#it should be a crime punishable by law to do something like that to him

[infant-no-finances]

bbno$ - I Remember

[prythiansprincess]

baby, won't you be my girl?

pairing: theodore nott x reader. song inspiration: only girl by stephen sanchez. author’s note: theodore nott, the man that you are. please enjoy my favorite flirty yummy slytherin boy 🐍 part two: stop the world i wanna get off with you.

Theodore Nott was not the jealous type. 

Jealousy required emotions, which Theo found so terribly unrefined. He was a Slytherin, for Salazar’s sake. Not some hotheaded Gryffindor incapable of keeping his anger in check. But as he glared daggers at the back of some pathetic little beater who was currently flirting with you across the common room, Theo couldn’t help but feel downright murderous. 

The worst part was that he could’ve prevented all of this. If he had just manned the fuck up, Theo would’ve been the one pressed close against you, whispering his signature suggestive comments in your ear and making you smile. 

But Theo—absolute tosser that he was—didn’t realize his blunder until it was too late. 

Earlier that week, the two of you had been studying in his room. Well, you were studying. Theo, on the other hand, was smoking enough pot to sedate a hippogriff. He inhaled deeply, watching with a slight smirk on his face as you frowned into your Charms textbook. You were laying on your stomach at the edge of his bed with notes strewn all around you. The combination of your slightly unbuttoned white blouse, dangerously short black pleated skirt, and green and silver high knee socks affected him more than the drugs he was currently inhaling. 

There was something incredibly sexy about a beautiful woman laying in his bed and completely ignoring him in favor of a dusty old tome. Or maybe it was just you. To be fair, Theo found everything about you quite sexy. Even your infamous lectures regarding his drug habits, which you were due to give him in three…two…one….

You huffed indignantly, the action ruffling the feathers on your quill. “I will never understand why you voluntarily choose to put that rubbish into your body.” 

Theo shrugged, blowing a puff of smoke towards the ceiling. “It’s relaxing.” 

“What could you possibly be stressed about, Teddy?” 

He smiled at the nickname. If anyone else called him that, Theo would’ve hexed the life out of them, but he liked the way it sounded when you said it. Especially when you were a little bit annoyed at him. 

“I’ve got a lot on my shoulders, love.” He took another drag and sighed dramatically. “Being rich and handsome is incredibly tiring work.” 

You snorted. “You’re an absolute twat, you know that?” 

Theo held the blunt between his slender fingers and plopped down next to you. “A rich and handsome twat.” 

“A rich, handsome, and dead twat if you don’t get that blunt away from my textbook.” Theo smiled sheepishly before putting out the cigarette on the ashtray by his bedside table. You rolled your eyes and tapped the end of your quill against his chest. “You should really quit. That shit’s terrible for your lungs.” 

Theo turned, cocking his head at you. His watercolor eyes bored into yours as a smirk curved against his lips. “What will you give me if I do?” 

“Theodore Aurelius Nott,” you chided. Despite the blush creeping into your cheeks, you managed to keep your voice steady as you glared at the perfectly coiffed prick. “Do not make me stab you with my quill.” 

He grinned. There was nothing Theo enjoyed more than making his best friend flustered. “I’ll take a light stabbing if it means that you’ll start paying attention to me again.” You laughed at his childish pout. “What are you studying so hard for anyways?” 

“We have a Charms exam on Friday and you know how brutal Flitwick is.”

“Scheduling an exam on the same day as a quidditch game should be a crime punishable by wizarding law.” Theo complained with a groan. “A game against Gryffindor, no less.” 

“Not everything revolves around quidditch, Theo.” 

“Try telling that to Malfoy,” he said with a sigh. “The bloody git’s been running the whole team ragged. For the past three weeks, Draco’s been forcing all of us to wake up before sunrise. I’m losing my precious beauty sleep, Y/N.” 

You pouted, pinching his cheeks. “Poor Teddy bear. How will you ever recover?” 

"Smartass," Theo said with a smirk.

"Top of the class, baby." You rolled over and winked at him. "I really am that witch."

"I think I'm rubbing off on you, love."

"In your dreams, Nott."

He chuckled. "Oh, I'm definitely rubbing off on you." Theo snatched the quill out of your hands. "Enough studying. I'd rather talk about how I'm going to crush those Gryffindor brutes, which I can only do with you cheering me on from the stands."

You took the quill back, tapping its feathery edge against Theo's nose. “You know that watching all that flying makes me nauseous. Plus, I can’t even enjoy myself because I’m too worried about you taking a bludger to the head.” 

“I promise not to let anything ruin my pretty face. I know how much you enjoy the view, after all,” Theo said with a wink. “If you promise to come.” 

“I don’t know, Teddy…”

He pouted, giving you his best puppy dog eyes. “Please, Y/N. I need my good luck charm. Plus, you look cute in my jersey.” 

“My eyes are closed half of the time from sheer terror,” you pointed out. Theo watched as you fiddled with the end of your quill. “Besides, wouldn’t it be weird to wear your jersey and cheer you on?” 

Theo’s brows furrowed. “Why would it be weird?” 

“Because,” you said matter-of-factly. “Those are things a girlfriend would normally do.” 

“Well, yes, traditionally. But you’re my best friend,” Theo explained. “It’s not like that between us.” 

The minute the words came out of his mouth, Theo knew it was the wrong thing to say. You stiffened beside him, your body language turning as tense as a bowstring. 

“Right,” you said in a tight tone. “It’s definitely not like that between us.” 

“No, that’s not what I meant. I just—I mean you’re not like the other guy’s girlfriends. We’ve known each other for ages. We just don’t see each other that way.” 

Theodore Nott, idiot extraordinaire. If looks could kill, he’d be at the bottom of the Black Lake waiting to become a delicious feast for the merpeople. 

“Of course not,” you said with humorless laughter. “We’re just friends. It would be mental for anyone to think that we’d ever be in a relationship, right?” 

There was a challenge behind those words. Despite the fact that his dorm was deep within the dungeons, Theo could hear a slight ringing in his ears, like the howl of the wind as he raced past on his Nimbus, heart beating against his chest as he prepared to hurl the quaffle with all his might. Only now his target wasn’t a goal hoop.

It was you. His best friend. The girl he had been head over heels in love with since the moment you pushed Adrian Pucey into a bush at Malfoy Manor for making fun of five year old Theo’s lisp. 

He should say something, anything, but for once in his life, Theodore Nott had no witty comeback in his arsenal. Stupid, pathetic coward that he was, all he could manage was a nod. 

“Right,” he licked his lips nervously. “Just friends.” 

The disappointment in your eyes felt like a punch to the gut. Worse than when he’d broken his arm in third year. Worse than when Mattheo dragged him into a brawl with those brawny Durmstrang guys in fourth year. He would have gladly taken another meaty Bulgarian fist to the face rather than face you right now.

Theo watched helplessly as you rolled off the bed and stuffed your studying materials into your leather satchel. “Wait, Y/N. Are you leaving? I thought you wanted to study?” 

You slipped your shoes on, averting his gaze. “I do, which is why I’m gonna head to the library. I’m more focused there, anyways.” 

Theo was still utterly confused as he scrambled after you. “Let me at least walk you to—”

“That’s really not necessary,” you said, cutting him off. “I’ll see you later, Theo.” 

Theo, did not, in fact, see you later. 

If avoiding him was a sport, you would’ve won the bloody Triwizard cup. The fact that you memorized his schedule for him since he couldn’t be trusted to actually remember to show up to class probably helped. Theo didn’t realize how accustomed he had grown to having you around until you weren’t there. 

When Enzo obliviously rebuffed a Hufflepuff’s attempt to flirt with him at breakfast, Theo turned to your usual spot beside him to nudge you only to find the space empty. When Potter & Co. prattled on about whatever martyr cause they’d picked up that week, Theo found himself searching for you across the Potions classroom to share an eyeroll, but caught a glimpse of your retrieving back instead. The last straw had been when Elizabeth Burke’s portrait refused to let him into his own dorms because Theo couldn’t remember the passcode. He never had to since you always came in together.

In other words, Theo was absolutely fucking miserable. Even the team’s win against Gryffindor failed to lift his spirits. He knew that it had only been a week, but he missed you so fucking much that it actually hurt. 

The sight of you walking into the common room filled him with instant relief. For about half a second. Until he saw that you weren’t alone. 

Then, Theo had reverted back to his sulky self, choosing a shady spot amidst the raging party to drown his sorrows with a bottle of firewhisky. He had gone through at least half of the Ogden’s while chain smoking like a Hungarian Horntail. 

“Oi, what’s got your wand in a twist?” Mattheo asked while snatching the cigarette out of Theo’s mouth. He took a deep inhale and blew a puff of smoke directly into Theo’s face. “Aren’t you supposed to be celebrating our victory? Why’d you look like someone pissed in your soup?” 

“Fuck off, Riddle,” Theo muttered in response as he took back his cigarette. The smoke made the room hazy, but not enough to block you from view. 

