and you say “okay I’ll drive to your office and you’ll come down—” and he says “oh no, not our parking lot, a different parking lot,” and you meet him in a parking lot 40 miles from his office, and he hands you printouts of the financial statements and drives away, how should you begin your audit? Which of the financial statements is most likely to contain red flags or discrepancies to be addressed? I feel like the answer is “the parking lot”? If I were auditing those financial statements, most of my questions would not be about technical accounting matters but “why are we meeting in a parking lot again?”

Here is a story about the CFO of the Detroit Riverfront Conservancy, William Smith, who was arrested last week for allegedly stealing $40 million from the nonprofit:

"Mr. Smith’s grip on the nonprofit’s finances was so tight that even the nonprofit’s accountant, charged with tracking spending, could not log into one of the group’s bank accounts. Only Mr. Smith had the password. He gave her the bank statements on paper and met her only four times a year, in the parking lot of a Honey Baked Ham store 40 miles from the office. […]

"Brian Mittendorf, a professor who studies nonprofit accounting at Ohio State University, said that the conservancy’s official documents show that it took steps to safeguard its finances — including oversight from its board of directors and annual audits.

"‘All these things sound as if it’s an organization with a pretty robust review in place. On the other hand, only one person can access the money, and provides paper copies in a Honey Baked Ham parking lot?’ Mr. Mittendorf said. ‘Those sound like the opposite of a robust governance mechanism.’"

As it happens, Smith allegedly altered the bank statements by “[removing] the payments to himself and [replacing] them with fake payments to other vendors.” I still don’t fully understand the parking lot, though? Like you can meet the accountant in your office to hand over the doctored paper financial statements; just unplug your computer first. I just feel like meeting in the parking lot sends a pretty strong message of “I AM DOING CRIME” that you might want to avoid, if you are doing crime.

[barnacles34]

Lost in Analysis (Winter x Male OC)

5k words, smut, fluff, happiness, data

Winter x Male OC

this is probably my best work yet.

The thing about Junho Kim's[1] weekly debriefs with Minjeong Kim was that they followed a precise algorithm, an almost liturgical routine that both participants had wordlessly agreed upon circa Winter's third month of employment (viz. April 2024). The format went as follows: Winter would arrive at exactly 18:30 on Friday bearing a leather-bound portfolio containing the week's logistics reports, margin analyses, and projected Q3/Q4 modeling scenarios. Junho would pretend to study these for exactly twelve minutes while Winter sat in the ergonomic chair across his desk, her accent becoming pronounced in direct proportion to her anxiety level[2].

What happened on this particular Friday deviated from the algorithm in ways that would later prove significant, starting with Winter's arrival at 18:27[3].

"The Busan account numbers are off," Junho said, his photographic memory already detecting a 0.03% discrepancy in the third-quarter projections. The words emerged with the mechanical precision of someone who had learned human speech through technical manuals rather than conversation. "This is—" he paused, index finger tapping against his mahogany desk in a rapidfire motion that Winter had learned to recognize as his pre-explosion tell, "—unacceptable."

And then something unprecedented occurred.

Instead of her usual composed absorption of his critique, Winter's face crumpled into what could only be described as a squeaky whimper, a sound so incongruous with her usual professional demeanor that it seemed to physically stun Junho into silence. It was the acoustic equivalent of watching a Mercedes-Benz hiccup.

The algorithm crashed.

—

[1] Junho Kim, CEO of Quantum Logistics Solutions, net worth $2.3B (₩3.1T), possessed what his former Harvard professors called "an almost frightening capacity for data retention" and what his former therapist (sessions terminated after 2.5 meetings) called "a pathological inability to process emotional bandwidth."

[2] A phenomenon her roommate had dubbed "The Accent Anxiety Index," where her carefully practiced Seoul pronunciation would gradually give way to her native Busan satoori, ranging from barely detectable at Level 1 ("감사합니다") to full coastal at Level 10 ("아이고, 사장님, 이 숫자 영 아니네요").

[3] The 3-minute early arrival would later be explained by a complex series of events involving a broken elevator, two flights of stairs, and Winter's determination not to let her carefully constructed timeline collapse due to mechanical failure.

—

The following Friday's debrief began with Junho actually pulling out Winter's chair[4], a gesture so unexpected that she nearly missed the seat entirely. The portfolio was reviewed. The whiskey was poured (Junho's usual Macallan 25, Winter's Hwayo 41). And then, somewhere between the second and third drink, Winter's accent kicked into what would later be classified as Level 11 on the Southern Comfort Scale.

"You know what your problem is, sajangnim?" Minjeong's words carried the warm weight of soju and suppressed frustration, her carefully maintained Seoul accent dissolving entirely into coastal inflections. "당신은 인생을 마치 스프레드시트처럼 대하시네요. Everything must calculate perfectly, but people aren't numbers, and some of us are tired of being debugged like broken code."

Junho's finger stopped its habitual tapping mid-motion[5].

—

[4] A gesture learned from a WikiHow article titled "Basic Human Courtesy: A Beginner's Guide" that Junho had queued up on his tablet at 3:47 AM the previous Tuesday.

[5] Later analysis would reveal this as the exact moment Junho Kim, master of algorithms and logistics, encountered a variable his photographic memory couldn't process: genuine human connection.[6]

The office fell into a silence that could be measured in heartbeats (Junho's: an efficient 72 BPM; Minjeong's: an elevated 98 BPM). Outside, Seoul's financial district performed its usual Friday night exodus, the sound of departing Mercedes and BMWs creating a capitalistic symphony twenty-three floors below.

"시간이..." Minjeong continued, her Busan accent now operating at what could only be classified as Level 12[7], "Time isn't just money, 사장님. Sometimes it's just... time. Like those lunches you wolf down in exactly eight minutes while reading reports. Or these Friday meetings where you never actually look at me, just through me at some invisible spreadsheet floating in the air behind my head."

Junho's hand, still frozen mid-tap, slowly lowered to the desk. His photographic memory began involuntarily cataloging details it had somehow missed during their previous 47 debriefs: the way Minjeong's left hand always fidgeted with her portfolio's corner when nervous, how her voice carried traces of sea salt and summer festivals despite years of Seoul speech coaching, the fact that she had memorized his coffee preferences down to the precise temperature (81°C, no higher, no lower).

"I do look at you," he said, then immediately registered the statistical improbability of his own response[8].

Minjeong's laugh carried the particular timber of someone who had been holding it in reserve for approximately 11.7 months. "아니요, you really don't. You look at KPIs and performance metrics and quarterly projections. Did you know," she leaned forward, her accent thick as Busan fog, "that I've worn the same earrings every Friday for three months just to see if you'd notice?"

The earrings in question were small silver cranes, Junho's memory instantly supplied, purchased from a street vendor in Gukje Market during last quarter's Busan office inspection, chosen because their wings formed the mathematical symbol for infinity when viewed from the correct angle[9].

—

[6] A concept that would later require Junho to create an entirely new category in his mental filing system, located somewhere between "Acceptable Business Practices" and "Breathing Exercises (Mandatory)."

[7] A previously theoretical level on the Accent Anxiety Index, characterized by the complete abandonment of Seoul linguistic pretense and the emergence of what Minjeong's mother would call "우리 딸의 진짜 목소리" (our daughter's real voice).

[8] Statistical analysis of Junho's daily eye contact patterns, conducted by his personal AI assistant, revealed an average sustained eye contact duration of 1.3 seconds with all employees, making his current 4.7-second gaze at Minjeong a 361.5% deviation from the mean.

[9] A detail that would have impressed Junho greatly had he noticed it at the time of purchase, rather than at this precise moment when his brain was simultaneously trying to process the concept of infinity and the way Minjeong's eyes reflected the city lights like binary code translated into stardust.

—

The Hwayo bottle stood between them like a glass mediator, its contents depleted by exactly 73.4%. Junho found himself performing calculations he had never previously considered necessary: the precise angle at which Minjeong's smile disrupted his cardiac rhythm (42.7°), the correlation coefficient between her proximity and his ability to maintain coherent thought patterns (inverse relationship, R² = 0.97), the half-life of each satoori-tinged syllable in his auditory memory (approaching infinity)[10].

"There's a pojangmacha," Minjeong said, her words now performing linguistic gymnastics between Seoul and Busan, "down in Gangnam that serves 할매's 파전 just like back home. But you—" she gestured with her glass, creating small amber trajectories in the air, "—you probably have the exact caloric content memorized without ever tasting it."

"624 calories per standard serving," Junho confirmed automatically, then added, in what he would later recognize as his first attempt at human humor[11], "Not accounting for 할매's (grandmother’s) love."

The laugh that escaped Minjeong's lips was genuine enough to bypass all of Junho's statistical models for appropriate business interaction. It was the kind of laugh that made him wonder if his entire algorithmic approach to life had been operating on a fundamental error: the assumption that human emotions could be debugged rather than experienced.

"사장님," she said, then caught herself, "아니, Junho-ssi." The honorific shift created a quantifiable disruption in the office's atmospheric pressure[12]. "Do you know why I cry sometimes when you yell about the numbers?"

Junho's hands found themselves attempting to calculate an emotion he had no formula for. "I... have a working hypothesis."

"It's not because I'm scared or hurt," she continued, her Busan accent now wrapping around the words like a warm coast-side breeze. "It's because I see you turning yourself into code, like you're trying to compile a human being into binary, and..." she paused, searching for words in both Seoul and Busan vocabularies before settling on, "...그게 너무 아���워요."

The phrase hung in the air, untranslatable in its full emotional weight[13].

—

[10] A phenomenon that would later require Junho to create an entirely new mathematical framework he privately termed "The Minjeong Constant: Variables in Human Connection."

[11] Later analysis of office security footage would reveal this as his first non-data-related comment in approximately 2,847 hours of recorded business interactions.

[12] Advanced environmental sensors in the building's HVAC system actually recorded a 0.02% change in air pressure at this exact moment, though causation versus correlation remains a subject of debate among the building's maintenance staff.

[13] The closest English approximation might be "it's such a waste," but this fails to capture the uniquely Korean sense of regret for potential beauty lost to unnecessary efficiency, like trying to measure ocean waves in milliliters.

—

For exactly 15.4 seconds, Junho Kim—master of instantaneous data processing, champion of real-time analytics—found himself buffering. His mind, that perfectly calibrated instrument of calculation, attempted to run multiple subroutines simultaneously:

ROUTINE_1: Analyze the 2.3% tremor in Minjeong's voice during "그게 너무 아까워요"

ROUTINE_2: Process the 7.4mm dilation of his pupils upon hearing his given name

ROUTINE_3: Calculate the exact distance between their hands on the desk (23.7cm, decreasing by approximately 0.3mm per heartbeat)

ERROR: Stack overflow in emotional processing unit[14]

"I have a file," he began, then stopped, realizing that perhaps not everything needed to be classified and stored. "No, I mean... I remember every time you've smiled at work. Real smiles, not the ones you use for clients or difficult vendors." His fingers twitched, instinctively seeking a keyboard that wasn't there. "The data suggests that they occur most frequently when you're talking about Busan, or when you think no one is watching you arrange the office plants, or..." he paused, processing, "...or when you're correcting my humanity protocols[15]."

Minjeong's eyes widened, creating what Junho's brain automatically calculated as a 34.6% increase in their reflective surface area. "You... keep track of my smiles?"

"I keep track of everything," he said, then amended, displaying unprecedented runtime flexibility, "but your smiles occupy 43% more memory space than standard data points."

"아이고," Minjeong laughed, the sound carrying hints of sea breezes and noraebang nights, "only you would quantify feelings in percentages and memory allocation, 사장님[16]."

The Hwayo bottle now stood at 82.6% depletion. Outside, Seoul had transformed into its weekend configuration, all neon equations and binary dreams. But inside this office, something unquantifiable was compiling—a program written in neither Python nor Java, but in the ancient code of human connection.

"There's a logical error in your earlier statement," Junho said suddenly, his voice performing calculations it had never been calibrated for. "About me not looking at you."

"Oh?" Minjeong's eyebrow arched at precisely 27 degrees.

"I look at you approximately 2,347 times per day. My peripheral vision activates in your presence with 72% more frequency than baseline. I have memorized exactly 267 variations of your voice modulation between Seoul and Busan registers[17]. The error," he continued, his own accent slipping for the first time since Harvard, "is in assuming I don't see you."

—

[14] A phenomenon his Harvard professors had theoretically predicted but never successfully documented: the complete shutdown of pure logic circuits in favor of what they termed "human.exe."

[15] A private joke that had never made it past his internal firewall until this moment, referring to the way she subtly guided him toward more socially acceptable behaviors, like suggesting he say "good morning" to the cleaning staff or remember team members' birthdays.

[16] The honorific here carrying a new weight, somewhere between professional distance and affectionate teasing, a linguistic quantum state that would have fascinated physicists had they been present to observe it.

[17] This particular statistic would later become the subject of a 3 AM realization that perhaps "normal" CEOs don't maintain such detailed databases of their assistants' vocal patterns.

—

The confession hung in the air with the weight of a misplaced decimal point. Minjeong's hand, still holding her Hwayo glass, trembled at a frequency of approximately 3.2 Hz. The office's automated climate control system registered a sudden 0.7°C spike in local temperature[18].