The beater—the fucking twat—leaned in to whisper into your ear. Whatever he said made you burst into laughter, which once again filled Theo with pure, unadulterated rage. 

“Someone’s in a mood,” Enzo remarked, plopping down on the sofa beside Theo. A circle of third years hovered at the edge of their group, but as usual, Berkshire remained utterly oblivious to their presence. Bloody hell, he was even worse than Theo. 

“I bet ten galleons that Nott bashes Murdock’s head in before the end of the night,” Draco said.

“Murdock, is it?” Theo grunted. “What do we know about the prick?”

Blaise rolled his eyes. “Absolutely nothing. He’s not even worth gossiping about,” he announced dismissively while sipping his drink. Imported French wine, probably. Zabini would never partake in something as common as beer. 

Mattheo’s lips curled in amusement. “Besides the fact that he’s making a move on Theo’s girl.” 

“She’s not my girl,” Theo said defensively. 

“Really?” Malfoy drawled, raising a pale blonde brow. “So you wouldn’t mind if I asked Y/N to dance?”

“Don’t even fucking think about it, Malfoy.” 

The Slytherin boys laughed. For them, the week had been amusing as all hell. They had never seen Theo this wound up before. A few days without Y/N and their usual sassy, sarcastic mate had turned into a complete basket case. 

Pansy sighed. “For Salazar’s sake, Theo. Either man the fuck up or stand down. Y/N deserves to have a good night, too. Who she has it with is entirely up to you.” 

Pansy Parkinson was a pain in the arse, but she was also right. 

With that, Theo put his cigarette out on the ashtray and stood from his place on the sofa. It only took three strides for Theo to get to you. Four for you to startle as he casually put his arm around your shoulders. 

“There you are,” he whispered into your ear. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

You froze in place as Theo pulled you close. The scent of expensive cologne and cigarette smoke enveloped you, drawing you in like a moth to a flame. 

Under normal circumstances, you would’ve flown straight into the fire that was Theodore Nott, but tonight you were in no mood to get burned. You’ve already endured enough pain and humiliation from your last conversation. 

Just friends kept replaying over and over in your head like a broken record. You felt like an absolute pillock. For years, it felt like the two of you had been teetering towards…something. All that shameless flirting, the lingering touches, the late night conversations. You had been stupid enough to believe in the possibility that Theo felt for you what you felt for him. 

But maybe it was all in your imagination. 

“Theo,” you said, slinking out of his reach. Hurt flashed in his eyes as you faced him. “Congrats on the win. Christoph said it was a good game.” 

“It would’ve been better if you were in the stands,” Theo said softly. 

“I was busy.” 

“Yeah, I can see that,” he eyed Christoph with disdain. “Listen, can we go somewhere and talk? I haven’t seen you all week.” 

You crossed your arms. “We just got here.” 

Theo was not well pleased by your use of ‘we’ as if you and Murdock were suddenly now a thing. He barely spared the sodding prick a glance. You couldn’t actually be attracted to this prat, could you? He was all wrong for you. Murdock had a stocky beater build and short blonde cropped hair. You hated beefy guys and you were definitely not a fan of blondes. Case in point: Draco.

No, you liked tall sarcastic brunettes with messy hair and a slight nicotine addiction. 

You liked him. 

So Theo stayed put, meeting your gaze with equal intensity. There was no way in hell he was backing down. 

For good measure, he pouted slightly and fixed his eyes on you. “Please, Y/N.” 

He saw the exact moment when your resolve broke. Your expression softened and your shoulders relaxed, slumping in defeat. You sighed before turning over to Murdock. “Do you mind giving us a moment?” 

Christoph nodded. “I’ll fetch us some more drinks.” 

Theo watched him walk away, or rather, he glared at his back until Murdock was out of sight. 

“Really, Y/N?” Theo asked incredulously. “You're slumming it with that benchwarmer?” 

You wheeled towards him, eyes blazing with fire. Oh, he was truly in for it now. “First of all, I’m not ‘slumming it’ with anyone and even if I were, it’s none of your bloody business. Second of all, Christoph is actually a really nice guy.” 

Theo scoffed. “Yeah, because you’re suddenly into really nice guys now.” 

“Well maybe I got tired of hanging around pricks.” 

Ouch. That one definitely hurt. Even if it was well deserved. 

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all week?” Theo asked, stepping closer. “You’ve been busy with Murdock?” 

Merlin’s beard, Theo was ridiculously tall. He towered a good foot over you, cornering you against the wall. His eyes were stormy and dark like a predator watching its prey. 

“Careful, Theo,” you warned, meeting his gaze. “You almost sound jealous.” 

The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife. Neither one of you were backing down from this little standoff. Theo braced himself against the wall, his face inches away from yours. 

“What if I am?” He challenged, his eyes dipping to your mouth. “What if I told you that it’s taking every ounce of self control I have not to rip Murdock to shreds?” 

A shiver skittered down your spine. Theo wasn’t a violent person. Sure, he’d been in a fight or two, but that was mostly Mattheo’s doing. Your best friend wasn’t the aggressive type, so to hear him threaten Christoph took you by surprise. 

“You have no reason to be jealous, Theo.” You countered. “After all, we’re just friends.” 

“No, we’re not,” he said. “We’ve never been just friends, Y/N.” 

“Then why did you—”

“Because I’m an idiot and a coward,” Theo said with a sigh. “Because I had a beautiful girl in my bed and I had no idea how to tell her that I’ve been in love with her since I was five.” 

All the anger and hurt you’ve been carrying around for the past week instantly dissolved. A little smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “You’re in love with me?” 

“I thought that much was obvious, love.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed in response. “Theodore Nott, infamous playboy and shameless flirt, is in love with me. What an interesting development.” 

Theo groaned. “Now is not the time to be a smartass, Y/N.” 

“I think it’s the perfect time—” 

You didn’t get the chance to finish your sentence. Suddenly, Theo’s lips were on yours. He tasted like peppermint and whiskey, and he kissed you like his life depended on it. You sighed into his mouth, melting against his touch as he cupped the side of your cheek. This was definitely not a just friends kiss. It was a butterfly inducing, head in the clouds, sweep you off your feet kind of kiss. 

Theo's hands snaked around your waist as your fingers found purchase in his shaggy brown hair. He pulled you flush against him like he couldn't get enough. Merlin's pants, Theo really knew how to kiss. His lips were soft against yours, but there was a roughness in his actions that told you that his restraint was hanging on by a thread.

Like he'd been waiting for this for far too long.

You knew the feeling all too well.

"Darling, if you keep kissing me like that then this party will receive a show they didn't ask for."

You stuck your tongue out at him. "You started it."

"Shall I end it too, love?"

"You're an absolute twat, Theodore Nott." You rolled your eyes, kissing the tip of his nose affectionately. “A rich, handsome twat that I'm in love with."

Somewhere across the room, the hoots and hollers of your friends ignited a deafening cheer. Mattheo and Enzo clapped Theo on the back. Blaise raised his glass in approval. Draco smirked and exchanged galleons with Pansy. You didn’t even want to know what that was about.

“Fucking finally,” Mattheo remarked. “Notty boy here has been impossible to deal with this entire week. I never noticed how much of a wanker he can be when you aren’t there to balance him out, Y/N.” 

You chuckled. “It couldn’t have been that bad.” 

Enzo grimaced. “You weren’t on the receiving end of his quaffles,” he said, eyeing Theo. “He nearly took my head off.” 

That only made you laugh more. “Teddy bear wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

“No, it’s true. Nott went absolutely mental.” Draco confirmed, draping an arm around your shoulder. “I’ve never seen him play like that. He wiped the floor with those pathetic Gryffindors. You should ignore him more often, Y/N." 

Pansy wrinkled her nose. “Please don’t. Looking at his miserable face put me off my meals for an entire week. I couldn’t even bear to eat any of my special Belgian chocolates. I missed out on Belgian chocolates, Y/N!” 

“You lot are overexaggerating,” Theo said, pulling you in by the waist. “I wasn’t that bad.” 

“Please, you were an absolute mess without Y/N,” Blaise added. 

“More like an absolute wanker,” Mattheo supplied. 

“An absolute supreme mega wanker,” Draco agreed. “Even by my standards.”

“It was pretty brutal,” said Enzo. 

Theo glared at all of them before taking your hand. “Let’s go, Y/N. I’d rather not stand around and get insulted all night.” 

“Sure thing. But I should probably tell Christoph that I’m…indisposed.” 

Mattheo grinned mischievously. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about Murdock.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What did you do, Riddle?” 

“I didn’t do anything,” he said innocently. “The boys and I just let him know that he should set his sights elsewhere.” 

“We also might have implied that we’d turn him into a horned bullfrog if he ever hit on you again,” Enzo said with a smile.

“The audacity he even had approaching you is frankly insulting,” Malfoy remarked. “Everyone knows you’re off limits.” He smirked. “Unfortunately.” 

Theo fell right into Draco’s bait. “Don’t hit on my girl, Malfoy.” 

Blaise raised an amused brow. “Oh, she’s your girl now, is she?

“Of course she is,” Theo said. He linked his fingers with yours and flashed those pretty eyes at you. The perfect mixture of blue and green, just like the ocean during a storm. “If she’ll have me.” 

You smiled, wide and bright. “Come on, Teddy. Your girl wants to dance.” 

[0mg-bird]

Lover’s Rock~ S. Reid

Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

Summary: Spencer isn’t the only one that stands out in the crowd, but maybe that’s a good thing, because that’s what leads him to you.

Warnings: I didn’t really proof read, I’ll do it later lol. 18+ content towards the end. Um Reid is such a dweeb and adorable???? Fluff, mentions of alcohol and embarrassment. Reader is so twee (can we bring twee back or no?) idk she makes questionable fashion choices.

Really, this wasn’t your thing.

The bar scene, the club dresses all the girls where, the high heels and the whole game of cat and mouse that all the guys want to play. But you’re here, you made an effort to appease your best friends who claim you have no social life.

The entire night so far, they watched you strike out with the guys they motioned over because in their mind, you’re desperate and lonely and lame.

Okay, maybe that’s more of your headspace than theirs, but they’ve been offering you pity glances this whole time.

You’ve made a decision a while ago that maybe there was no romance out there for you. You were just born with some aspect that made normal, sane guys physically run away, and maybe that’s fine. You were really good on your own. And it never did feel right when you had a guy, if it didn’t feel like the movies, it wasn’t worth it.

Right?

Okay, maybe you should settle, at some point, you’ll be too old to marry and you’ll just keep working, with no real life and take care of Shelly, your goldfish. Maybe it won’t be perfect, but it’ll be someone to share things with.

You let out a huff and watch the ice melt in your drink, not bothering to smile when your friend tells you to brighten up.

Normally, you’re a ray of sunshine, but something about getting rejected four consecutive times is raining on your parade.

An entire bar full of happy people in their element, and it’s just you, sticking out like a sore thumb, especially when your friends go dance with a few guys they hit it off with.

Too busy looking at the buckle on the ankle strap of your heel, you are sinking somewhere in your mind, to a place where you aren’t listening to cheap song lyrics of and realizing that table is stickier than you thought.

“Where’s Reid?”

“Reid.”

“Spencer!” Penelope smacks his shoulder, pulling him from the trance of his eyes on the book pages.

He looks up from the corner booth, seeing his team has returned with drinks.

“Are you seriously reading right now?” Morgan criticizes, placing a beer in front of the younger agent.

Spencer doesn’t know why he does this, beer tastes like a plowed hay field in his opinion. But he takes the drink in gratitude and before he can explain that he was just trying to finish the Russian publishing of ‘Crime and Punishment’, Morgan rips the book from his hands and tosses it to Emily for safe keeping.

“I- what was that for?” Spencer questions with a unjust squeak, feeling rather sad.

“Look around, kid, do you see how many fine ladies are here? You don’t need to be sitting here with your nose between the pages of Little Women.” Morgan states as a matter of fact.

“Yeah, nobody puts baby in the corner.” Penelope agrees.

With an airy scoff, Spencer looks to the other members for help, but they all seem to side with Derek.

He gains a defeated frown.

Spencer didn’t want to be here in the first place, now he’s being forced out into the public to socialize. There has to be a law against this, he knows there’s not because he knows everything, but he is certainly going to try and create one.

“Oh come on, Spence, why don’t you try to get a date?” JJ asks, meaning well, but the laugh that comes from Emily makes him want to recoil.

“C’mon, I’ll help you.” Morgan offers, pulling him from the booth seat.

“Yeah, that never really works well when you try to be my wingman, you usually end up with all the phone numbers.” Spencer claims, pressing his lips into a line.

But like some mock savior, Morgan stands behind Reid as they wait by the bar.

“What about her?” Morgan would point out.

To which Reid would respond with some variation of ‘she’s too much’ or ‘she definitely has a boyfriend three times my size’.

After fifteen minutes of this back and forth, Morgan is seriously regretting he forced the hermit out of his shell.

And that’s when a rowdy group finally leaves and clears the path of vision to you.

Still sat at a high table with one leg crossed over the other, you wiggle your foot as you doodle on a drink napkin.

Reid misses whatever Morgan says, and in that air of silence, the agent follows the vision.

“Okay, now we’re getting somewhere.” Derek chuckles, clapping Reid on the shoulder. “She’s pretty. Go talk to her.”

“What?” Reid looks away. “No, no, I don’t want to disturb her.”

You let out a very bored sigh.

Derek’s brows furrow. “I know you’re some boy genius but you really are dumb sometimes. Everything about that girl is screaming ‘put me outa my misery’.”

Spencer tilts his head slightly, watching you rub your eye and then frown at the way you smudged your already smudged eye liner.

“Okay, maybe you’re right.” He nods. “But…what do I say?”

Derek grins. “Compliment her, ask if she wants another drink, strike up a conversation. It’s easy, man.”

Spencer gets an uneasy feeling in him, but he still braves through it. “Easy for you, maybe.” He mumbles before running a hand through his hair and takes a step towards you.

“Go get her, tiger!” Morgan encourages.

When he returns to the team with the happy news, Penelope asks if Spencer’s gonna do good.

“Oh, definitely not, we’ll be lucky if he doesn’t trip over his own feet on the way over there.” Derek answers, laughing.

But Spencer makes it to you without a stumble, yet his whole plan leaves his mind when he gets to you.

You’re gorgeous, too pretty for him.

“Nice legs.”

Did he just say that?

You look up at him upon hearing his voice, your wide eyes confused.

“I’m sorry?” You question, not sure if you heard this stranger correctly.

He’s a rather handsome stranger.

“No- I mean I like your legs- tights! Not your legs, you have nice legs of course but that’s not- your tights are nice- cool! Different?”

Oh god, he should just walk away now. He’s already messed this whole thing up and surely you think he’s an idiot.

While he’s got an embarrassed look on his face, you look down at the red lace tights you wear under your skirt, something your friends questioned as a fashion choice.

“You really like them?” You ask, voice soft to his ears.

He stops his rambling.

“Yeah, of course I do, I think they’re cool.” He smiles softly.

You can’t help but grin bashfully.

“Every guy I’ve talked to tonight thought they were a little weird, but that’s okay, I kinda like weird.” You admit, watching as he shakes his head.

“People say my socks are weird all the time, don’t feel bad.” He comforts, pulling the material of his pants up so you can see his mismatched socks with funky colors and prints on them.

“Those are cool.” Your approval eases him, giving him just enough reassurance that you aren’t going to scream for help in the next two minutes.

“I’m Dr. Spencer Reid- sorry, force of habit, uh, just Spencer. I-I’m Spencer.” He introduces with the smallest of wave.

Still smiling more than you have the entire night, you greet him. He repeats your name like it has some special meaning, and you’ve never loved the sound of it more.

“I was going to get a drink, what are you having?” He asks, looking at your sweating glass. “Vodka soda? Cherry sour?”

You blush. “It’s actually a shirley temple…I just ate all the cherries out of it already.”

Without hesitation, he nods. “Okay, I’ll be back.”

He leaves you at your table, and then your brief moment of sunshine is clouded once more by doubt. What if he doesn’t come back? What if he drugs your drink and then you wake up in an alley somewhere, missing your wallet and phone and your tights that he thinks are so cool?

This was a bad idea. Dating isn’t for you. He seemed so nice and he’s so attractive but that should have been your first red flag and-

Oh. He’s coming back.

With two shirley temples.

He places them on the table and waits for you to grab one, then he grabs the other and takes a sip.

“You mind if I sit?” He asks.

Feeling a little silly for assuming he was out to maim you, you nod.

“I seriously doubt my friends remember I’m over here, so feel free to stay.” You joke at your expense.

He sits across from you, sparing a glance over his shoulder at his team who make it very obvious that they’re staring.

You study his profile, a shaggy haircut that falls across his forehead, all tousled in an effortless way. His jaw line is defined, round brown eyes that flick back to you. When he catches you looking, he grins once more.

It’s never been so…easy, having a ‘get to know you’ conversation. Questions come without second thoughts, you find yourself laughing, actually laughing.

Playing with your straw, you try to calm your facial expressions, your cheeks are starting to hurt from beaming so much.

“So, Dr. Reid, huh?” You ask, making him let out a small huff of embarrassment.

“That’s what the PhD’s say, yeah.” He scratches the back of his neck, suddenly feeling really dorky about his immense amount of education.

It’s not dorky to you. Every guy you’ve talked to tonight dropped out of community college because ‘it didn’t align with their career paths’ of selling protein smoothies or working in some ‘underground’ record store.

But here Spencer is, explaining he’s on the behavioral analysis unit for the FBI and he tells you about all the degrees he has. All you can think about as he talks of universities and the academy is, knowledge is such a sexy look on a guy. Sure, you’ve never really liked the underachieving stoners, but usually you’ve been with guys who seem to say “you like school?” when you talk about working towards your Masters degree.