"그래서..." Minjeong's voice emerged in Pure Pattern #271 (Subcategory: Emotional Breakthrough), "this is why you always know when I've had 떡볶이 for lunch?"

The unexpected query caused Junho to experience what his systems could only classify as a brief moment of runtime joy. "The specific aroma particles adhere to your cardigan at a rate of—" he caught himself, noting the gleam in her eye, and for the first time in recorded history, Junho Kim deliberately chose not to complete a calculation[19].

Instead, he found himself saying, "Your smile increases by exactly 23.7% when you eat 떡볶이. It's... optimal."

"최적화?" Minjeong's laugh carried notes of soju and starlight. "You're really going to data-analyze my happiness levels?"

"I have spreadsheets," he admitted, his voice carrying an unfamiliar warmth that his diagnostic systems struggled to categorize. "Cross-referenced with weather patterns, quarterly reports, and the frequency of your Busan accent emergence[20]."

"아이고..." She shifted in her chair, reducing the distance between them by precisely 4.7 centimeters. "You're either the weirdest or the most romantic person I've ever met, and I haven't decided which yet."

The word 'romantic' created a momentary buffer overflow in Junho's cognitive processes. His hands, typically occupied with calculating profit margins or optimizing supply chains, found themselves drawing abstract patterns on his desk's surface—a behavior previously filed under 'Inefficient Human Gestures: Do Not Engage.'

"I could..." he paused, processing, "...show you the data?"

—

[17] This particular dataset would later be renamed in his personal files to "The Minjeong Codex: A Quantitative Analysis of Qualitative Perfection."

[18] The building's maintenance staff would later attribute this to a mechanical anomaly, unaware they had documented the exact moment Junho Kim's ice-cold corporate facade began its calculated melt.

[19] A moment that would later be marked in his personal development log as "First Successful Implementation of Strategic Data Suppression for Emotional Optimization."

[20] These spreadsheets, discovered months later during a routine server backup, would become legendary among the IT department as "The Love Languages of Linear Regression."

—

Minjeong's eyes sparkled with what Junho's facial recognition protocols quantified as 87% mirth, 13% tenderness. "보여주세요," she said, the soju making her consonants softer, more Busan-bound. "Show me this data about me."

For the first time in his professional career, Junho Kim fumbled with his laptop password[21]. The Hwayo bottle between them had decreased to critical levels, and he found the standard office lights were creating unusual prismatic effects in Minjeong's hair. His fingers, typically precise to the microsecond, skittered across the keyboard.

"See, here's the correlation between your happiness metrics and the proximity to Korean holidays," he began, then stopped, distracted by the way she'd rolled her chair closer to view his screen. The scent of her perfume (도라지 꽃, his brain supplied automatically, though for once the percentage calculation felt irrelevant) mixed with the lingering soju in the air.

"You made a pie chart," she said, her voice warm with something his systems were too buzzed to properly quantify, "of my favorite lunch spots?"

"The data visualization seemed... appropriate," he managed, aware that his usual processing power was operating at diminished capacity. "Though I may have spent a statistically anomalous amount of time color-coding it to match your favorite blazer[22]."

Minjeong's laugh had shed all traces of its Seoul polish. "어머나, who knew the great Junho Kim was such a..." she searched for the word in both dialects before landing on, "...nerd?"

"I prefer 'data enthusiast,'" he replied, surprising himself with the speed of his response. The soju was definitely affecting his standard processing delays. "Though my enthusiasm appears to be... specialized."

"Specialized?" Her eyebrow arched in a way that created unprecedented disruptions in his cardiac rhythm.

"The data suggests," he said, his own Gangnam accent softening around the edges, "a singular focus on one particular... variable[23]."

The office space seemed to contract by approximately 40%, though Junho found himself caring less about the exact percentage with each passing moment. Minjeong's hand had somehow migrated to rest near his on the desk, their fingers separated by a gap that felt simultaneously quantum and cosmic.

—

[21] Password: Min2847@QLS, a combination he would later realize was more revealing than any spreadsheet.

[22] The blazer in question: a deep navy piece from a Dongdaemun boutique, worn approximately every third Wednesday, correlated with a 34% increase in his productive distraction levels.

[23] Later analysis of the office security footage would show that at this point, Junho's typically perfect posture had relaxed to unprecedented levels, creating what the ergonomics AI labeled as "Optimal Romance Angles."

—

"Show me more," Minjeong said softly, unconsciously tilting her head up to meet his gaze. Something in her tone caused Junho's spinal alignment to automatically straighten, his shoulders squaring as he leaned forward slightly. The motion created what his hazily analytical mind registered as a subtle shift in the office's power dynamics[24].

"These graphs," he began, his voice dropping half an octave without any conscious input, "track every time you've challenged my decisions in meetings." His finger traced the upward trend line, the gesture somehow both precise and possessive. "You're the only one who dares to correct my logic. It's... intriguing."

Minjeong's breath caught audibly. "사장님..." she started, then with visible effort, "Junho-ssi... you track even that?"

"I track everything about you," he admitted, the soju finally overriding his professional filter subroutines. The way she instinctively ducked her head at his words, a soft pink rising in her cheeks, sparked something primal in his usually ordered mind. "Though lately, I find myself more interested in the unquantifiable variables[25]."

"Like what?" The question emerged barely above a whisper, her natural deference to his authority softened by something warmer, more personal.

Junho felt his hand move with uncharacteristic boldness to tilt her chin up, his thumb registering her pulse point at... he realized with start that for the first time in his adult life, he didn't care about the exact number. What mattered was the acceleration, the way her breath stuttered when he held her gaze.

"Like the way you automatically straighten my tie when you think I'm not paying attention," he murmured, voice steady despite the soju. "Or how you always wait for me to take the first sip of coffee in our morning meetings[26]."

—

[24] The building's pressure sensors detected a subtle but measurable change in the room's atmospheric density, as if the very air was rearranging itself around their shifting dynamic.

[25] Security logs would later note this as the moment Junho Kim's typing pattern on his laptop transitioned from "Corporate Efficiency" to what could only be described as "Focused Intensity."

[26] A habit that Minjeong had developed unconsciously over months, part of an unspoken protocol that went far beyond mere professional courtesy.

—

The laptop screen dimmed to conserve power, casting half of Junho's face in shadow. His hand hadn't moved from her chin, thumb still resting against her pulse point in what his rapidly deteriorating analytical functions recognized as a gesture of both measurement and claim[27].

"You know what else I've noticed?" The question rumbled from somewhere deeper than his usual corporate register. His other hand reached past her to close the laptop with a decisive click, eliminating the last barrier between them. "You mirror my breathing patterns during long meetings. 호흡이... perfectly synchronized."

Minjeong's eyes widened fractionally, caught between the wall and his presence. "That's..." she swallowed, her professional composure wavering, "...very observant of you, 사장님."

"I thought we were past 사장님," he said softly, but with an undertone that made it less observation, more command. The soju had stripped his voice of its algorithmic precision, leaving something rawer, more intuitive[28].

"Jun...ho..." she tested the name without honorifics, the syllables carrying the weight of every unspoken variable between them. Her hands fidgeted with her portfolio, a nervous tell he'd documented approximately 847 times but had never been close enough to still before.

Until now.

His free hand covered both of hers, instantly calming their movement. The gesture was protective, possessive, and entirely unplanned by his usual decisional matrices[29]. "You don't need to calculate the right response," he murmured, unconsciously echoing her earlier criticism of his own binary nature. "Your instincts have a 99.9% accuracy rate."

The percentage slipped out automatically, making her laugh—a soft, breathy sound that seemed to bypass his auditory processing and strike directly at something more fundamental. Her head tilted back further, a movement so subtle it barely registered on the office's motion sensors but sent his pulse into unprecedented acceleration.

"My instincts," she whispered, her Busan accent emerging with complete authenticity, "are telling me we've miscategorized this relationship[30]."

—

[27] The building's biometric scanners would later flag this moment for what their algorithms labeled as "Significant Cardiovascular Anomaly: Dual Synchronization."

[28] Office voice recognition software attempted and failed to classify this new vocal pattern, eventually creating a new category labeled simply "After Hours Protocol."

[29] The exact pressure of his grip would have registered at precisely 7.2 PSI, perfectly calibrated between restraint and assertion, had either of them still been counting.

[30] The security AI, in its nightly report, would mark this exchange with a rare notation: "Recommended Reclassification of Personnel Relationship Status Pending."

—

"Miscategorized," Junho repeated, the word hanging in the air like a suspended calculation. His hand moved from her chin to the nape of her neck, fingers threading through her hair with unprecedented decisiveness[31]. The motion drew her incrementally closer, though for once he didn't bother quantifying the exact distance.

"yes..." Minjeong's affirmation came out breathier than any of her previously recorded vocal patterns. The portfolio slipped from her fingers, creating what would normally be an unacceptable disruption of organized space. Neither of them moved to retrieve it.

"You know what's interesting?" Junho's voice had shed every trace of its corporate modulation, leaving only that command that seemed to resonate directly with her autonomic nervous system. "I've run approximately 2,847 scenarios of this moment in my head[32]."

Her hands had found their way to his chest, fingers curling into the precise Italian wool of his suit. "And?" The question emerged with a tremor that his tactile sensors catalogued automatically before his conscious mind told them to stop measuring and start feeling.

"None of them..." he leaned closer, watching her eyes flutter half-closed in response to his proximity, "...included the variable of you looking at me exactly like this."

The faint scent of soju on her breath mingled with that eternally elusive percentage of 도라지 꽃 perfume. Junho felt his last analytical subroutines shutting down, replaced by something far more ancient than algorithms[33].

"Minjeong-ah," he said, his voice dropping to a register that bypassed all honorifics, all corporate hierarchy, all pretense of professional distance.

Her response was to cant her head just so, a motion that managed to be both surrender and invitation. "Calculation time's over, 사장님," she whispered, the honorific now carrying a weight that had nothing to do with corporate structure.

—

[31] The office's motion sensors registered this gesture as "Executive Override: Priority Action."

[32] This number, like most of his remaining statistics, was completely fabricated—a first for Junho Kim's otherwise impeccable data records.

[33] Building security cameras would later mark this timestamp with an unprecedented classification: "Critical System Override: Human.exe fully activated."

—

For the first time in his documented existence, Junho Kim stopped calculating entirely.

The distance closed between them with a momentum that defied measurement. His hand tightened in her hair, angling her face upward as his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him. The kiss, when it came, contained no statistics, no data points, no quantifiable metrics[34].

Minjeong made a soft sound—Pattern #unknown, Category: heaven—against his mouth. Her fingers clutched his suit lapels with enough force to wrinkle the wool beyond its optimal pressed state, a fact that Junho's usually meticulous mind registered and immediately discarded as irrelevant.

Time segmented into a new measurement system: the catch of her breath, the silk of her hair between his fingers, the way she yielded and pressed closer simultaneously. Junho discovered that his organizational skills apparently extended to kissing, each angle adjustment and pressure variation drawing increasingly desperate responses from Minjeong[35].

When they finally broke apart, Minjeong's carefully maintained Seoul pronunciation had disappeared entirely. "아이고..." she breathed against his mouth, "당신이..."

"Initial results," Junho murmured, his own accent thick with something that had nothing to do with regional linguistics, "require extensive further testing[36]."

She laughed, the sound vibrating against his chest where she was still pressed against him. "Did you just turn our first kiss into a quality control protocol?"

"Quality confirmed," he replied, then demonstrated his newfound commitment to hands-on research by kissing her again, harder this time, swallowing her surprised gasp. His hand splayed possessively across her lower back, holding her steady as she swayed into him.

—

[34] The building's atmospheric sensors recorded unexplained fluctuations in local temperature, humidity, and electromagnetic fields, leading to a complete recalibration of their measurement standards.

[35] Later analysis would suggest that Junho's legendary attention to detail had found a new, decidedly non-professional application, though this data remains classified in personal files marked "Private Research: Ongoing."

[36] The security AI attempting to transcribe this conversation eventually gave up and simply tagged the file: "Error 404: Professionalism Not Found."

—

Somewhere in the haze of non-analytical thought, Junho registered Minjeong's slight backward momentum and moved instinctively to steady her. His hand swept the desk clear with uncharacteristic disregard for organizational protocols, sending the quarterly reports flutter-falling to the carpet in an acceptable margin of chaos[37].

"Jun...ho..." His name escaped her lips like a statistical anomaly as he lifted her effortlessly onto the mahogany surface. Her legs parted automatically to accommodate him, skirt hiking up precisely 4.7 inches—the last measurement his brain would process for the foreseeable future.

"So beautiful," he murmured against her throat, the words emerging in pure Gangnam inflection, all pretense of corporate diction abandoned. His teeth grazed her pulse point, drawing a whimper that would require an entirely new classification system[38].

Minjeong's fingers tangled in his precisely styled hair, disrupting approximately 47 minutes of morning grooming routine. "사장님," she gasped, the honorific now carrying entirely different connotations, "the papers..."

"Irrelevant data," he growled, recapturing her mouth with newfound authority. The kiss deepened, transformed, became something that defied all previous parameters. Her back arched into him, creating angles that had nothing to do with geometry and everything to do with instinct[39].