“Wow.” Is all you can say for a moment, clearly shocked and, well, impressed. “I really wasn’t expecting that.”

“That’s what most people say.” He nods, picking the cherry in his drink out by the stem and offering it to you.

By your thankful eyes batting up at him, he’s tempted on going behind the bar and bringing you all the maraschino cherries they have. He quickly turns the conversation around to focus on you so he can focus on something other than the stained color on your lips.

“What about you? What do you do?” He asks.

Compared to his job, yours seems too normal, too mundane. You almost want to avoid the question, never once have you been unsatisfied with your career but now you can’t help it. What if Spencer doesn’t like you because you don’t work for NASA?

That’s ridiculous, because to Spencer, your job makes his adoration grow.

“Oh, I’m just a teacher.” You say, fiddling with a stem in your mouth.

Spencer gains a soft smile. “You could never just be a teacher, teacher’s are important. Well, unless you’re a sucky teacher.”

His joke earns a bubbly giggle and he decides he’d like to hear that sound forever. It’s moments like this that he’s glad to have an eidetic memory.

“I don’t think I’m a sucky teacher so that’s good, my students seem to like me.” You state, pushing your hair behind your ear and dropping the knotted stem onto a napkin.

Spencer finds himself leaning a little closer, body naturally gravitating to your pull. “What do you teach?” He asks.

“I work for my schools gifted children program, so I basically teach kid geniuses advanced core curriculum because they’ve tested out of their normal classes.” You chuckle, oblivious to the way Spencer’s heart warms.

He remains quiet for a bit too long, just staring at you with an honest look, one that makes you feel like you’re turned inside out and bared for him. The panic rises again, you think you must have said something to ruin it.

“I know it’s nothing special-” You begin to say.

“No.” He interrupts, a sure tone. “I-I think it’s great. Really, that’s not an easy job.”

Deep breath out, you’re put at ease.

“I constantly have imposter syndrome, these kids are twelve and bringing up philosophies and mathematical formulas I have to go home and study because I haven’t even learned them yet. Honestly, sometimes I don’t even think they need me there.” You joke lightly, half meaning it but masking that slight insecurity by finishing off your drink.

“They need you.” Spencer assures, an expression showing he’s never been more sure of something. “Believe me, you’re probably the only person they see in a school day that understands them.”

Brows creased, you shake your head, holding his rather intimidating gaze for such puppy dog eyes.

“What makes you so sure?” You question.

Spencer takes in a breath. “Because I know what it’s like to be twelve years old and telling a grown adult about Fermat’s Last Theorem.”

Sometimes, the world has a funny way of putting two people together. For years, you’ve wandered through life and on a random Friday night, feeling a little flushed from the Summer air, here is Spencer Reid, the man of your dreams.

Your friends left some time ago after you assured them you were fine to be left at the place you were just complaining about being. You don’t mind being left with Spencer, in fact, you’re dreading the time you have to go home because it means this moment is over.

“I really would like to live in New York.” You exclaim, somehow have fallen into the rabbit hole of dreams for the future.

“New York’s really cool!” He agrees. “Did you know that they have a homicide rate of 4.48 percent right now? It’s been declining since the nineties.”

You must make some sort of surprised face because his eyes go wide and he quickly tried to recover his odd statement.

“Sorry, my job isn’t really full of happy statistics. But mostly we just find dead prostitutes in alleys in New York.”

His blushed cheeks make your heart flutter in its beats.

“I’m glad I’m not a prostitute.” You giggle, making him chew his bottom lip for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m glad you’re not either.”

By the time the team gets their coats back on with the intention of heading home, they look across the room to see their quirky doctor friend is partaking in very friendly body language.

“Oh my god, look at him.” Emily laughs. “He’s finally using that big IQ of his.”

Penelope, who comes to hold onto Morgan’s arm, grins rather proudly. “It’s like a butterfly finally coming out of its cocoon. It’s…beautiful, actually.”

Derek laughs down at her. “I think that last long island ice tea was a bad idea. Come on, baby, let’s get you home.”

“Good luck, my fine friend.” She calls in the general direction of you and Spencer, but the two of you don’t notice.

JJ ties her hair up and starts to take a few steps forward.

“Where are you going?” Penelope questions.

“To let him know we’re leaving?”

“No!” The team seems to exclaim, all shouting that she cannot disturb the moment Spencer worked rather hard to get to.

She just holds her hands up in defense, then follows after Emily as they leave the bar.

Spencer of course notices the way Prentiss leaves him with an encouraging thumbs up. It makes his get a little bashful, but he nods a goodbye and watches the door shut once more. His attention is brought back to his hand on the table, well, more to the way your pinky brushes against his. You continue to talk about mutual interests and what your apartment in New York would look like, a slight ramble to you that shows you’re very aware of the slight contact.

With some kind of placebo courage he can’t even blame on alcohol, he lets his fingers crawl between yours like that’s where they belong.

The team would definitely laugh at this teenage display, but to the both of you, it’s the perfect amount of reassurance, soft enough to not be too scary.

The attraction is there, Spencer forces himself to profile it just so his negative thoughts can’t prove him wrong. You’re smiling at every word, your eyes seem to stay dilated and focused on his, and he isn’t sure if you even realize the way your heel brushes his ankle every so often.

His profile, often never wrong, is what helps him reach across the slight space to tuck your hair behind your ear so casually as he tells you about his minuscule music taste.

After a few flirty comments, you force yourself yo look away from him just so you can het your breathing under control. Upon this action, you read the watch on his wrist and a frown sets on your lipstick stained lips.

“I should go home before it’s too late to walk.” You sigh, not wanting this moment to end.

He nods. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

Those round eyes he’s starting to really adore look up at him and you chew your lip, almost like you’re waiting for him to do something. Say something.

It takes him entirely too long to figure out what to do. Morgan would be ashamed.

“C-Can I walk you home?” He asks in a rush and in eagerness.

You nod like that’s the best idea you’ve ever heard.

That’s how it leads to you leaning against him like it’s something you do often, walking in step as you ramble on and on about what you have to do to get your classroom ready for the new school year. He listens without annoyance like most guys would, then tells you about books he has that he thinks you might enjoy, books he could part with so you could give them to the students whose reading levels are above what the school provides.

He’s so caring and considerate, making sure he walks closest to the street, lets you be off in your own world and makes sure you don’t run into anything as you constantly gaze up at him. All the way to your building and up the stairs to your apartment door, the two of you are as comfortable with each other like two old friends would be.

That’s what makes your head spin. You just met Spencer and already feel like he’s been in your life for hundreds of years.

You pull your keys from your purse, you unlock the door but don’t make a move to open it.

“I’m really, really, happy that I met you.” You whisper to him as he slightly crowds your space in the door way.

“I am too.” He agrees, heart beating a little faster as your hand presses gently to his chest.

Don’t be crazy, you just met her, she doesn’t want a stranger trying to kiss her, tell her good night, call her tomorrow, maybe you can plan for something next weekend-

His thoughts don’t stand a chance when you wrap your fingers around his tie and gently tug him to your lips.

It’s smooth and warm and has your eyes shutting and your lungs exhaling. His gentle hand cradles your face while the other flexes against your hip.

It just feels so…

So right.

With the slight tilt of your head, the goodnight kiss deepens, you’re molded against him.

His lips part, coaxing yours to do the same, and the feeling of your tongue against his has you slightly teetering backwards. You lean against the door for support, hands roaming into his hair.

You’ve been wanting to run your hands through it all night.

He’s desperate in his movements, like he’s a starved man and you’re enjoying every second of it. His thumb runs over your jaw, you’re pushing away any space between you.

When you decide you’re going to pass out from the lack of oxygen, you pull away, sucking your bottom lip to savor the taste. Spencer still holds your face in his large hands and matches your shallow pants.

It’s all so much. You’re hot, brain a little foggy, but still so sure of this situation.

And you soon find yourself saying something you’ve never ever said after just meeting a guy.

“Do you want to come inside?”

Spencer seriously thinks he misheard you.

“Yeah- yes. Yes, I do.” He nods.

A laugh escapes your lips, one he swallows up as he embraces you once more, trying to help you open the door. His arm around your waist makes sure you don’t stumble and fall as the two of you finally get inside.

He looks around the space. “I like your apartment, it’s nice.”

“Thank you.” You mumble against his lips, pulling at your jean jacket and tossing it to the couch.

It’s dark, causing you to back into a side table. The both of you laugh, but neither of you bother to reach for the light switch.

You guid him towards your bedroom, pushing him through the ajar door. The open window leaves the room painted in a low light, the breeze is cool as you clumsily fall onto the mattress with him.

“I never do this.” You state, a huff leaving your lips as he rolls you onto your back.

“I don’t either.” He agrees, mouth wandering down your jaw to your neck.

You fiddling hands make a home in his hair. “Like I really don’t do this. I don’t even go to bars, let alone take home strange men- not that you’re strange. But don’t think I am a casual hookup girl, because I’m not, I just- there’s a connection, right? I’m not alone in this?”