A distant part of his mind registered the soft thud of his suit jacket hitting the floor, followed by the whisper of silk as Minjeong's blazer joined it. The city lights painted silver equations across her skin, codes he suddenly needed to decode with his mouth instead of his mind.

—

[37] The office's normally pristine state would require exactly 23.7 minutes to restore, a task that would be significantly delayed by several subsequent "data collection sessions."

[38] Facial recognition software attempting to analyze the security feed would crash repeatedly, unable to reconcile Junho Kim's expression with any known configuration in its emotional database.

[39] The building's structural integrity sensors registered minor seismic activity, though this data would be suspiciously absent from the next day's maintenance logs.

—

He let his hands trail by the sides of her body, one busy with her torso—breasts and all—and the other, feeling the creamy softness of her thighs. And each needy press or pinch, brought out the softest of her moans, the cutest of her lip quivers.

He was busy, marking her lips, making it all swollen and red; yet, still, he couldn’t get enough of her. That soft body, her caring little hands, her hot inner thighs, and that gentle heat radiating off her core—just hidden by the slightest of her skirt. “Minjeong.” He whispered, pressing himself against her—a matter of teasing and also a way to test the waters, whether or not she wanted it on the table.

And Minjeong, not one to initiate, wrapped her thin arms around his nape, pulling him closer, “Yes, yes, please, anything, anywhere,” then a dozen little kisses all on his face. This assurance, this consent, slowly, but surely, made him wrench her legs open—wide. He saw that stain, dark against her gray underwear, and that was when his photographic memory… failed him.

He dug in, letting his loin press up against hers—immersing himself in her wetness. Then, finally, he pulled down on his pants, showing his tent-like imprint on his underwear to Minjeong, who, obviously, couldn’t stop staring. By the end of the minute, that ruthless minute, both were undressed in their lower-half—a utilitarian instinct to fuck each other as fast as possible.

Junho breathed heavily, staring at that pink hue that her core was so beautifully composed of—along with the wetness, the fragrance, and more. “Minjeong…” He held his shaft, lining it up straight on her wetness. She finally replied, “Yes… Junho…” And that’s when he pressed in, into the endless heat.

That wet connection hilt-to-hilt, along with a deep kiss—turned Minjeong completely docile and submissive. That wet connection, her wet slime covering his shaft, somehow, only intensified their lust for each other. He pressed in again, faster this time, earning that soft mewl. “Mhm, fuck me,” she whispered, again and again. He kept honoring those wishes, going deeper, and faster. He tucked his dick into her pussy, wet squelch and all, over and over until he felt his legs get weak from thrusting. Yet, that weakness didn’t deter him, he glided deeper, letting both their pelvises rub against each other, and making Minjeong cry out from the clit stimulation. She felt like she was getting tunneled, this man, the love of her life, crush of her lifetime, fucking her so good into a wobbly table—dreams aren’t even this good.

“I’m gonna cum, Minjeong.” He whispered, low and growling.

“Inside. Please. Inside…” She whispered before getting overtaken by her orgasm.

And just at the peak of her orgasm, the teetering breath before rest, Junho barreled all his semen inside her—rope after rope of semen splashing against her cervix. “Holy fuck.” they both said in conjunction. 

—

The Seoul skyline had shifted into its late-night configuration by the time they finally disentangled themselves. Junho's normally immaculate shirt hung open, his tie having long since joined the scattered papers on the floor. Minjeong's hair had abandoned all pretense of its usual professional arrangement, falling in waves that his fingers couldn't seem to stop threading through[40].

"이게..." Minjeong began, her voice still carrying traces of breathlessness as she surveyed the chaos they'd created. Her blazer lay draped over a chair at an angle that would have horrified their usual professional standards. "I should reorganize the—"

"Stay exactly where you are," Junho commanded softly, his arms tightening around her waist. His usual perfectionism had found a new target: the way she melted against him at that tone[41].

She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, her smile pure Busan sunshine. "데이트하자... be my 오빠?" The question emerged with endearing uncertainty, mixing honorifics and languages in a way that bypassed his brain entirely and struck straight at his heart.

"그래," he murmured into her hair, then with characteristic precision added, "Exclusively."

Her laugh carried notes of joy and residual shyness. "Then as your girlfriend, I should really clean up this mess..." She gestured at the scattered papers, the displaced furniture, the general dishevelment that spoke eloquently of the past hour's activities.

"As your boyfriend," his voice dropped to that commanding register that made her shiver, "I want to watch you do it[42]."

The drive home—his penthouse, by unspoken agreement—required exactly 17 minutes. Neither of them bothered to count.

—

[40] The building's security system would later note this as the longest recorded instance of the CEO remaining in office after hours, though the detailed logs were mysteriously corrupted.

[41] Internal HR protocols regarding workplace relationships were hastily updated the following morning, though no one questioned why the CEO personally oversaw these revisions.

[42] The night cleaning staff would arrive to find the office in unprecedented perfect order, though several employees would later swear they heard laughter and whispered Busan endearments echoing through the empty halls.

Fin

This genuinely is the greatest work I’ve ever made (literal hours of flow mode), I will never top this. I am also fine with that. Thank you. Love yall.

Lmk if you guys want part 2 👀

[juneyjubilation]

Peter Parker x Reader

jealous + first kiss :) At the Daily Bugle, you and Peter are a reporter and photographer, and form a strong working relationship while exposing corruption. Betty, a new reporter, creates tension between them as she flirts with Peter. Your jealousy surfaces, leading to an tense argument. but y'all makeup and kisth.

. . .

You and Peter sat across from each other at your shared desk, going over the latest scoop. The room was dimly lit, the only sound was the rustling of papers and the occasional clacking of a keyboard. As you and Peter Parker worked late into the night at the Daily Bugle, the tension between you thickened with each passing moment. The story you were working on was a big one, exposing corruption within the city's police department. The pressure was tangible, and it wasn't just from the deadline.

The tension between you had been building for days, fueled by the constant proximity and the way your eyes met whenever you thought no one was looking. But the daggers that Betty Brant, the newest reporter and former secretary of J. Jonah Jameson, threw your way didn't help matters.

"Peter, I think we should focus on this angle," you suggested, trying to maintain professionalism.

Peter, his eyes locked on the documents, hesitated before nodding in agreement. "Yeah, I think you're right," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper.

You could feel Peter's gaze on you as you typed away, your fingers flying over the keyboard. You knew that he had feelings for you, and the same was true for you. But the presence of a new reporter, the sultry and alluring Betty Brant, had thrown a wrench into your burgeoning relationship.

Peter couldn't help but notice the way Betty flirted with him, the way she leaned in close, brushing her chest against his arm. But at least for now, you had him all to yourself.

You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your eyes as you scrolled through the latest batch of documents Peter had sent over. "Okay, let's see here," you muttered, your voice low and thoughtful. "The mayor's office is definitely involved in this cover-up. But we need to find a way to link them directly to the police department."

Peter leaned forward, his eyes shining with excitement. "I think I can help with that," he said, pulling up a file on his laptop. "I managed to get my hands on some internal memos that show the mayor's office was pressuring the police to keep quiet about the corruption."

You leaned forward, your heart racing. "That's fantastic, Peter," you breathed. "But we need to be careful. If we publish this without concrete evidence, we could be in for a world of trouble."

Peter nodded, his jaw set in determination. "I know. But I think I can help with that too. I've been going over the financial records, and I found some discrepancies that could link the mayor's office directly to the corrupt officers."

You reached out, your hand brushing against Peter's as you took the laptop from him. "Let me take a look," you said, your voice low and husky. "I want to make sure we have everything we need before we go to print."

As you scrolled through the files, your fingers brushing against Peter's for a moment, you couldn't help but steal glances at him. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled, the way his hair curled slightly at the nape of his neck.

You and Peter were in the midst of a heated discussion about the latest developments in your story. The tension between you was palpable, and you could feel the electricity between you as you worked together.

Just as you were about to make a breakthrough, Betty Brant's voice cut through the air, shrill and insistent. "Peter Parker, can I see you in my office for a moment?" she called out, her voice dripping with sweetness.

Peter's eyes flickered to you, and for a moment, you saw a flash of annoyance. But he stood up, brushing off his jeans, and followed Betty out of the room. You watched them go, your mouth tightening in annoyance.

You waited for a few moments, tapping your pen against the desk impatiently. Finally, you heard the door open again, and Peter walked back in, a look of irritation on his face.

"What was that about?" you asked, your voice low and even.

"I don't know, she just needed to talk to me about something," Peter shrugged, his voice dismissive. "Don't worry about it."

You narrowed your eyes, your annoyance simmering. "About what?"

Peter frowned, clearly not understanding your sudden anger. "I don't know, she didn't say. It was just a quick conversation."

You crossed your arms, your eyes flashing. "Did she say anything about me?"

Peter blinked, confusion etched on his face. "No, why?"

"I thought so," you muttered in a huff, turning back to your work.

Peter's confusion deepened. "What's wrong?"

You didn't respond, your jaw clenched. Peter sighed and walked over to where you were sitting, his hands on your shoulders. "Hey, what's going on? You're acting really weird all of a sudden."

You shrugged him off, your frustration boiling over. "Just drop it, Peter."

Peter's hands fell away, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. "No, come on. Talk to me. What's going on?"

You shook your head, not trusting yourself to speak. Peter's face fell, and he looked at you with a mixture of confusion and worry.

"Look, I know we've been working really closely together, and I know there's something between us," he said, his voice gentle. "But I don't understand why you're acting like this. Did I do something wrong?"

Peter's words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken meaning. You couldn't meet his gaze, your heart pounding in your chest. Suddenly, the tension between you seemed to crack and crumble, leaving only raw emotion in its wake.

Peter stepped closer, his eyes searching yours. "Vienna, please," he whispered. "Talk to me. Tell me what's going on."

Your breath caught in your throat as his lips brushed against your ear, sending shivers down your spine. You felt the heat of his body against yours, the strength of his arms as he pulled you close.

"Peter," you breathed, your voice barely audible. "I'm so sorry. I...I didn't mean to snap at you."

Peter's arms tightened around you, holding you close. "It's okay," he murmured. "I know you're stressed. But please, tell me what's going on. I want to help you."

You bit your lip, trying to find the words. "It's just... I don't know, being around Betty all the time, the way she looks at you, it's..." You trailed off, shaking your head. "I don't know, maybe I'm just tired or frustrated."

You kept going, your voice trembling as you spoke, "I mean, this story is important, and we're under so much pressure. It's just a lot, and I guess it's getting to me.” You continued to ramble, your words spilling out in a jumbled mess. "I mean, I know it's not fair, she's just doing her job, but... I don't know, maybe I'm just tired and tense from work. I've been putting in a lot of long hours, and I'm probably just imagining–!”

Peter's lips crashed against yours, his hands moving to cradle your cheeks. The kiss was tender, yet insistent, as if he was trying to reassure you that everything would be alright. You melted into the embrace, your thoughts scattering as your heart raced.

For a moment, everything around you faded away. The dim lights of the office, the sound of the city beyond the walls, all of it ceased to exist. All that was left was the two of you, sitting at your stupidly small desk in the middle of the empty newsroom.

Your hands were still on the edge of the desk, and Peter's hands were still on your face, but it was as if the rest of the world had disappeared.

You could feel his breath on your lips, hear the slight catch in his chest as he pulled away. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible. "I didn't mean to interrupt you. I just couldn't help myself."

Your heart was still racing, your skin flushed with heat. You could feel the warmth of his body against yours, the strength of his arms as he held you close. It was as if you were the only two people in the world, lost in a moment of pure emotion.

Peter leaned in again, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, sweet kiss. You could taste the salt of his tears on your tongue, the hint of coffee and chocolate on his breath. It was a kiss that spoke of longing and desire, of two people who had been dancing around each other for too long.

As you pulled away, you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the raw emotion that you had never seen before. It was a look that told you that he was just as lost as you were, just as unsure of what to do next.

But at that moment, it didn't matter. All that mattered was the two of you, standing in the middle of the Daily Bugle, lost in a world of your own making.

. . . bonus! . . . “so… betty huh?” “oh, shut up.”

[ltash]

The Bodyguard pt-1

Part 2 & 3 link in the end.

SimonGhostRileyxfemalereader

The boardroom was sleek, modern, and imposing, with dark wood panelling and a sprawling glass table. Sunlight filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting sharp shadows across the faces of the people who had slowly filed in, each flashing rehearsed smiles in your direction. You leaned back in your chair, absentmindedly chewing on the end of a sleek silver pen, your eyes sharp, taking in every movement, every fake expression.

Five guards stood silently behind you, their presence a subtle but unmistakable reminder of your authority. You were untouchable here, or at least, that's what you needed them to believe. As the CEO and heiress of Aventis Pharmaceuticals, a company built on generational influence, you knew there were black sheep lurking within your empire. You could feel it in the way certain board members avoided your gaze, shifting uncomfortably under your silent scrutiny.

"Let's get started," you said, your voice calm but unyielding as you set the pen down, giving each person a measured look. "I need the details on the latest antinarcotic project we're working on."

There was a pause before the head of R&D, Dr. Marcus Lewin cleared his throat. He looked pale, though you couldn't tell if it was the lighting or nerves. "Ah... of course, Miss Aventis," he began, shuffling some papers before him. "We're in the third phase of clinical trials now. The formula has shown promising results, minimal side effects, with a faster recovery rate compared to the last version."