He pulls away, looking down at you with a loopy grin. “You’re rambling, that’s a sign of nervousness.”

“I am nervous!” You exclaim with a breathy laugh. “You’re just…you’re really great.”

His thumb traces your bottom lip. “You’re really great too.” He whispers. “But we don’t have to do anything.”

“No!” You say a little too boldly. “I mean, no, no I want this. Do you want this?”

With a nod, he assures you. “I want this too.”

Maybe you should be more shy and self conscious about this, but when he’s being so kind, all your nervousness leaves. The two of you stumble through the awkward bits with laughter and jokes, and it makes you realize that something so serious doesn’t have to be so uniform.

Really, you’re having more fun than you’ve ever had.

“Spencer?” You gasp, dangerously close to falling off the bed at how the two of you have rolled around.

“Yeah?” He asks, head buried in your neck, trying not to get too ahead of himself as he continues his deep pace between your legs.

“You’re kinda pulling my hair.”

Immediately he moves his hand, apologetic.

Hands dragging up his chest, you try to shimmy away from the mattress ledge. Spencer notices the tragedy that’s about to strike, opting to back off of you completely so you can readjust.

You gasp at the loss of contact. “A little warning next time would be appreciated.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He stammers, gripping you in a feverish way, mouth back to yours.

You don’t exactly know how you ended up on top, but you look at him slightly frightened eyes.

“Is this a no?” He questions, only concerned with making you comfortable.

He’s the complete opposite of selfish, he proved that the second he started you off with his tongue against your core.

“No, not if you like this? I just…I don’t know if I’m good at this.”

He nods in understanding. “Okay, no problem.”

You protest as he goes to move you. “Can I try? Will-will you help me?”

God, he could marry you.

“Yeah, of course sweetheart.” He whispers, kissing you gently.

The butterflies in your stomach are all twitter pated.

Or maybe you’re just extremely turned on.

Spencer is a great teacher, it’s you who jumps the gun at things.

“There you go, angel, slow.” He breathes in your ear, finger tips pressing into your hips as you slowly push down, letting his tip enter you. “Just go really slow, okay?”

You try to do as he says, easing him into you slowly, but by some urge to rush satisfaction, you sink all the way onto him without warning.

“Fuck! That wasn’t slow.” He grits, a hoarse moan escaping from the back of his throat, his grip on you almost bruising.

“S-sorry.” You try to say, but the sheer pressure you feel at this sudden angle has you shuddering and crying out softly. “I’m an overachiever.” You try to joke.

“Holy shit, you want an A+ or something?” He chuckles, trying to calm himself down, running through mathematical formulas in his head so he doesn’t finish just like this.

“Spence, I need- it’s a lot, I need-” You whine out, not having the heart to feel embarrassed for sounding so needy.

“I know, I know. Fuck, do you have any idea how good you feel?” He questions, swallowing hard as he guides your hips forward slightly.

“I can’t really think at all when you’re sitting in my cervix right now.” You claim, quickly overwhelmed by pleasure as you find a rhythm against him.

Sucking on your throat, he mutters something you don’t care to listen to.

“This is- is it supposed to be this good?” You moan, trying not to dig your finger nails into his shoulders.

“I think we just fit perfectly.”

With each movement, you become more comfortable and confident, soon that friendly softness is replaced by lustful roughness. Through it all, Spencer remains caring, even when you tell him he can be a little rough with you.

Never in your sex life have you wanted more and more, even when it finishes.

Even after the two of you can’t find the strength to pull any more orgasms from each other, you lay beside each other, Spencer hasn’t bothered to pull out of you yet, perhaps he’s too spent.

“So.” You clear your throat, tracing his features. “How do you want to play this?”

He hums, dragging his fingers up and down your side. “What do you mean?”

“Guys usually leave after this stuff, right?”

His brows furrow, anxiety comes to ripple through him. “Do you want me to leave?”

Staring at his tired eyes, you shake your head. “No, I want you to stay. Forever. I’m thinking about chaining you to the headboard.”

He chuckles. “I’ll save you the effort, I will gladly stay.”

A sweet smile is returned to him.

At some point, the two of you clean up and fall asleep the second the sheets are pulled over you.

Spencer is convinced it’s all a dream until he wakes up to the sun warm over his skin. He rubs his blurry eyes and rolls over in the bed that is not his, met with your bare back. Slowly, he reaches for you, kissing your shoulder to rouse you.

His phone, still in the pocket of his discarded pants, rings again and again, forcing him to retrieve it in his boxers.

Of course it’s Hotch.

Of course he needs to get to the office. On a Saturday. After the night he just had.

“I should call the authorities, there’s a cute intruder in my room.” Your sleepy voice says from bed. “Oh wait…you are the authorities.”

He likes the way you can make yourself giggle.

“I have bad news.” He says, tracking down his clothes. “My boss just called me in.”

He hates the frown you have.

“That’s a very unfortunate thing.” You nod.

He buttons his pants, then slides his shirt on as he comes to your bedside.

“I should get going so I can go home and change.”

His warm hand presses to your cheek.

You turn to kiss his palm. “Is this goodbye?”

“No. Definitely no.” He assures. “I’ll call when I can, okay? Maybe we can get dinner or something?”

You could sigh heavenly at the way he’s just so dreamy.

“That sounds nice. I’d kiss you but I might have morning breath.” You smile.

He kisses you anyway.

And after leaving the team waiting in the round table room, he appears refreshed and in a very good mood.

He takes his seat, all eyes on him.

“Sorry I’m late, good morning.” He clears his throat.

“Good morning indeed.” Morgan chuckles, sliding him a cup of coffee.

“You okay, Reid?” Rossi asks, eyeing the agent.

“I’m great.” He smiles.

“Is that a hickey?” JJ exclaims, reveling in the way he quickly grabs for his neck, only to realize she’s joking.

“Real mature.” He mutters, knowing the entire day is going to be jokes made at his expense.

He doesn’t mind though, not when he knows his reward for all of this is you.

[kaelio]

Hello everyone, I'm here today to engage in the absolutely thankless task of defending the hell out of this sentence getting commuted.

First things first:

I am not a prison abolitionist (this is important)

This former judge is one of the worst scumbags alive. Basically, he sent kids to juvie/prison in return for kickbacks.

So why did I want his sentence commuted? Oh, me? I didn't.

But this was part of a package of commutations requested by prison abolitionists. Yes, they asked for this, even spent hundreds of thousands on advertisements to demand it. Basically, Biden commuted the sentences of 1,500 people who were on "compassionate release", meaning they were already living at home. This is mostly just really old/sick people.

Biden didn't commute this guy's sentence as such, he commuted the sentences of a type of person out on compassionate release and didn't take the judge out of the pile. He didn't say, "except, not him".

This judge (scumbag) served 13 of his 16 years, but in 2020 was sent home because he was in such poor health it was assumed Covid would kill him. He's been at home ever since.

Now, this is important. This man cannot commit this offense again. He's not a judge any more! So recidivism is impossible. He cannot re-offend. So, in his case, prison can't be for rehabilitation or in any way to make sure he doesn't do it again. He can't! Never could have. The only real reason he was there was to punish him, which is fine. Personally, I'm fine with prisons being solely for punishment. But are you? Is that what you've been saying? Has that been your stance, that prisons are to punish people?

"But this guy was especially bad." Oh, so... mercy for people who didn't do really bad things? Then you're not getting any of these commutations. Because if you were in federal prison for long enough to qualify to be out on compassionate release, you did something really bad! Biden also pardoned everyone in federal prison for non-violent marijuana charges and you could count the number of people on your fingers because you don't actually get sent to federal prison over minor drug crimes.

Let's make it clear: "Mercy and leniency, but only for people who I define as innocent" means.... no mercy and no leniency. And you can be on board with that. You can be vengeful or a revanchist or bitter and brutal at heart; you're totally allowed. But then don't pretend you're not! In fact, that's the heart of Trumpism: there are those for whom laws should protect but not bind, and for others laws which should bind but not protect. (Or, as Óscar Benavides put it: "For my friends, everything; for my enemies, the law.") If your stance is just "good things for people I like and agree with, and bad things for those I don't" then you just have a different sense of who should be punished or die. But your thinking is fundamentally the same. Have you had a consistent stance about vigilante killing lately? Let me ask, who's allowed to decide among the populace who may live and who must die?

It's very unlikely anyone will ever again be as generous and compassionate as Biden has been with his powers. Because when he is, when he actually does it, when he's kind down to his very soul, you fucking hate it. That's what 2024 was; the revealed preferences election. You didn't want to pay people a living wage to deliver your burrito, you don't actually want people let out of jail, and you think capital punishment is fine as long as the executioner was hot.