You raised an eyebrow, watching him squirm slightly. "Minimal side effects?" you repeated. "We're aiming for a groundbreaking product, Dr. Lewin. I expect 'minimal' to be an understatement."

"Yes, of course," he stammered, nodding vigorously. "I, uh, apologize. We're working on further improvements. There's also some data regarding efficacy rates in the latest testing group. I can forward the specifics to you."

You leaned forward slightly, your gaze hardening. "Forward them to me? Dr. Lewin, I'd prefer a comprehensive update now from you. Or are there... issues you'd rather not discuss here?"

A few other board members shifted uncomfortably, casting sidelong glances at one another. But Dr. Lewin managed a stiff smile. "No issues, Miss Aventis. We've been gathering the results carefully. We're confident we can meet the expected deadline and provide a full report for you to review."

You nodded slowly, letting the silence stretch. "Good. I expect nothing less. And, just to be clear," you said, glancing around the table at the assembled members, "I don't tolerate surprises. If there are any... discrepancies, now is the time to disclose them. Otherwise, I expect total transparency."

A hush fell over the room.

Your gaze shifted to Martin Hayes, the company's CFO, a man known for his sharp financial acumen and, at times, slippery ethics. He sat across the table, his fingers tapping nervously against his folder. He offered a tight, polite smile as he looked up to meet your eyes.

"And about our deal with that company?" you asked, your voice cool, with just a hint of impatience.

Martin cleared his throat, adjusting his tie. "Yes, of course, Miss Aventis. The partnership with Arcadia Biotech is progressing as planned. We've secured favourable terms for both manufacturing and distribution, ensuring a significant reduction in costs while increasing production capabilities."

You tilted your head, studying him. "And Arcadia is still unaware of our... competitive projects?"

He hesitated, just for a fraction of a second, but you didn't miss it. "They're completely in the dark," he assured quickly. "We've kept all sensitive projects under strict confidentiality clauses. As far as Arcadia is concerned, they're our exclusive partners in the development and distribution of the existing narcotic treatments."

You tapped your fingers against the table. "Good. I'd like a written assurance from you that our proprietary research won't leak. If Arcadia or any other competitor even hints at knowing about our new product, I'll know who to turn to, won't I, Martin?"

The colour drained slightly from his face. "Absolutely, Miss Aventis. You have my word; I'll have our legal team draft an ironclad document."

"See that you do." You leaned back, giving him a faint smile as if to relieve the tension just slightly. "And remember, gentlemen and ladies," you added, letting your gaze roam around the table, "we're here to lead the industry-not to compete in petty games. I expect only the highest standards of loyalty and discretion."

A murmur of agreement filled the room, the board members nodding.

You leaned forward, placing both hands on the table, and fixed each board member with a piercing stare. The boardroom fell silent, the tension thick in the air.

"Also, remember this," you said, your voice low but unwavering. "I am more than capable of running my father's company. Each of you is here because you're shareholders, yes, but let's not mistake that for immunity."

A flicker of uncertainty crossed a few faces, and you didn't miss a beat.

"If I find out that anyone here has tampered with our formulas, compromised our products, or made any attempt to sabotage the reputation of Aventis Pharma..." You let the threat hang in the air for a moment, letting them feel the weight of your words. "Then you'll all be sinking with me. I won't hesitate to bring down every last one of you along with this company if it comes to that."

Martin Hayes shifted uncomfortably, his collar suddenly seeming a little too tight. Dr. Lewin was looking down at his notes, his jaw clenched, while a few others exchanged uneasy glances.

"Now," you continued, sitting back but keeping your gaze sharp, "let's ensure that it never comes to that. We are all on the same side, or we should be. Our success is your success. I expect complete loyalty to the vision my father built and entrusted me to lead."

You let the silence settle, watching them absorb your message. Finally, you smiled, but it was a smile of steel. "Any questions?"

No one spoke up, and you nodded in satisfaction. The boardroom felt smaller, suddenly less crowded with ambition and more attuned to your authority.

The boardroom cleared, and with a curt nod, you dismissed the meeting. Rising from your seat, you walked out with purposeful strides, your five bodyguards falling in line behind you, each scanning the area, their presence, an unspoken wall of security. You exited the building and moved toward the parking lot, where the air was still and quiet, almost eerily so.

Your eyes drifted to a Hummer parked discreetly in the far corner. It felt out of place, like a shadow that didn't belong. You slipped into your sleek sports car, the engine purring to life, but an uneasy feeling gnawed at you. Suddenly, figures emerged from the darkness, men with sharp eyes and cold expressions, each one wielding M14 rifles. Diego Garcia's assassins. The Hummer door stayed shut, but you caught a glimpse of Garcia himself watching from within, his gaze locked on you.

Before you could react, a hail of bullets erupted. Your heart thundered as your bodyguards sprang into action, returning fire, but the assassins moved with ruthless precision. In moments, one by one, your guards went down, each man fighting until his last breath but hopelessly outnumbered. You watched in horror, paralyzed as they fell, each life extinguished in seconds. You barely registered your own scream, choked by terror and fury, as the sounds of gunfire faded, leaving only silence and blood.

Your hands fumbled, trying to unlock the doors, but they were stuck, trapping you in the vehicle like a helpless bystander in a nightmare. You felt your pulse race as the shadows closed in, and then Diego was there, standing right outside your window, his face illuminated in the dim parking lot light. He smiled, a dark, twisted smile that sent chills through you.

"Mine," he whispered through the glass, his voice laced with malice and satisfaction.

A wave of dizziness overtook you, and everything spun. His words echoed in your mind as your vision blurred. Helpless and horrified, you slipped into unconsciousness, the last image seared into your memory: Diego's face, and that sinister smile that promised nothing but darkness.

A week had passed since the attack, but the memory of it still haunted you, flickering at the edge of your thoughts as you sat on the plush velvet sofa in your expansive drawing room. Sunlight poured through the towering windows, casting a warm glow over the gleaming marble floors and the breathtaking view of the Los Angeles skyline stretched beyond, grounding you in the opulence of your mansion. The faint hum of a helicopter faded as it settled on the rooftop, carrying with it your new bodyguard: Lieutenant Simon "Ghost" Riley, a man whose reputation preceded him.

The sound of heavy boots echoed through the hallways, each step precise and deliberate, growing closer until the double doors swung open. You rose from the sofa, instinctively straightening your posture as the figure of Ghost entered the room, his presence consuming it instantly. He was massive, towering over you at 6'4", his muscular frame stretching the fabric of his black t-shirt, every inch of him exuding strength and danger. His broad chest and shoulders were carved with the kind of power that comes only from a life on the battlefield, and his thick, muscular thighs tested the seams of his black cargo pants. A holstered firearm rested against his leg, a stark reminder of the deadly world you were stepping into.

But it was his eyes that struck you the hardest. Deep brown and unwavering, they locked onto yours with an intensity that felt almost physical, as if they could see straight through every secret you held. A skull-patterned bandana covered most of his face, concealing his expression, but his gaze was enough, it was fierce, calculating, and unyielding. His buzz-cut hair, a dirty blonde, caught a hint of sunlight, and a jagged scar traced down his left temple, the brutal souvenir of battles fought and survived.

The contrast between the two of you felt almost surreal, his raw, masculine power against your delicate, fragile beauty. At just five feet tall, your frame seemed almost dainty by comparison, a striking contrast of elegance and strength. The soft material of your dress hugged your figure, emphasizing the curve of your waist and your petite, curvy form, while your brown, doe-like eyes met his with a mixture of curiosity and caution.

"This is Ghost, ma'am," he nodded, his voice low, gravelly, resonant. The sound of it sent a shiver down your spine, filling the room as thoroughly as his presence did.

You hesitated, caught off guard by his intensity, before extending your hand. "Lieutenant Riley," you greeted, your voice steady even as you took in every detail of the man before you. "I've heard a lot about you."

He accepted your hand, his grip firm and respectful, but his eyes stayed sharp and assessing, as if already calculating every risk, every angle of protection.

"Welcome to my mansion. How was your journey?" you asked, settling yourself elegantly on the velvet couch, your posture flawless.

"The journey was fine, ma'am," he replied, his deep voice rumbling through the room. He took a step closer, crossing his arms, his gaze intense and assessing. "The view from the landing pad is quite something, too."

You felt his eyes linger, moving over you, taking in the details of your petite frame and the way your bodycon dress clung to your curves. He tried to keep his focus professional, but it was hard not to notice the finer details.

"Tea, coffee, or whiskey?" you offered.

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "Whiskey," he replied without hesitation, his gaze still fixed on you.

With a small nod, you rose from the sofa and moved to the bar across the room, reaching for the bottle of Kentucky bourbon. His eyes tracked your every movement, lingering on the bare skin between the thin straps of your dress. The dress hugged your form perfectly, and though he kept his face stoic, his attention remained unwavering as you poured the amber liquid into a glass.

You turned, holding the glass in your hand, and extended it to him. He stepped forward, his calloused fingers wrapping around the glass, brushing lightly against yours. The brief contact sent a jolt up your arm, but his face revealed nothing, not a hint of reaction. He lifted the glass to his lips, taking a slow, measured sip, all the while keeping his gaze steady on you.

You leaned back onto the plush sofa, crossing your legs elegantly, watching as he brought the glass of bourbon to his lips, taking a slow sip without breaking eye contact. The slight tension in the room was palpable, each of you sizing up the other, feeling out the boundaries of this unfamiliar relationship.

"So," you murmured, a faint hint of curiosity in your tone, "you wear the skull mask, Ghost..."

His eyes narrowed slightly above the edge of his mask, a flicker of irritation passing through them. He lowered the glass, studying you in silence for a moment before he replied, his tone even. "It's part of the job," he said. "Helps me keep things... impersonal. No one gets to see my face."

You tilted your head, not breaking his gaze. "Not even me?" you asked softly, a subtle challenge in your voice. "Not even the person you're here to protect?"

There was a beat of silence, his eyes dark and unreadable behind the mask. For a moment, you thought he might look away or ignore the question altogether. But then he spoke, his tone a shade more guarded. "Protection is about distance, ma'am. Masks help with that. It's not personal, just how I keep a clear line between my duty and... everything else."

You took a slow breath, absorbing his words. "Clear lines, huh?" You leaned forward, resting your chin on your hand as you studied him, his formidable frame, his stoic face, the shadows that clung to him. "Is that what works best for you, Lieutenant? No attachments, no faces, just the mission?"

He held your gaze, unflinching. "It's what's kept me alive." His answer was calm, unwavering, as though he'd thought it through many times before.

You nodded, acknowledging the harsh reality he lived by. "Well, I suppose I can respect that," you replied, your voice soft but thoughtful. "But you should know, Ghost, this won't be a typical mission. There are things at play here that... don't fit within clear lines."

He didn't respond, but his intense gaze on you seemed to deepen, like he was silently bracing himself for the unknown. Finally, he gave a slight nod, the barest hint of understanding in his eyes.

"Understood," he said, his tone low and resolute. And in that moment, you realized that, for all the distance he wanted to maintain, his presence, steady and unyielding, was exactly what you needed.

"Diego Garcia," you said, your voice quiet but resolute. "The Santiago Cartel."

Ghost's expression darkened. The name carried weight, a reputation steeped in violence. "Diego Garcia," he repeated, his tone grim. "Powerful, ruthless, no ordinary drug lord."

"He's bigger than Valeria Garza. More dangerous than El Sin Nombre."

Ghost's gaze was sharp, intense. "I know. Santiago Cartel is one of the deadliest in Mexico, and Garcia's the head of the snake."

"He's after me," you admitted, feeling the weight of the words as they left your lips.

Ghost's eyes narrowed. "Why?"

"My company produces anti-narcotics," you explained. "We sell the cure. He sells the poison."

Recognition flickered in his eyes. "You're cutting into his profits," he said, understanding dawning. "You make him look weak."

"We're about to launch a new antidote," you continued. "One that blocks the effects of drugs like cocaine, fentanyl. It's still in testing, but it'll be on the market soon."

He nodded slowly, processing it. "The cartel won't let that happen. They'll do whatever it takes to stop you."

You felt a shiver at his words but pushed on. "He's already killed for it. My bodyguards... I watched them die, right in front of me."

A muscle tightened in Ghost's jaw. "He killed them in front of you," he said, his voice low, edged with anger. "Bastard doesn't play by any rules."

"He sent his men. They were armed with M14 rifles. My men didn't stand a chance."

His expression grew grim. "M14s. No wonder your guards didn't make it."

"Laswell suggested you," you continued, watching him closely. "She said if anyone could handle Garcia, it'd be you."

He met your gaze, a flicker of confidence in his eyes. "She's not wrong. I've dealt with men like him before." His voice was calm, unshaken. "And I'll take him down.

"Let me show you around," you said, motioning for him to follow.

Ghost nodded. "Lead the way."

The mansion was sleek and modern, blending luxury with privacy. As you walked through the marble driveway, you passed the tall, solid wooden door into the living room, its polished granite floors gleaming in the light. To the left, a door opened to the swimming pool area, surrounded by greenery. Above, a glass skywalk connected the house, offering a view of the water below.