[ms-demeanor]

i’m curious what your opinion is on the finer points of the case mentioned in the JSTOR post you reblogged earlier. the two sources in the post say that JSTOR didn’t press charges against him and had already settled with him by the time he killed himself. from what i read on wikipedia, the concern seems to be that JSTOR complied with a subpoena, which i don’t believe they have a choice to ignore? if anything it seems like the us government had reason to want him dead for wikileaks and public court records reasons, so they took a terms of use violation and blew it up into a dozen federal crimes.

is there more context i should be aware of? i have no particular affection or malice for JSTOR but the sources i found don’t exactly implicate the database or its employees in murder.

That's from page 175 of this document. This line: "The activity noted is outright theft and may merit a call with university counsel, and even the local police, to ensure not only that the activity has stopped but that - e.g. the visiting scholar who left - isn't leaving with a hard drive containing our database" is where I think the culpability starts.

If someone is downloading 1000s of articles (what seems like reasonable threshold for us to take action), what's wrong with us - or the university in collaboration with us - alerting the cyber-crimes division of law enforcement and initiating an investigation, having cop search dorm room and try to retrieve any hard drive that contains our content, etc. Our content is extraordinarily valuable and hard to replicate by the sweat of one's brow, but can be duplicated by savvy hackers and who knows what they want to do with the content?

Page 379: "Does the university contact law enforcement? Would they be willing to do so in this instance?

From page 1296:

I think the important thing to note here is that JSTOR had worked with MIT and had plans in place to prevent future similar downloads, but remained focused on identifying the person responsible for the downloads and ensuring that their data was deleted.

"I might just be irked because I am up dealing with this person on a Sunday night, but I am starting to feel like they need to get a hold of this situation right away or we need to offer to send them some help (read FBI).

And there it is. Page 3093 of the document.

JSTOR can hem and haw about it all they want, but you can't un-call the cops.

MIT was working with JSTOR on preventing future incidents of pirating, but JSTOR repeatedly said that they weren't going to let it go, that it was unacceptable to drop the issue, that they were going to continue to pursue the pirate.

You can scroll through the document and see the JSTOR tech department and abuse team talking about Swartz as a script kiddie, and a hacker. You can see someone talking about how this was real theft - making the comparison to stealing books even while admitting that piracy doesn't close others out of access.

You can see the thread starts with a joke about punching someone in the face for hacking their system, and includes the tech team ominously considering whether they should threaten the MIT librarians with the FBI.

There's something really important to note here which I don't think that people who aren't PRETTY DEEP into hackery shit aren't aware of: US law enforcement is absolutely rabidly feral about prosecuting hackers. People may be more aware of this now because of Chelsea Manning and Edward Snowden (and perhaps a bit on tumblr because of maia arson crimew), but people who work in tech and who are in infosec - like the people joking about calling the FBI in these emails - would be aware of the bonkers disproportionate punishments faced by hackers. And knowing that, they kept pushing and pushing and pushing for identification of the hacker. They kept digging with MIT, they kept saying that simply preventing future incidents wasn't enough.

Early in the exchange someone from JSTOR asked "what's wrong with us - or the university in collaboration with us - alerting the cyber-crimes division of law enforcement and initiating an investigation, having cop search dorm room and try to retrieve any hard drive that contains our content, etc." and the answer is what happened to Aaron Swartz.

It is absolute bullshit for JSTOR to say "we arrived at a solution privately and didn't want to press charges" after law enforcement has gotten involved with a hacking case, especially one where they're talking about "real theft" and are attempting to quantify and emphasize the amount that was "stolen" from them.

The *public* may believe that private individuals or institutions are the ones who "press charges" but that's simply not the case. It's prosecutors who decide whether or not to go ahead with charges; they do it based on what cases they think they can win and what their office's perspective is on the crime. When you hear about people choosing to press charges it simply means that they decided to tell the prosecutor they wanted the case to go forward. It's up to the prosecutor whether or not that happens.

And the tech team at JSTOR had to know that law enforcement wasn't just going to wag a finger at an academic hacker.

There's a parallel here that happens sometimes when people have their identities stolen by their parents. If you mom takes out a credit card in your name, that's identity theft. That's fraud. That's illegal. If you reach the age of 25 and realize that your credit is ruined because your mom has been defaulting on cards in your name, you've got two choices to fix that: one is to accept the debt and pay it off and build up credit, and the other is to report the identity theft - which will end up with your mom in prison for a decade or so. Ruin your own personal finances, or your mom goes to jail for ruining your finances. So if you find out that your mom stole your identity you can't just call the cops to pressure her into transferring the debt to her name or something. That's not an option. The cops are not a threat to wave over people, they are not a way to get people to fall in line or act right. They aren't someone you can send to a college student's dorm room to retrieve a hard drive and have the matter drop.

When you call the cops on someone you are sending the full force of the law after them, and the full force of the law falls really heavily on hackers, and how heavy that blow can be is something that the JSTOR team must have been aware of when they were making snide comments about calling the FBI because they were frustrated with the noncommittal responses they were getting from librarians.

Ultimately it was the carceral state that killed Aaron Swartz, but they would not have been involved if JSTOR didn't think that what he did constituted theft.

Taking an *EVEN LARGER* step back from that, the idea that information can be owned and locked behind a paywall is what killed Aaron Swartz, someone who fought for information to be free.

Like. JSTOR is a licensing company. At the end of the day, cute social media posts and all, they're the same as the RIAA and ASCAB. They exist to extract a fee from people attempting to access information.

Aaron Swartz and all that he stood for are an existential threat to their core function.

Are JSTOR's hands as dirty as the federal prosecutors? Absolutely not. But they operate on a model that puts them in opposition to open information activists and it ended up with a hammer falling on Aaron Swartz that they dropped.

[servantofthefates]

The Perfect Spell Against Bullies

Yes, there is Karma. You can always wait for her to avenge you. But remember, the Universe helps those who help themselves too. Just be certain in your heart of hearts that balance is something you are restoring, not destroying.

STEP 1: Capture your pain.

When a stranger or someone you know has maliciously hurt you, in real life or online, write down on a piece of paper what they did or said:

He desecrated my altar. “Take down your ugly selfie.” She plays loud music just to spite me. “That dress looks so cheap.” They insulted me and my family.

Use a pencil and natural paper – anything uncoated by polymer.

STEP 2: Report the crime.

Day or night, whenever you feel the peak of your anger, frustration, self-pity or fear about what your bully did or said, go to a room with a mirror inside. A washroom… your bedroom… as long as you are alone.

Mirrors are portals to other realms. So hold the paper up to it, allowing those nearby to read about the crime.

STEP 3: Request punishment.

Speak:

Diabolus Ligat, Angelus Solvit

These words call upon the dark and the light forces of the world, so that together, they may weigh the perfect punishment for the one who hurt you.

Say the words to the mirror as many times as you like… as long as it takes for you to feel heard.

You should feel a gust of wind, or hear a creak, or smell a strange scent, confirming that your request has been received. Once you do, sincerely say thank you.

STEP 4: Throw it away.

Get rid of the paper, as if you are throwing away a receipt. An act of faith.

Then wait.

Together, a demon and an angel – labels most of us know them by – will fully investigate your case. They may decide to punish your bully not just for this but for all their past crimes. I know for a fact that this humble spell was used in the late 90s against a now-famous serial bully. He ended up in jail for years and for a crime he did not commit. In other words, the ones who heard the appeal used the law to bully him back.

So you may be surprised by the punishment. But trust that it is fair and honest.

[jimblejamblewritings]

On Wyll and Astarion

This is actually not going to be about fandom racism in regards to Wyll or a content comparison (although those are very valid posts that should always be looked at). I was thinking about why in canon of the game, no matter what some people insist, Astarion and Wyll hit it off right away and are very good companions. Like they should have a constant distaste of each other as monster vs monster hunter but they don't.

I think it's because Astarion sees his mortal self in Wyll and Wyll very quickly understands how Astarion became the person he is today because it's a path Wyll is starting to go down. Follow me...

I don't think Astarion was a corrupt magistrate. Personally, even if a particular scene involving Ansur didn't lend evidence to my thought, I would still think this. Corrupt magistrate becomes monster and learns better after being abused is so boring. Tired trope, yawn, next. I think it's compelling if Astarion did his job perfectly. Not that he was a good person -- he's perfectly normal in his mortal life, not too good and righteous but not bad either. And that's the problem.

Astarion as a magistrate refuses to let his personal anecdotes, life experience, or bias enter his courtroom. He's there to administer the law and that is all he will do to a fault. He cannot be swayed by anything even when he probably should. If it is against the law then it is against the law. He will dole out the proper punishment and that is that. If you want to appeal then you do it through the proper legal system and he will hear you out because that's his job. But he doesn't want to hear anything outside of that.

(more below the cut)

You stole bread to feed your family? Petty theft and not malicious, pay a fine or spend a few days in jail. You broke something in someone's store but can prove it was an accident? Buy the broken item and the store owner needs to get out of his court. You think someone stole your customers through defamation of your business? No proof, no witnesses, then he doesn't care if your ledgers show a significant drop right when the other business opened. A follower of the law so rigidly that it's a fault.

However, in most cases, people that come into his court simply complain and move on because he's never been corrupt. Until the Gur and Cazador. The Gur have been noticing their children going missing and have great reason to believe it's Cazador. (Astarion isn't Cazador's first spawn but one of his firsts so probably the 2nd or 3rd spawn created so all the children being taken are from the one or two spawn created before him).

Astarion agrees to listen to their case because missing children is a big deal. Both the Gur and Cazador are in court but Astarion doesn't give a shit about the tense courtroom, he will have decorum and they will get to the bottom of this. But there simply isn't enough proof that it is Cazador. There's not really any proof aside from the missing children. Astarion won't simply dismiss the case because there are still missing people but he won't call for the arrest of Cazador either. He tells the Gur to come back with stronger proof of either Cazador or the real criminal if not him and he will listen. He tells Cazador that he isn't off the hook just yet but not about the Gur... about potentially incorrectly filed ledgers.

Cazador knows between the Gur on his trail and Astarion's intense way of being a magistrate that he might get caught. But he knows how to kill multiple birds with one stone. He needs to be rid of the Gur on his trail in court, he needs to stop any looking into his ledgers, he needs Astarion gone, he also needs a new spawn now to continue his ascending plans and -- well -- Astarion happens to be a very pretty elf.

So, Cazador lets one Gur child go. Except they're enthralled. They tell the Gur all the lies Cazador wants them to believe, including that Astarion is being paid off to hide the crimes of who stole them. The Gur know where Astarion lives. It's not exactly a secret because he has no need to keep it a secret. So they attack him for what they (understandably) believe he has done. They leave him for dead in his home and get out before anyone can notice and send for city guards. They're sure he'll bleed out with how badly they mangled him.

That never happens. Cazador was simply a street away, waiting for them to leave. He needs Astarion to invite him in to turn him. But in the elf's state of delirium from the attack and the bloodlust, he doesn't even register how it's suspicious that Cazador doesn't just help him right away but has to ask can he come in and help him. Astarion unknowingly invites him in and invites the bite. This also colors why he's so rude about the Gur. Yeah, it's a bias and a prejudice because as far as he knows, they jumped him for nothing and are horrible people.

Fast forward through the years of abuse and lack of autonomy all the way up until the nautiloid. Astarion has learned that following the law exactly got him in this mess. Being a good person isn't real because good people (like Cazador who saved him) always want something and will turn bad in the end. Not a single god, good or evil, cared to help him so he should stop praying. And punishments don't always fit the crime -- down to the fact that some people get punished for a crime they never committed -- therefore all criminals should be punished to the highest degree to deter them and others.

When he meets Wyll, the only thing he can see is an idealistic version of his mortal self. Wyll is so determined to bring justice, serve the law to criminals. While Wyll is more into the good and heroic of it, they both had the same goals. Except Astarion already knows how that ended. Yet, Wyll is so sure of himself and optimistic that Astarion can't help but like him even if he no longer believes in any of those things.

Then we have Wyll who we already know has similar views to mortal Astarion. And in real time, we see Wyll learn the same lesson Astarion did all those years ago in regards to Karlach. Really, Wyll learned this lesson awhile ago when his dad cast him out but he was so young and didn't see it as such. But in reality: Mizora is his Cazador. His Dad is his Gur. And becoming a tiefling/devil in looks is his vampirism.

Wyll's entire world view is shattered when he spares Karlach. He understands Astarion now. But also, a beauty of it is that Wyll will never get as dark in his thoughts as Astarion because he has the vampire. He sees Astarion improve and start to somewhat believe in his old mortal view through this adventure with their companions who are trying their best. He sees Astarion accept that good does exist in the world every time Tav/Resist!Durge refuses to give up on him. And Wyll knows that it means he's right. Good and heroism does exist and because of that Wyll can start to accept the shit that happened to him because he already has confirmation that he'll be fine and make it out in the end.

And I really like that so many of the companions are mirrors to each other or puzzle pieces for each other. The way Wyll and Astarion work is one of my favorite companion mirroring.

[the-midnight-blooms]

VIOLET CRAZY | jyh

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

masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jealousy, perhaps. Maybe he likes me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

“I’m not Myeong pretty.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knew she wasn't asleep.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It must all be a sick joke.

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

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

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

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

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

Just this once, hear me, my love.

I just wanted you to hear me say: No.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The war begins.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That fucker.

“Can you elaborate?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Men don’t like broken things.”

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

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

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

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

“How did we never notice?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(Mummy doesn’t love us.)

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

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

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

“I can’t get up.” She croaked out.

“Get the fuck up.”

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

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

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

“What does he study?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"But did you mean what you said?"

"Yes. Without doubt."

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

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

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

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

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

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

There is no Yeosang.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Yunho.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Like Yeosang, Myeong is nowhere to be found.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

“How long have you known?”

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

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

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

It’s her baby, after all.

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

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

Dad.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m so tired.

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

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

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

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

“Come back to me, baby.”

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

Perhaps this is what death feels like.

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

All Rights Reserved © the-midnight-blooms

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

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

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

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

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

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

[crimsonkingart]

A short analysis, not complete, but still

I'm a history fucker and I did a little research yesterday, the saint on the funeral card is Saint Ivo of Brittany (1253-1303), and he is the patron saint of lawyers, judges, orphans and poor. His feast day is May 19th, the day of his death and canonization.

Matt in this scene is not only praying to the saint, but he is praying both, the saint and Foggy, because Matt is asking for their help to do the right thing, the right decision, to not lose his way in a moment of deep pain for him.

Matt is filled with anger, so much anger, that in the fourth episode he turns to Punisher for permission and absolution, because he wanted to be justified in embracing his anger.

Matt didn't need to look for Frank for the bullet, he already knew it wasn't him.

Matt is on a path that is taking him down, to embrace his anger, he will probably get revenge on Bullseye. He might even kill him.

The proof is the fact that when he calls the police for help he then hangs up saying "Fuck it".

Because just like Angela and many other people who are victims of injustice Matt is TIRED of laws that are no longer in step with society and of a state that wants us poor and ignorant.

Matt is literally taking a road similar to that of Orpheus or Dante, but there is no return from Hell, there is no love at the end of the road, there is no return for Foggy to the world of the living, there are no stars waiting for him if in the end Matt chooses to kill Bullseye.

Because justice does not mean revenge and it should never mean that.

Matt is tormented by guilt, but anger is destroying him, because the more the series goes on, the more it is obvious that he will lose control...

Just look at how he attacked the police in the second episode, with the Irish mobster and then with Muse.

Muse did not die hanging only because Matt had the goal of saving Angela, but when the fight between him and Bullseye comes, there will be nothing to hold him back.

And I would like to conclude with "the things we do for love" and it is not necessarily romantic or sexual love, think about the things you have done for friendship, for your family, for the people you care about.

Matt feels lost and the things he will do for love and compassion might not please us, and that is why he prays, he prays not to lose his humanity.

And it is very interesting because there is also a parallel with Fisk, who is holding Adam prisoner.

There is literally a parallel between Fisk/Adam and Matt/Muse, (and also with Fisk/Vanessa and Matt/Foggy) with Adam locked in a basement, an underground environment, like the subway tunnels where Muse took his victims.

Furthermore, Fisk is already something inhuman, he is a mobster, he is a piece of shit and he will do out of jealousy what all violent men do, torture his victim, in this case Adam.

Fisk, as a parallel and at the same time as a mirror of Matt, has already lost his humanity, he has a mask of a human, a good man.

And when Vanessa discovers the truth, because she probably will, will she still think that Fisk is not dangerous for her life? I doubt it.

Daredevil right now, among its subplots, doesn't just talk to us about fighting crime, about fighting men, but it talks about Matt and his heart full of love, and that love is killing him, because he lost Foggy, who was his best friend, his only constant, part of his life.

And yes, interpret it however you want, but it's still about love.

And to quote Frank: It's all about him.

P.S.: yes I ship mattfoggy, OBVIOUSLY, I shouldn't even have to justify myself, but hey, I can love cocks and write great reviews at the same time.

[thatnightlamp]

warning: English is not my first language, I am very bad at writing in English so I will use everything I can to translate from my mother tongue to English.

You leaned against your rain-soaked car, take a deep drag on cigarette, the city stretching before you like an open wound. Nights like this, the weight of the years presses heavier on your shoulders. You’ve been chasing him for too long. Too many bodies, too many sleepless nights, too many moments staring into the abyss questioning yourself.

Konrad Curze. Night Haunter. The Boogeyman of Nostramo.

You don’t know what’s worse: the fact that no one believes he’s real, or the fact that you know he is. They call him an urban legend, a ghost story whispered in dark alleys and horror stories to scare children. A serial killer so precise, so methodical, that he leaves no evidence - only fear.

But you know better. You’ve seen his work. The crime scenes are a symphony of horror, every cut deliberate, every corpse an accusation. The media doesn’t see the pattern, but you do. It’s not random. It’s judgment. He doesn’t just kill - he punishes. Corrupt cops, abusers, untouchable criminals - every victim had it coming. Some people call him a necessary evil. You call him a monster.

And he knows you’re hunting him.