A spiral staircase led to the second floor where your master bedroom and its luxurious bathroom were located, complete with a Jacuzzi and a high-tech shower. The back lawn opened up to the underground parking area.

As you walked, Ghost took in everything with a sharp, calculating gaze. The mansion wasn't just a home, it was a fortress. Every detail, from the barbed wire to the strategic location, was a reminder of the protection it offered.

"Like what you see?" you asked, watching his reaction.

Ghost's expression was unreadable, but his voice was steady. "It's secure," he said, eyes flicking over the property. "More than most would need."

"It's still smaller than other mansions here," you countered.

"Smaller, yes. But more secure," he said. "Most billionaires settle for an alarm system. You went further."

"The reason I don't go bigger is security," you replied. "I know Diego could breach it, but it's L.A. He'd think twice."

Ghost nodded. "Smart. L.A.'s dangerous, but Garcia would hesitate."

"Good. Let him be intimidated. Makes my job easier."

He shifted his attention back to you. "What about inside? Armed guards?"

"Outside," you said. "The perimeter's covered."

He raised an eyebrow. "Inside?"

"You..." you trailed off, letting him fill in the rest.

Part 2

Part 3

Pic credit: VhenanVirabelasan

https://www.instagram.com/vhenan_virabelasan?igsh=MWpmdnVzaXN5czYyZg==

[emeritusemeritus]

Rough sex with reader with both Weasley twins? Just after a hard day at Weasley Wizard Wheezes, both men are pent up with the amount of problems that had in just literally one day. This could range from a customer to you possibly trying to tease the shit out of them before fleeing away. 🤭 I hope this isn’t too big of an idea and I’ll leave the rest up to by you. 🫶

Hi Anon! Please accept this offering as a token of my appreciation 🖤 I set it at Christmas time for reasons unknown to me, mostly because I thought it would be super busy?

Warnings: SMUT. Piv, blowjobs, oral (f&m receiving) use of Angel/baby/sweetheart/princess. Slightly Dom/sub behaviours. Rough sex. Cumplay. Polyamory, kind of?

Word count: 3k (of pure smut)

Yuletide stress relief.

Weasley's Wizard Wheezes was bursting with shoppers since the moment the doors had opened that morning, a sea of people already lined up right down the street stretching all the way down past Ollivanders. Since the moment the doors had opened, it had been non-stop work with customers who were packed in like sardines across all five floors of the shop, desperately searching for Christmas presents for their loved ones.

Although he was always thankful for the success of their business, Fred was completely exhausted and a little worn down by the relentlessness of the day.

He'd been up early, having to leave the two warm bodies in the comfy bed, and had dressed quickly, not even stopping to get a cup of tea or any breakfast and had gone straight to the office to sort out a cash discrepancy he'd noticed upon closing last night. After recounting all the gold from yesterday and revising all the paperwork, he had eventually found the accounting issue and then had to redo all the paperwork.

George turned up to help with opening the store and they'd quickly discovered that they were running low of the Peruvian instant darkness powder crystals which would be a devastating loss to their business this close to Christmas with it being one of their best sellers and the top money spinner.

Fred had once again climbed the multiple stairs to the office and had checked in the books, seeing that a shipment was actually due to arrive this week but when he looked at the number ordered, he realised the grave mistake he'd made. Instead of ordering it in individual batches like usual, he'd confused the numbers and had ordered 60 crates instead which would be a massive overbuy and therefore a massive overspend. It was imported from Peru and the cost of shipping was astronomical, so he had really made a grave mistake. Not only that but the darkness powder had a relatively short shelf life compared to some of their other products and so it could be a complete financial loss.

Running his hands over his face and through his hair, he made his way down the stairs to begrudgingly tell his twin of his error, only to realise that the store was already open and the shop was already packed with customers needing help left, right and center. He'd not taken a single break that day nor stopped for any lunch, working right through as the heavy flow of customers never dwindled. A kid had knocked over a display of wonderwitch products requiring a massive cleanup, even though the child's mother had cast a spell to prevent the rest from falling and it had fallen to Fred to clean up the mess, seeing that his twin was currently helping a large family, Verity was stuck with a line of customers at the till and their temporary Christmas staff were all dotted about busy with other tasks.

He'd thought multiple times during the day to send you an owl to ask you to help out, but he'd never actually got the chance to slip away for long enough. He knew you'd come if he asked but he also didn't want to bother you on your day off, knowing that you were spending it at the Burrow with his mum, busy making preparations for Christmas next week.

When the doors to the shop closed around 7pm and the last of the customers trailed out of the store around 10 minutes past, Fred let out a sigh of relief as he flicked his wand and cast the closing spells, locking the doors.

He couldn't even bring himself to make conversation with his twin, who in striking contact to himself was buzzing from the successful day. He trudged up the stairs, not trusting himself to apparate into the office in his exhaustion; the last thing he needed today was to get splinched because he wasn't paying enough attention.

He was nearly finished with the nightly paperwork when the door to the office creaked open and you walked through with a wide smile on your face, seeing him for the first time that day. Usually he loved to see your smile, even more so when he knew it was because of him, but after the day he'd had and the foul mood that had settled within him, the smile on your face only exasperated how he was feeling, resenting the fact that you'd had a much easier day than him.

"Hey Freddie," you said with a smile, walking over to him and hopping up on the desk. He looked dishevelled to say the least, his jacket thrown off, shirt sleeves rolled up his forearms and tie hanging loosely around his neck, clearly having been loosed hastily. He looked unbelievably hot, like his hand had been repeatedly running through his hair making that ultra sexy dishevelled look.

He hardly looked up, which you thought was strange, simply nodding his head as if to tell you that he'd heard you and acknowledging your presence.  Realising he was busy, you move to hop off the desk ready to walk away, immediately feeling like you were intruding and bothering him.

"Princess wait,” he says, stopping you from walking away, casting his arm out to grab at you. He pauses when he feels your bare skin under his hand, your dress having ridden up when you climbed onto the desk. For the first time, his eyes flick up to you, specifically your bare thigh that his hand is wrapped around.

The sudden change in atmosphere seems to affect you almost instantly. His eyes are piercing, dark as they look at your skin under his hand and you don’t need to be a skilled occlumens to know exactly what is going through his mind. When his hand squeezes down on your flesh, you know exactly what he’s thinking and you can’t help but feel a little flushed with the influx of arousal that spreads through your body.

For the first time, his gaze travels across your body and up towards your face until he’s looking in your eyes. It’s tense for a moment when nothing happens until he suddenly stands from the chair, right in front of you and nudging your legs apart until they’re pulled taught either side of his hips. His tongue pokes out and wets his lips as he gazes at you hungrily and you can almost see your chest rising and falling with the sudden need to take deep breaths to calm yourself.

“Wanna be my good girl?” He says, leaning down slightly, towering over you as his hands dance along the hemline of your dress, thumbs teasing the skin of your thighs as your legs part even wider automatically. He smirks to himself, not missing the way your body always submits to him so willingly as he takes a step back. You nod, staring up at him with wide, imploring eyes awaiting your instruction.

Your gaze follows his hands as they pull away from your thighs and go straight to his belt, unlooping it, opening up his belt buckle and pulling open the buttons until he can free himself. He reaches into his underwear and pulls out his hardening cock as you watch on desperately, mouth watering at the sight.

“Suck it baby,” he says with a slight coo, “want your beautiful lips around me.”

You do as your told almost immediately, maintaining eye contact with him as you slip down off the desk so that you’re eye level with his perfect clock. Ensuring that he’s watching your every move, you timidly stick out your tongue and lock all around the head of his cock, watching closely as his eyes close on their own accord, a heavy breath falling from his lips. You take his rapidly hardening cock into your mouth seconds later, as much as you can and give one long, drawn out suck that causes him to let out a low, breathy moan. You bob up and down on his cock, running your tongue against the prominent veins underneath and try to take more and more in your mouth just like you know he likes. His hand rests in your hair but he does it to feel, not to control as gorgeous intimate moans fall from his lips, his eyes flicking between watching you and closing in pleasure.

“Well this is a sight,” you hear from behind you, making you moan against Fred’s cock. You pull off Fred’s cock, a string of spit trailing between you and his swollen member as you turn your head towards George who looks at you with a lustful gaze. You’re buzzing with arousal, being caught with a mouth full of cock, feeling so dirty by the thought.

“Princess,” Fred says, pulling your attention back to him as you slowly lick all up the sensitive underside before taking him back into your mouth.

George appears by your side in moments and begins unbuckling his own suit trousers, freeing himself and reaching down for your hand as he moves to stand beside Fred. Your hand wraps around his length and you stroke it just how he likes, feeling him harden in your hand.

Both of them moan out at the same time when you switch sides, taking George in your mouth and wrapping your hand around Fred, feasting on them both. You alternate between the twins, your hands never leaving their cocks as you give them pleasure, enjoying the glorious sounds they are unashamedly making.

As soon as you take Fred into your mouth, George slips out of your grasp and reaches for your dress, tearing at it and pulling it open until your breasts spill out, having taken off your bra the moment you got in. You gasp, feeling your nipples harden under the cold air and the feeling of being exposed and it’s mere seconds before George’s hands greedily grab at them.

Fred pulls you off his cock, his hand gently cupping your jaw as he looks at you with lust blown eyes for a second before turning to his twin who seems to have the same idea.

In a manoeuvre so slick it surprised you, Fred picks you up and exits the office with a slight slam of the door, carrying you bridal style all the way through the apartment until he places you on the bed. You watch as George steps through the doors, looking at them both eyeing you hungrily with their cocks still out and you have to bite your lip, so overwhelmingly aroused and untouched that it’s near painful.

George steps forward first, crawling up your body on the bed until he leads you into a surprisingly passionate kiss. Whilst you’re kissing George, you feel Fred reach up your dress and pull down your underwear, the wet gusset feeling heavy, drenched in your arousal. Your hips flail trying to make contact as you spread your legs, hearing Fred curse at the sight in front of him.

George pulls away and gives you a little smirk before he begins to kiss down your body, stopping to feast on your heaving chest before he carries on further and further downwards until his lips ghost over your mound.

The second his tongue laps as your heated, wet flesh you cry out, back arching in pleasure. You look down and see his eyes watching you as he feasts on your cunt, lips and tongue already working you perfectly as he sucks and slurps at your clit.

Fred appears next to you and holds out his cock for you to take back into your mouth, the angle a little awkward but your make do. It’s so sinfully dirty having one twin feasting on your cunt whilst you suck off the other one and you can’t help but feel your climax building already, so worked up.

“I don’t think so Angel,” George says, pulling away from your weeping cunt, hips undulating desperately as your climax fades. “When you cum it’s going to be on our cocks.”

Both twins pull away from you as they quickly throw off the rest of their clothes and you sit up on the bed, tits exposed in your ripped dressed waiting for them.

George gets to you first, pulling you in for a scorching kiss as his hands wander, gathering the material of your dress in his fists. It’s quick and oh so arousing when he suddenly reaches out and manhandles you, flipping you over until you’re on your front, hips high in the air for him. He pushes up the material of your dress, completely exposing you to their gaze and you bite your lip once again when you hear their breathy moans, curses and playful banter, talking about your pretty little wet cunt.

George’s cock slips between your wet lips with ease, your gasps only fuelling his desire to get inside you. The second he slips inside you cry out in ecstasy, finally feeling full just like you needed. He’s rough and sets a brutal pace almost instantly, both of you keyed up enough to take it.

“You like that Angel? You like when I’m rough with you?” His deep voice says from behind you, making your clench around him. “Mmm yeah you do, dirty girl.”

Fred slips beside you on the bed and captures your lips into a blistering kiss, his big hands squeezing at your bouncing tits, thumbs stroking over your hard nipples. You cry out about into Fred’s mouth as George shifts and gets even deeper.

“Fuuuuck that’s it baby, use me just like that, fuck yourself on me,” he cries out when you begin to meet his hard thrusts, arching your back further.

It’s dirty and messy, the feel of their hands on you, Fred’s on your tits and George’s gripping your hips tight as he controls your movements. You can feel him start to lose his tempo, thrusts getting sloppy and harder until he’s fucking you with force, no doubt watching as your ass jiggles for him.

“Fuck gonna make me cum Angel, oh fuck!” He cries out as you clench him again, making your pussy even tighter around his sensitive cock.

You reach out for Fred’s spare hand as George starts to cum, hips slamming into yours as your moans mix with George’s and echo through the bedroom. You feel like you can feel every single shot of cum filling you as George roars, his load shooting deep inside you as he continues sloppily thrusting in and out of you.

Fred gives you almost no time to recover when George pulls away breathless. He pulls you up, pulls you into a dangerously arousing kiss as he peels the useless fabric away from your frame, leaving you completely nude for him. He turns you around and lays you on the bed before slipping inside your open legs, grabbing them and throwing them over his shoulders.

You’re already oversensitive pussy burns in the most delicious way as you feel the weight of his impossibly hard cock hitting your clit. You cry out, reaching for your breasts as he devilishly taps his cock on your clit, rubbing and giving you the most delicious friction just like you need. He slips his cock inside you and you scream out, feeling him deep inside you, deeper than George had been, your body so sensitive and needy for an orgasm. He leans forward and puts his hands either side of your head, contorting you exactly as he wants you, leans down to give you a single kiss and a smirk before he draws his hips back and slams back inside you. Your whole body rocks with the movement, his pace already fast and brutal as he fucks into you for all he’s worth. It’s nasty and dirty, the mix of his brutal thrusts and teasing smirk and you claw at his back as you cry out. He curses and groans with each thrust as your pussy grips him, climax building deep in your belly.

“Fred, fuck!” You cry out, his cock staying deep inside you as he gives you short, hard thrusts, your clit rubbing deliciously on his pubic bone.

“That’s it sweetheart, fuck you’re so tight, cum for me baby, cum on me.”

Your orgasm hits you out of nowhere, his voice so arousing, his words so demanding that your body submits to him instantly. You can’t stop moaning as he continues to fuck you through your orgasm, his own rapidly approaching. His arms bulge under his own weight, a delicious sight as you canter your hips to meet his thrusts, watching as his eyes close, his face scrunching up.

“Freddie cum for me, cum Freddie!”

It’s a shock when his blistering hot cum suddenly shoots out and hits your chest, your tits covered right across to your neck and your chin. He pants, slipping back into his knees as he looks at you, so perfectly defiled and covered in his cum.

“You’re bloody perfect,” he says breathlessly with a slight laugh, the sensations overwhelming him as he looks at you. When you take a single finger and trace it across your breast, scooping up a little bit of his cum before bringing it up to your lips to suck on he looks at you in amazement, mouth contorting into a little ‘o’ shape.

“Dirty girl,” George says, making you turn in his direction, so consumed by Fred that you’d not even considered where he’d gone. He runs a warm washcloth over you, cleaning up his and his twins mess as you smile at him tiredly. “You did so well for us.”

You laze in between completely naked and free between the two equally naked bodies for a little while, your legs feeling like jelly as George strokes your hair and Fred holds you tightly.

“So did you steal us any Christmas cookies?”

“On the counter,” you say tiredly with a knowing smile.

It takes less than three seconds before both twins race out of bed and run straight towards the kitchen as you laugh at them, their very naked arses jiggling in the gentle lamp light.

[50calmadeuce]

Ch. 41: Court - Dorian Again Con't

Warning: Mention of miscarriage. Some chapters have sex.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction using characters from the Top Gun: Maverick world, trademarked by Paramount Pictures Corporation. I do not claim ownership of the characters and the world that I am borrowing.

The story and situation I am creating are a work of my imagination and I do not ascribe them to official story canon. This work is for entertainment only and is not a part of the storyline.

I am not profiting financially from the creation and publication of this story, but I do hope it gives you happy thoughts.

These stories are my own, so please do not take them and use them for yourself without my permission. If you see them somewhere else, please let me know. :)

Dorian's attorney slowly approached the witness stand. "Dr. Stryker. You stated in your last statement that you and Dr. Seresin are married and the child she is currently carrying is yours."

"Yes," Dorian agreed.

Mr. Rowe walked over to his desk and grabbed a piece of paper. "I'd like to submit the marriage certificate of Dr. Stryker and Dr. Seresin."

Your eyes widened in surprise, and Dunby glanced at you. You shrugged and shook your head, equally astonished.

Mr. Rowe handed the marriage certificate to the judge, who examined it carefully before raising an eyebrow. "Mr. Rowe, this document claims that Dr. Seresin is married to Dr. Stryker, but this contradicts the testimony we’ve already heard. Do you have any explanation for this?"

Mr. Dunby stood up, visibly irritated. "Your Honor, this is clearly fraudulent. Dr. Seresin has already testified about her marriage to Lieutenant Jake Seresin. This document cannot be legitimate. I have right here the marriage certificate of Jake and Y/N Seresin."

The judge nodded as the bailiff walked over and grabbed the paper from Mr. Dunby and walked it over to the judge.

Dorian’s attorney remained calm. "Your Honor, we believe that this document will prove to be genuine and that it was obtained under legally binding circumstances."

The judge reviewed both marriage certificates, his expression growing more serious with each passing moment. "Mr. Rowe, I now have two conflicting marriage certificates in front of me. One for Dr. Y/N Seresin and Lieutenant Jake Seresin, and another for Dr. Y/N Seresin and Dr. Dorian Stryker. This is a serious matter, and we will need to resolve this discrepancy immediately."

Mr. Dunby stepped forward. "Your Honor, we request that the so-called marriage certificate between Dr. Stryker and Dr. Seresin be reviewed by a forensic document expert. It’s clear to me that Dr. Stryker is attempting to manipulate this court, and my client has already testified to the truth."

Dorian sat quietly, his eyes fixed on you, while his attorney tried to regain control of the situation. "Your Honor, we are confident that the authenticity of this document will hold up under scrutiny. Dr. Stryker and Dr. Seresin have a complicated history, and we ask that the court consider all the facts before passing judgment."

The judge leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers. "Very well. I will order an immediate review of these documents. Until we have clarity on this issue, we will adjourn for the day. Court will reconvene tomorrow at 9 AM."

With that, he banged his gavel, and the tension in the room broke as people began to file out. You, still in shock, couldn’t shake the feeling that things were about to get even more complicated.

You walked out of the courthouse with Mr. Dunby, Max and Chuck right behind.

Dunby stopped and looked at you. "Where the hell did he get a marriage certificate with your name on it?"

You shrugged. "I have no clue. I know I signed a lot of stuff during the first time we worked together and when we created the book."

Mr. Dunby rubbed his temples, clearly frustrated. "We’ll need to go over everything you signed back then. He might have slipped something in without you realizing."

Max stepped in. "If he forged your signature or tricked you into signing something, we’ll find out. Dorian's desperate, and he's trying to pull every trick in the book."

Chuck chimed in, his voice steady. "We’ll get to the bottom of this, Doc. No way he can get away with something like this."

You nodded, feeling a mix of frustration and disbelief. "I just don’t understand how he managed to pull this off. I mean, I’ve only ever been married to Jake."

Dunby sighed, his expression growing more determined. "We’ll look into every document tied to that time. If he slipped something into the paperwork, we'll catch it. You’re only married to Jake, and we'll prove that in court." He pat your shoulder. "I'll stop by later and we'll go over some things."

"You might as well just come over for dinner. I know how much you enjoy Chuck's cooking." You took a deep breath, grateful for the support from all of them. "Thanks, all of you. I’m just ready to put this nightmare behind me."

Max added, "And we will. One step at a time."

Dunby looked at you. "Have you spoken to Jake lately?"

You shook your head. "No and I have no clue where he is or what he's doing. Welcome to being married to a fighter pilot."

Dunby reached out and placed his hand on your shoulder. "It's okay. We may not need him, but if you talk to him, give him my information."

You nodded. "I will."

"Now. Go and get some rest. I'll see you later."

As you nodded and walked away from the courthouse, you felt the weight of everything that had happened so far. The day had been overwhelming, but you knew that rest was necessary if you were going to continue fighting tomorrow.

Later that evening, Dunby stopped by and the two of you sat on the couch. He pulled some papers out of his brief case and set them down in front of you.

"Do you recognize these?"

You looked at one that said Wyoming Marriage Certificate. It had your signature along with Dorian's.

You shook your head. "No. I don't."

You looked at the date. "This apparently was done while I was working on the grant then."

"And what about this one?" he asked as he set another marriage certificate in front of her. This one said Texas Marriage certificate.

"Yeah! I had to sign that after the officiant married Jake and I."

Dunby nodded, his brow furrowed in thought as he studied both documents. "The Texas certificate is legitimate, no doubt about that. But this Wyoming one… it looks convincing, but if you don't remember signing it, something's not right."

You stared at the Wyoming certificate, feeling a mix of confusion and anger. "I never married Dorian. I would remember something like that."

Dunby leaned back, tapping his fingers on the arm of the couch. "I believe you. But we’ll need to prove that this Wyoming certificate was forged or obtained under false pretenses. The timing, with you working on the grant, could have been when he slipped this in without your knowledge."

You sighed, rubbing your temples. "It makes sense, I signed so many things back then. I didn’t read every little thing, and I trusted him professionally."

"We’ll dig deeper," Dunby assured you.

Your cellphone rang and you looked to see who it was. It was Jake!

You answered and placed him on speaker phone.

"Hey, babe!" you answered excitedly. "You're on speaker phone and you called at the perfect time. Mr. Dunby wants to talk to you.

"Hey, darlin'. That's fine."

You held the phone out towards Mr. Dunby.

"Hello, Lieutenant Seresin," he said.

"Mr. Dunby. How is the case going?" Jake asked curiously.

"Well, that's what I want to talk about. I know you and Y/N didn't really talk much for four years, but Dr. Stryker brought up a marriage certificate between him and Y/N while she was in Wyoming."

Jake sighed and you could tell he was upset. "Is it legit?"

"It looks like it, but we also have your marriage certificate from Texas."

"Then you should be fine."

"Yes and I hate to ask this, but you didn't file for a divorce while separated, did you?"

"No. I wouldn't do that. I may have been a shitty husband for four years, but I would've talked to Y/N if I wanted that."

Mr. Dunby nodded, clearly relieved. "That’s good to hear, Jake. We just needed to be sure. This whole situation with Dr. Stryker is complicated enough, and the last thing we need is any confusion about your marriage."

Jake's jaw tightened, clearly frustrated. "I can't believe this guy is pulling this kind of stunt. How did he even manage to get her signature?"

"That’s what we’re trying to figure out. Y/N doesn’t remember signing anything like that. It might have been slipped in with other documents when they were working together," Dunby explained.

Jake sighed.

"Lieutenant. Is there any way you could come to the hearing? Even if it's virtual?"

"I can talk to my superior and let you know."

"That would be great. I'll let you talk to Y/N now." Mr. Dunby stood up and went to the kitchen.

You took the phone off of speaker and placed it to your ear. "Ok. It's just me now."

"How are you holding up, Y/N?"

You sighed. "As best as I can."

Jake's voice softened. "I wish I could be there with you. This whole thing sounds like a mess."

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see you. "It is. I never expected Dorian to pull something like this, especially not with a fake marriage certificate. It's exhausting."

"I know," Jake replied, his tone filled with concern. "But you’re strong, and we’ll figure it out. I hate that I can’t be there right now, but you’re not alone in this."

"Thanks," you whispered. "It helps to hear you say that. I just want all of this to be over."

"I meant what I said, Y/N. I may have been a douche of a husband for four years, but if I did want a divorce, I would've talked to you in person."

"I know, Jake," you acknowledged.

"I don't know how I got so lucky to have someone like you in my life."

You smiled. "You're not the only lucky one, Jake," you said softly.

"I love you, Y/N. I'm going to go talk to Maverick and see what I can do to help with this trial," he said.

"I love you, too. Let me know what you find out."

"I will. Talk to you later."

With that, he hung up his phone.

Tags: @buckysteveloki-me @bellyliveslife @tgmreader @callsign-barbelle @86laura11 @dizzybee03 @kmc1989 @guacam011y @nerdgirljen @hookslove1592 @dempy @djs8891 @smoothdogsgirl @devil-angel-winchester

[thegoldensanctuary]

Part VII Louis XIV’s Final Summer Set (N⁰ 1984)

The fate of this set is, like its entry, somewhat perplexing as contemporary sources contradict one another. Memorialists of the time claim that instead of inheriting the set, the Duke of Tresmes, First Gentleman of the Room, received financial compensation [162], while the Garde-Meuble, on the other hand, maintains that the Duke did in fact inherit the set alongside those present in the Antechamber and Cabinet [163]. The latter version is the most plausible, as it explains both the absence of set 1984 from the 1729 general inventory and the decision to create a new summer set for the bedchamber upon Louis XV’s return to Versailles in 1723.

Furthermore, the death inventory of the Duke of Tresmes in 1739 mentions a satin Persian-style crimson background, present on the second floor of his townhouse under the number 135 [164], corresponding to the set described in the death inventory of King Louis XIV, which was meant to be inherited by the Duke.

page from the Duke of Tresmes Death Inventory, Number 135 AN MC ET II 473

7.1 The Tapestry Itself

The brocades used in the creation of set 1984 came from earlier deliveries in 1687 and 1688 by the Parisian fabric supplier Charlier. Indeed, at the end of the 1705 entry, we learn that Lallié used brocades numbered 96, 991, 116, and 128 for the bed, seats, footrest cushions, tablecloth, and fire screen, described as “a satin Persian-style brocade,” also referred to as the small-pattern brocade. Brocades 95 and 98, called the large-pattern brocade, were used for the bed and alcove tapestry. These brocades were described on July 23, 1686, as “pieces of brocade one ell wide, with crimson background with patterns of gold and silver in Persian colors” [165]. The delivery of brocade 98 can be traced to February 4, 1687 [166]. Jules Guiffrey reconstructed a more complete description of the brocade by combining elements mentioned in several sources: “Five pieces of rich brocade, one ell wide, with crimson red satin background; featuring compartments, cornucopias, scrolls, and flowers woven in gold and silver, with contours around the ornaments in violet, green, and blue silk, in the Persian style, made by Mr. Charlier of Paris” [167]. For the 1705 delivery, eight pieces of large brocade were destined for the alcove tapestry alongside seven pieces of column brocade. These column brocades were part of a delivery from November 29, 1688, by Gautier and manufactured in Lyon. They were described as “columns of rich brocade with vine branches and grapes, with a base and capital woven in gold and silver, twisted, with musk, on a crimson satin background” [168] and received the number 124. Designs featuring twisted brocade columns were fashionable at the time; Swedish diplomat Cronström even discussed similar ones in his correspondence with Swedish royal architect Tessin, where they considered possible decor for royal apartments in Sweden. Cronström wrote, “One could also take satins from Turin and have twisted columns and borders or friezes made, cut according to the design of Mr. Berain. All of this would be appropriate, new, and in good taste.” Mr. Berain was indeed the royal ornamentalist for the King of France. The column designs Cronström referenced, which he sketched, are now in the Stockholm National Museum collection.

National Museum, Stockholm, NMH CC 1382 recto

This layout, however, differs from the one described in the King’s bedchamber at King Louis XIV’s death, where set 1984 is mentioned with an alcove tapestry of only five pieces of large brocade alongside six pieces of column brocade [169]. Moreover, the dimensions of the alcove tapestry as described in 1705 far exceed the size of the bedchamber’s western wall, given that each large piece of brocade was one French ell wide (1.18m) and the brocade column half that width, totaling 13.6 meters (44.52 ft). This discrepancy suggests set 1984 was used in the Versailles King’s bedchamber almost incidentally rather than as a planned choice. This discrepancy in the alcove layout of 1715 featured only five pieces of the large brocade, each one ell wide, and six pieces of column brocade, each half an ell wide, totaling eight French ells or 9.44 meters (31 ft), which is much closer to the actual dimension of the King’s alcove.

7.2 The Bed

The main element of set 1984 was its state bed, with its impressive dimensions. Its components were:

• No Headboard: None of the descriptions indicate the presence of a headboard.

• The Headcloth: Made of two pieces of the large brocade according to the 1705 Garde-Meuble diary [170] and four according to the 1715 death inventory [171].

• The Valences: Both the 1705 and 1715 entries spare details on the main fabric used, only noting crimson satin lining. It could be inferred that they were crimson to match the background of the brocade. Large gold fringes formed festoons at the bottom [172], and this style of valence, different from the previously used campanes, was increasingly popular at the time. Similar ones appear in a painting by Louis Silvestre depicting Louis XIV Receiving the Prince Elector of Saxony in his Fontainebleau bedchamber near the end of his life.

: Louis XIV reçoit à Fontainebleau le prince-électeur de Saxe, 27 septembre 1714, Louis de Silvestre and Hyacinthe Rigaud, oil on canvas, 1715, 120 x 155 cm, Château de Versailles, MV 4344

• The Curtains: Two bonnes grâces, four curtains, and two cantonières are mentioned, with gold fringes at the edges and bottom, lined with the same fabric. The brocade used is not specified, but we can infer that it was the smaller pattern given that the headcloth, mentioned afterward, is said to have been of “the larger pattern brocade,” implying the curtains were not.

• The Quilt: See above.

• The Case Curtain: Made of crimson gros de Tours taffeta, with gold fringes at the bottom and edges, hanging from a golden rod.

• The Columns: The two front columns were placed in a sheath of large-pattern brocade.

• The Vases/Finials: Four in total (one at each corner), filled with feathers and covered in the large-pattern brocade.

7.3 The Armchairs and Stools

Two armchairs were included in the 1705 delivery [173] and three in 1715 [174]. We can assume that an additional armchair was added once the set was transferred to the bedchamber, possibly used with the table. They were garnished with gold fringes at the bottom, and their wood was surprisingly painted red with gold floral decorations. The brocade used was the small pattern, specifically brocades 96, 99, 116, and 128 as described on July 23, 1686: “Two pieces of brocade, two feet wide, with crimson background and elevated patterns in gold and silver with Persian colors” [175]. In 1886, Jules Guiffrey attempted to enhance that vague description by referencing entries from the brocade chapter of the 1729 general inventory and brocade discharges from set 1984, creating this more precise description of the small pattern brocade of number 96: “Two pieces of brocade, two feet wide, with crimson satin background, cornucopias, rinceaux, and flowers of elevated gold and silver, with outlines in green and purple silk, in the Persian style, from the Charlier manufacture in Paris” [176]. The specifics of the colors are consistent with brocade discharges noted at the end of the entry for set 1984 [177].

The twelve folding stools were similar in terms of brocade and style to the armchairs, with gold fringes and woods painted in red with some gilded ornaments.

6.4 The Fire Screen

The fire screen was similar to the seats, with the small-pattern brocade, gold braids around the edges, and wood painted to match the fabric. A braid with a lead pear covered with gold bouquets is also mentioned [178].

7.5 The Table and Tablecloth

The set came with a tablecloth made of the smaller brocade, with fringes on the sides and at the bottom, lined with taffeta, along with a red leather table rug with gold fringes. The table mentioned in the 1715 death inventory under these tablecloths was likely the fir table previously listed in the 1708 inventory and used with set 1379 (see Part 6.6) [179].

7.6 The Portières Tapestries

At the time of the 1705 delivery, no portières were included, and they only appear in the 1715 death inventory [180]. They were made from five pieces of brocade each and described as “assorted to the one of the bed.” Each of the four doors was equipped with one, embellished with gold fringes on their sides, and lined with crimson taffeta.

6.7 The Portieres Tapestries

At the time of the 1705 delivery, no portieres were included; they are only mentioned in the 1715 death inventory [160]. Made from five pieces of brocade each and “assorted to the one on the bed,” each of the four doors was equipped with one. They were embellished with gold fringes on their sides and lined with crimson taffeta.

[135] AN O1/3308 f⁰ 9 r⁰

[136] AN O1/3298 folder 3, item 4, f⁰ 1

[137] Verlet 1961 and Castelluccio 2016 mention set 1379 while omitting set 1984, while Meyer 1980 and Richard 2018 mention set 1984 while omitting set 1379.

[138] Hans 2022 confuses sets 1379 and 1984 and provides a description combining elements from both sets.

[139] AN O1/3308 f⁰ 9 r⁰

[140] Ibid f⁰ 134

[141] AN O1/3298 folder 3, item 4, f⁰ 2 v⁰

[142] The folio 135 of the 1705 Garde-Meuble diary (AN O1/3308) is missing.

[143] Saint-Simon, tome XXIII, p. 213; Dangeau Journal, éd. E. Soulié, Paris, Firmin Didot, 1854-1860, tome XVII, p. 177

[144] AN O1/3298 folder 3, item 2

[145] AN MC/ET/II 473

[146] AN O1/3306 f⁰ 31 v⁰

[147] Ibid f⁰ 59 v⁰

[148] Guiffrey, Jules. Inventaire général du mobilier de la couronne sous Louis XIV (1663-1715), deuxième partie. Paris: Au siège de la société, 1886, p. 198

[149] Ibid f⁰ 111 r⁰

[150] AN O1/3298

[151] AN O1/3308 f⁰ 7 v⁰

[152] AN O1/3298

[153] AN O1/3308 f⁰ 7 v⁰

[154] AN O1/3308 f⁰ 7 v⁰

[155] AN O1/3298

[156] AN O1/3306 f⁰ 31 v⁰

[157] Guiffrey, Inventaire général du mobilier de la couronne sous Louis XIV, 1886 edition, vol. 2, p. 198

[158] AN O1/3308 f⁰ 8 r⁰

[159] Ibid

[160] Ibid

[kimlerde]

Booking market

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While 1xbet offers a range of betting options, it is clear that addressing these ongoing bookmaker complaints is crucial for enhancing user satisfaction. Consistently negative feedback regarding handling disputes and customer interactions suggests the need for improvements in communication and service delivery.

[joefangs]

There are so many discrepancies if we compare season 1 Louis' memories and season 2 recollections of his. He made Lestat look almost bad, devilish in season 1, blamed everything on him, and stayed clean with Claudia. In season 2, we can finally see the issues with his memories of Lestat. Even in season 1 Louis changed his words in front of Daniel. In S2 it kind of proved that Louis' collections were muddled. He changed his memories way too many times. At last he admitted to go on with Lestat's version. I mean, I know and I can confirm that Lestat has always been good as far as the definition of "a good vampire" can go, and all the things Louis said about him are not all true.

If I go according to the books, Interview with the vampire and The Vampire Lestat are two different books with different Lestats to be precise. TV Louis said that Lestat didn't hesitate to kill, but the book Lestat from the second book, said he made a grave mistake of making Claudia ( About who, he said that he loved his dark daughter, and he didn't want that fate for her. He regretted making a young fledgling because Marius warned him about his mistake of creating Armand that young) and other than that he vowed to never kill any innocents. He only killed the damned ones, and the ones who were about to die. Also, got me thinking, how can he kill innocent people, when he took care of his family in France, who were all human. Even his mother opposed his actions, but Lestat didn't listen. So, how can a century old vampire, who still cares about his human family, gives them financial support all along, can kill mercilessly. It just didn't add to my wits. Most important of all, he loved Louis, more than Nicki even and admitted it over and over again. He longed to be with Louis, not because he always felt lonely, but because he loved Louis the most, so much that he rejected Armand in the book.

Louis' recollections of Lestat in season 1 is filled with somewhat hatred, because at that moment he thought Armand was his saviour. In S2, he started to have some clarity, mostly thanks to Daniel, and finally we know what happened.

In the book, Lestat was there at the Theatre the Vampire, he did accuse Claudia for his attempted murder, but let me tell you, he wasn't even in his right mind at that time. Even so, at that time he didn't accuse his Louis, and looked for his love, asked Armand, who (the B***h he is) lied to him about Louis' whereabouts. Lestat was somehow tricked by Armand, his thinking didn't work, as he mentioned that everything went in a trance, and after he accused Claudia, he was taken away forcibly, and he screamed Louis, Louis but with no avail, and they again fed him blood, and he forgot everything. I think Armand used magic, or he fed something to Lestat so he doesn't protest. After all of these, Lestat looked for Louis, and asked Armand to help him, and that BHole said he will not.

So, what I can surmise is, whatever you watched in S1, do not entirely believe it. This is mostly because, Lestat wasn't the one who lost his mind and hurt his Louis entirely. Louis was the pioneer of trouble in their home. He wasn't satisfied, he didn't accept the dark gift completely, and despised Lestat for that. That physical fight between them you can see, Lestat was hurt the most, both physically and mentally. And now I understand, why Louis kept seeing Dreamstat over and over again. Because, his guilt made him conjure Lestat everytime he thought he wanted a "home" with Armand.

Finally, the last episode depicted almost what The Vampire Lestat book has. They didn't show it, but Louis came back to Lestat, which he said was 'you came back to me'. Here, Lestat talks about a world tour, which is his rock concert in San Francisco. Here, Louis asks him to take him, and Lestat complies ecstatically. Also, they hugged compassiontely after meeting each other, just as they showed in the series. However, TV version displayed it as a part of Interview with the Vampire book, which is in reality from the book The Vampire Lestat.

[gumjrop]

In August, Pennsylvania announced that it would join several countries and 11 other states in the U.S. to allow residents to change their legal gender marker to X, instead of choosing between M and F. Today, more than 7,000 people in the U.S. alone currently have gender X markers on official identification, though not all states allow the marker on all legal forms.

As groups of intersex, trans, and non-binary people continue the fight for an official third gender option in all states and regions, the experiences of those who have been able to change their gender markers to X differ. While some say the change has been massively affirming, others point out that discrepancy between different forms can complicate things. And still others have been surprised by how little they’ve had to think about it since—which may just be the best part.

To better understand what it’s like to actually live with an X gender marker, we asked seven non-binary people who’ve made the change what it’s been like for them.

Jack(ie) Colquitt, 22

[When I changed my gender marker], I was finally able to openly proclaim how I see myself and how I want the world to see me, and this marked the beginning of those perspectives being synonymous. I felt validated in such a specific and monumental way, and [it] made me feel free!

It was less difficult [to change] than liberating, but the slight difficulty did come with worrying how people would react. The world is still getting used to the singular “they” and to gender-neutral identities. But that’s what made it more-so liberating, being able to be a part of a nationwide spotlight being shone on GNC people was euphoric! It’s a small victory; it was beneficial in that it simply made me feel seen, and that’s all that really mattered.

Sometimes [people understand what it means], and sometimes they don’t. It depends on the people, and it’s sometimes easy and sometimes tedious to explain. But it is always worth the effort. Whoever is out there reading this and thinking about whether or not they should make this decision: if you do it for you, and no one else, it will be one of the best decisions you can make.

AC Dumlao, 28

I changed my NYC birth certificate gender marker to X in February 2019. It affirms my identity as non-binary. It was not difficult to change. The self-attestation form is very straightforward and does not require a doctor/therapist note. I simply affirmed that I am non-binary and signed my name to it, and had a notary sign off on it. I do want to note that there is a financial barrier as well as the barrier of finding a notary that one feels comfortable with. I rarely show my birth certificate, so the change was more personal to affirm myself and because it’s something I could do. I think it will be more significant when New York State Drivers Licenses allow the X gender marker.

Chanlar Rose, 22

I identify as non-binary. I actually changed my gender marker very recently, within the past few weeks. This change was something that I had thought about for awhile. In some ways, I felt that it would give me more validation and autonomy when I navigate through spaces in my city. I’ve found that some people are really confused by it, and often in conversations regarding gender markers, I find that people bring up wanting to know what I, or others that identify like I do, were assigned at birth. That can be pretty frustrating and you can tell that some people don’t understand how or why that could be intrusive (because essentially they just wanna know what’s in your pants). Most of the time people just act like I’m a woman anyway, unless I’m in spaces where people are more inclusive. I’m really happy that I changed my gender marker, because it was mostly about me being authentic and honest with myself and the world.

Aidan Hill, 26

I began the process on January 1, 2018. It’s important to me to live authentically with the rights and opportunities provided to everyone under this constitution. Since 2017, coming out as trans/non-binary was a pinnacle of my life, leading me to run for Berkeley City Council for the November 2018 election, desiring to become the U.S.’s first legally non-binary public office holder, pushing for the gender marker X through the legal system. Since then, I have recognized the much-needed importance and haste for a third gender marker at the federal level, noting the president’s rapid anti-trans and anti-womxn legislation, as well as protecting trans women from being sent to men’s jails.

It has meant the world to me. I feel like the state sees my human complexity rather than just a barcode…like I can be seen as a third gender rather than asked to fill a binary because of what is in my pants. I’ve suffered much less overt discrimination since the gender marker X has made it into the national press.

I live in a progressive city, Berkeley, [California], so gender is normally seen as a social construct rather than being fixed or held indefinitely. Likewise, gender-neutral legislation is not as controversial here as in many other states and cities.

Most importantly, the gender marker X saves lives.

Charlie Arrowood, 32

I was born in NYC but reside in New York state, so I’ve only been able to change my birth certificate. New York City issues its own birth certificates separate from the state and the state doesn’t allow for X gender markers on any state-issued documents yet (a group of advocates is working on that). My birth certificate was one of the last documents I changed because—and I think a lot of trans people feel this way—it felt like the most “official” record. I was reluctant to change it until an X was available, because I didn’t want a birth record that told the world I was male. If I couldn’t have an X on my birth certificate, I was more comfortable having an F than an M, even if that was not the case for a more frequently-used document like a driver’s license. (When I had an F on my driver’s license, I was often hassled, so I changed it to an M for convenience, though I will change it to an X as soon as that becomes available.) I have a very binary, gender-conforming appearance; it was important to me to retain some vestige or documentary proof that I was not cisgender, but it was more important to me to have an accurate document that showed that I was not male or female. I didn’t want the world making assumptions about me based on my gender marker, whether physical, social, or otherwise. The privacy arguments around binary trans people’s documents apply to non-binary people as well—I want to change my documents to maintain privacy about my sex-assigned-at-birth and what my body may or may not look like.

Because I don’t use my birth certificate often, it hasn’t had a big everyday impact on my life, but it does make me more comfortable when I do have to pull my birth certificate out for some reason. I am especially looking forward to updating my NYS driver’s license when I can. Even though it says M, and that helps me avoid confrontation, the same way being misgendered verbally makes me cringe, I cringe every time I have to show an incorrect ID to someone because it is conveying incorrect information about me. The differing state and city policies also mean none of my documents match, so any time I need to show mismatched documents, there is a risk that one or the other will not be accepted.

Nobody I’ve shown my birth certificate to has asked any questions, but I think that’s because my gender marker hasn’t been relevant under the circumstances. I suspect there might be some questions if I used it to, say, obtain a driver’s license for the first time, and I suspect once I change my license, which I use frequently, it may come up more.

Jay Wu, 25

[Changing my gender marker] meant I wasn’t walking around with an inaccurate ID anymore, which was a relief, and it also felt validating to know that a government agency was aware of non-binary gender identities. It was very similar to the regular process of getting a new driver’s license. I just had to fill out a straightforward additional form.

Having an “X” gender marker has helped me realize that most people don’t look at the gender marker when they’re checking ID. For the first couple of months, I expected to get questions from people checking my ID, but I haven’t gotten any. I went through airport security dozens of times last year and didn’t have the gender marker questioned once. So I’m not sure whether people understand what it means. (My friends were, of course, very excited when I showed them my changed ID soon after I got it!)

Noah, 22

My pronouns are they/them in English. Since my native language doesn’t have an equivalent to singular-they, I use the pronoun “N” or “en” in German. I changed my gender marker this August, but not to X, exactly, because the German third gender marker is called “divers” (engl. diverse). So that’s what my birth certificate says now. Only the gender marker on my passport will be X, due to international air travel regulations.

Having my gender legally recognized is something that I wanted ever since it became clear that there would be a positive third gender option available—as opposed to just removing the gender marker. The other big reason is that I was able to change my name along with it, without having to pay more than a small fee. It wasn’t possible to have a positive third gender marker in official documents up to the beginning of 2019. The law is geared towards intersex folks, but the phrasing is vague enough to allow non-intersex folks to change their gender markers, too. I had to obtain a doctor’s letter stating that I have a “Variante der Geschlechtsentwicklung” (variant of sex development). The law has been heavily criticized by the German trans and intersex community for the pathologizing nature of requiring people to provide a doctor’s letter. It took me a while to find a doctor willing to write that letter, but after that, I had a very positive experience. The clerk at the registry office almost changed my marker to male, though! I think people are still not that used to the idea of there being more than two genders, even though the legal recognition is here now.

I’ve benefited greatly from being able to change my name everywhere, but many institutions haven’t adjusted their systems yet. My bank and phone provider address me as “Mr” now, because they haven’t incorporated non-binary options.

The primary ID used in Germany doesn’t include gender markers. They’re only on passports and birth certificates. The only reaction I’ve gotten so far was from the lady who ordered my new ID and driver’s license for me. She called the gender marker “the transsexual gender,” which I found odd. German media coverage of the new gender marker has almost exclusively mentioned intersex people, so I would have assumed that to be what people first think of when they see it.

Ettachfini, Leila. “7 Non-Binary People on What It’s like to Have an ‘X’ Gender Marker.” VICE, 4 Sept. 2019, https://www.vice.com/en/article/what-its-like-to-have-gender-marker-x-non-binary/.

[gacha-incels]

"Feminists Deserve to Be Beaten": Jinju Convenience Store Assault Recognized as 'Misogynistic Crime' by Court

published Oct 15th

this article is originally in Korean and has been mtl and edited into English here. it’s not going to be 1:1 but the basic info should be there, if you see any discrepancies though lmk and I’ll edit it asap. thanks everyone for your continued help and understanding.

On October 15th, the appellate court ruled that the assault of a female convenience store worker in Jinju was motivated by "unfounded hatred against women." The court's decision overturned the initial ruling, which did not recognize misogyny as a motive, marking the first time in South Korea that misogyny was acknowledged as a valid and condemnable motive in a crime.

The Changwon District Court's Criminal Division 1, led by Chief Judge Lee Joo-yeon, upheld the three-year prison sentence for a man in his 20s, referred to as Mr. A, who was charged with special injury, property damage, and interference with business. The court rejected appeals from both the prosecution and the defendant.

In November of last year, Mr. A assaulted a female worker, Ms. B, at a convenience store in Jinju, and also attacked a man in his 50s, Mr. C, who tried to intervene. The investigation revealed that Mr. A targeted Ms. B because she had short hair, saying, "You're a feminist, so you deserve to be beaten." As a result of the assault, Ms. B permanently lost hearing in her left ear and now requires a hearing aid for life. Mr. C, who suffered a bone fracture and other injuries requiring three weeks of recovery, later lost his job and faced financial difficulties, ultimately being recognized as a meritorious person by the Ministry of Health and Welfare.

In April, the first trial court had acknowledged that Mr. A was suffering from bipolar disorder and was possibly in a state of diminished capacity during the incident, based on evaluations from the National Forensic Hospital and the Supreme Prosecutors' Office's forensic division. The court sentenced him to three years in prison, considering his misogynistic remarks as evidence of his mental state but not as a motive for the crime.

However, the appellate court disagreed, stating, "Mr. A's crime was driven by unfounded hatred and prejudice against women, making it a condemnable motive. His continued false claim that Ms. B attacked him first raises doubts about his remorse." The court did acknowledge some shortcomings in the original ruling, such as the characterization of Mr. A's bizarre act of putting Ms. B's phone in a microwave as evidence of his diminished capacity, but found that the prosecution had not sufficiently disproven his mental state.

The victim's side expressed disappointment that the sentence remained the same despite recognizing Mr. A's diminished capacity. However, they emphasized the social significance of this being the first legal precedent in South Korea to classify misogyny as a criminal motive. Activist "Solidarity D," who supports sexual violence victims, stated, "This ruling is the first to recognize misogyny as a motive worthy of condemnation. In the past, defendants would use misogyny to argue for diminished responsibility, but now it can be considered a motive that warrants harsher punishment."

Attorney Lee Kyung-ha, representing Ms. B, said, "While it's regrettable that the sentence remained unchanged, the recognition that the defendant's misogynistic behavior, including his statement 'feminist women deserve to be beaten,' constituted a condemnable motive is significant. This sets a precedent that may deter defendants from using misogyny as a basis for claims of diminished responsibility in the future."

[sunshinesmebdy]

Your Week Ahead: A Business and Finance Astrology Guide (June 9th — 15th, 2024)

June 9:

Mars enters Taurus: Mars, the planet of action and drive, moves into Taurus, an earth sign. This shift encourages practicality, determination, and a focus on material stability. It’s an excellent time for steady progress in business ventures and financial matters.

Sun in Gemini square Saturn in Pisces: The Sun (representing vitality) forms a challenging square aspect with Saturn (representing structure and responsibility). This may bring obstacles or limitations, especially related to communication, contracts, or travel. Patience and adaptability are key.

Moon enters Leo: The Moon in Leo enhances creativity, self-expression, and confidence. Use this energy to showcase your unique talents and connect with others.

June 10:

Moon in Leo sextile Mercury in Gemini: A harmonious aspect between the Moon and Mercury fosters clear thinking, effective communication, and networking. It’s an ideal time for business meetings or brainstorming sessions.

Moon in Leo trine North Node in Aries: The alignment with the North Node (associated with destiny and growth) encourages bold actions and stepping out of your comfort zone. Trust your instincts and take calculated risks.

June 11:

Moon in Leo sextile Mercury in Gemini (again): Reinforcing the theme of communication, this aspect supports negotiations, marketing, and social interactions.

Mars in Taurus square Pluto in Aquarius: A powerful but potentially intense aspect. Mars square Pluto can trigger power struggles or transformational shifts. Use this energy wisely to address any business challenges or conflicts.

June 12:

Mercury in Gemini square Saturn in Pisces (again): Another encounter between Mercury and Saturn, emphasizing the need for precision and patience. Be thorough in your business dealings and avoid rushing decisions.

Moon enters Virgo: The Moon in Virgo promotes practical organization, attention to detail, and efficiency. A great time for analyzing financial data or refining business processes.

June 13:

Moon in Virgo opposite Saturn in Pisces: Balancing practicality with intuition, this aspect may highlight any discrepancies between your goals and current reality. Adjust your strategies accordingly.

June 14:

Sun in Gemini conjunct Mercury in Gemini: A powerful alignment for communication, learning, and networking. Share your ideas, collaborate, and stay adaptable.

Moon enters Libra: The Moon in Libra encourages diplomacy, fairness, and partnerships. Seek harmony in business relationships.

June 15:

Moon in Libra trine Jupiter in Gemini: A positive aspect for expansion, growth, and optimism. Business ventures may flourish, and networking efforts pay off.

[biracy]

Can you elaborate on the idea that rape, abuse, etc mostly occur due to unfair, uneven power imbalances? I’m trying to understand this sort of thing in the context where there isn’t necessarily a power imbalance e.g. COCSA

COCSA (child-on-child sexual assault) can absolutely come from power imbalances; power imbalances between a child and someone else do not just come from age differences. Obviously adults have power over children, but other children can gain social power over them too: think about a bully who has a higher social standing over their victim. Think about families where one sibling is clearly favored over another, even if they are close in age. Think about power discrepancies between white and nonwhite children, rich and poor children, abled and disabled children. I am not a victim of CSA or COCSA and am not trying to speak over anyone, but I was repeatedly socially victimized by other children because of my (then undiagnosed) social disability. I was someone other children felt they had power over. I think there are far more assertions of power than people think there are, even in very small, complex, intersectional ways. It's not clean-cut at all. I think people tend to have a very "oppressed vs oppressor" idea of power (to use the example here, children vs adults), which in turn can promote the idea that power imbalances cannot exist within the "oppressed" group (in this case, children), even though they most certainly can. Assault is inherently defined by an imbalance of power; even people who define assault as, idk, "the uncontrollable urges of an ontologically sick mind" seem to understand this. To abuse someone is to inherently exert power over them, whether it be physical, social, financial, structural, political, whatever, even if the power held is relatively very small (like the power imbalances within social hierarchies among children). So to answer your question as succinctly as I can, abuse and assault inherently about power. A person who abuses or assaults another has, whether knowingly or not, exerted some kind of power over them, which can be as simple as wielding a weapon or as complex as the intersections between wealth, gender, race, and fame. Abuse is defined by power. Hope this cleared things up for you! This means a lot to me and I try to be as eloquent yet concise as possible when I talk about it