The first letter came three years ago. A single sheet of paper, crumpled and dirty, folded carelessly, slipped under your apartment door. No fingerprints. No DNA. Just a message, written in slightly shaky handwriting, the pen tip almost piercing the paper:

"You’re wasting your time. But I admire your persistence."

You should’ve stopped then. Maybe you should have walked away before he got into your head. Before you started understanding him.

Before you started dreaming about him.

The second letter came after your partner, Ronald, went missing. It wasn’t a warning, not exactly. Just another message, this time written in red:

"You should thank me."

You remember the way your stomach churned when you read it. Ronald was dirty, you knew that, he tried to flirt with you a few times and stopped after seeing you throw down a guy twice his size. But did he deserve whatever Curze did to him? And did it matter?

You clench your jaw and get in the car. There’s a lead tonight. An informant swears they saw something - someone - at an abandoned building on the west side of the city. You shouldn’t go alone, but you don’t trust anyone else with this.

The elevator is broken, of course, so you take the stairs, boots echoing against cracked concrete. The building smelled musty and moss grew everywhere, but you press on. The higher you go, the more the city lights vanish, swallowed by the dark.

And then you feel it.

That familiar prickle at the back of your neck.

He’s here.

The air is different, heavy with the weight of his presence. A shadow moves in the corner of your vision, just enough to set your pulse racing. You draw your gun, turning slowly-

"That won’t help you."

His voice is a whisper in the dark, but it cuts through you like a knife. Low, smooth, almost amused.

You don’t let yourself flinch: "Step into the light, Curze."

Silence. Then, a chuckle.

"And ruin the mystery? You have chased me this long, detective. Are you sure you want the hunt to end?"

You exhale slowly, steadying the grip on your gun. The air between you two is thick with something unspoken - dread, anticipation, maybe even fascination.

"Justice," you say, voice low. "That’s what you think you’re doing, isn’t it?"

A pause. A rustle of movement somewhere beyond the shadows.

"Justice?" His voice carries amusement, but underneath, there’s something else. "A pretty word. But tell me, detective, do you believe in it?"

You grind your teeth, scanning the darkness. "I believe in the law."

"The law~" He lets the word linger, stretching it like something fragile between his fingers. "Men in suits, selling morality to the highest bidder. How many times have you seen it fail?"

You don’t answer. Because you have seen it fail. Over and over again. Victims denied justice, murderers walking free. People like Ronald, rotting from the inside out but protected by a badge.

Curze hums, as if reading your silence. "I give them what they deserve," he says. "Do you?"

You grip your gun tighter. "You don’t get to decide that."

"And who does?" He steps closer - just enough for you to sense him, but not enough to see. "A system built on lies? A court that serves only those who pay enough? Tell me, detective… have you ever wanted to do what I do?"

The question hits too close. You have had those thoughts before - brief, fleeting moments where rage burned too hot, where you imagined pulling the trigger on the ones who got away.

But you never did.

"I’m not like you"

"Aren’t you?"

Something shifts in the air. A breeze? A trick of the light? Whatever it is, instinct kicks in. You lunge forward, boots scuffing against the cracked floor and-

But he’s already gone.

The sound of your own breath fills the space he left behind.

You curse, running down the stairs, bursting out into the night. But the streets are empty, the city swallowing him whole once again.

You should be angry. Frustrated. But all you feel is that lingering weight in your chest, his words burrowing deep where you don’t want them.

Because the worst part isn’t that he escaped.

It’s that, for a split second, you weren’t sure if you wanted to catch him.

---------------------------------

tag: @kit-williams

[bedoballoons]

A/n: The livestream has got me on my knees for Wriothesley, like oh my gosh this man is so fine!! So uh...hehe heres a little something I thought of while watching...

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿─

{༻~Grrr~༺}

Nsfw! MDNI! Top Wriothesley! Bottom Afab reader, but GN pronouns! Handcuffs, fingering, punishment, rough sex, no protection, a bit of degradation and threats! Reader is a prisoner! This is written before his release so may be a little ooc!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Wriothesley:

You moaned loudly as Wriothesley slid his large digits inbetween your pretty little light pink folds, pumping them in and out of you at a speed that left you unable to think straight, your wrists stinging as you struggled against the metal confines of the cuffs that kept you trapped against the bedframe. Your wet heat dripping off his fingers and onto the dingy bedsheets you'd been forced to use, the sounds of him spreading you so forcefully like a melody in his lust crazy mind. He just wanted you so bad, the large tent in his pants throbbing with need to the point he could barely keep himself from shoving his full length into you right then, he wanted to make sure you never broke the law again...

"Mnnn~ Wriothesley!" You gasped, watching as he released his member from its fabric confines, his impatience getting the better of him, "Shush, did I tell you you could talk inmate? Cause I sure as hell don't remember telling you." His voice was authoritative, threatening in a way that had you shaking your head in fear and left your pussy throbbing for attention. He could help but smirk in delight at the sight of you, his dick sinking so deep into your heat that you could see stars and he didn't give you even a moment to adjust, his pace absolutely unforgiving.

"Mmhgghn!" You screamed, his thrusts slamming your body against the mattress as he fucked you silly, your brain turned to nothing but mush, tears welling up in your glazed over eyes and your hands holding onto the cuffs for dear life. Wriothesley was enjoying himself immensely, your tight gummy walls clamping around his length in a way that had him growling with greed, "Filthy criminal...so wet for me when all I'm doing is punishing you for your crimes, honestly what a dirty whore."

You couldn't even say a word back, only loud moans and breathless gasps able to escape your lips, your mouth hung open with ecstasy that burned in your core, 'Nghhh-mnnn! Ahahhh!" His rough hands grabbed your hips harshly, leaving bruises as his cock slammed into you with such force that you came on site, your body shaking and quivering around him. He chuckled as he ruined you further, going until his hot white cum filled you to the brim...

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚He so grrrrrr*⁠.⁠✧

(Should I make a version where he's a bottom? 0w0 )

[morbific-or-felicific]

-PÂRO Featuring Wriothesley

Meaning: The feeling that no matter what you do is always somehow wrong—that any attempt to make your way comfortably through the world will only end up crossing some invisible taboo

Word Count: 1.7k~

Description: After accidentally breaking a few laws while at lunch with your boyfriend, he has to ‘punish’ you for your crimes

Edited by: @pretty-princess-peach @tortellini-bandit

You paced around Wriothesley’s office, trying to stay calm. Today hadn’t gone even remotely as you had intended. You were supposed to be having a completely normal lunch with your boyfriend. Unfortunately, however, you had somehow managed to end up in the fortress of meropide… well, in Wriothesley’s office, anyway.

You really hadn’t meant to do anything wrong, but despite that, you had still broken several laws while on your date. Although, it really wasn’t your fault that your fork had caused one of the carrots in your salad to shoot onto the ground, resulting in you getting a littering charge, and how could they blame you for bumping into the table and causing your boyfriend's drink to spill in your lap, which was apparently contact with alcohol while underage (Seriously? You were 20!).

And were they really allowed to call it “evading arrest” when you refused to go with Wriothesley to the fortress?

Despite your refusal, Wriothesley had taken you (read: carried you over his shoulder) to his office in the fortress, and he left you there while he talked to the chief justice about your punishment. Now you were stuck waiting for your boyfriend to return and tell you if you would have to go to jail or not.

Finally, you heard the metal doors creak open after heavy steps came up the staircase. Your boyfriend walked behind his desk and sat down, rubbing his eyes.

“So?”

“‘So?’”

“Do I have to go to jail…?”

“Oh, that.” He smiled gently. “No, but… you do need some kind of punishment. Neuvilette said that community service might be a good idea, but he didn’t give a definitive punishment.”

“But I didn’t do anything wrong!”

He sighed, shaking his head.

“You still broke laws, but it is up to me to determine your punishment, since this wasn’t an official trial.”

You stood there for a moment, waiting for him to say more.

“So, what will you decide…?”

He leaned back in his chair and raised his eyebrows at you.

“What do you think you deserve?”

You thought for a second. Should you just say something like community service or just a small fine? Or would he think that’s not enough? You contemplated what you should say, but before you got a chance to say anything, Wriothesley spoke.

“I think you deserve to be handcuffed and punished for being a bad girl. What do you think, princess?”

You blushed. Was he really going to punish you like that…? For this? There’s no way this was a legal recourse. You weren’t going to complain if that’s how things worked out, but you were still confused.

“Is that legal?”

He let out a light laugh.

“Do you really care?”

You smiled at him.

“I guess not.”

Wriothesley smiled back at you, but there was something in his eyes that made you nervous. He had punished you before, and you knew that you were right to be concerned, but it still disquieted you.

“Strip.”

You did as he asked. You slipped out of your dress and took off your underwear.

“Come here. Now.”

Wriothesley slid his chair back as you walked over to stand in front of your boyfriend. He looked you up and down, drawing his eyes over your beautiful body. He stood up and grabbed his handcuffs from his belt before sliding them onto your wrists.

“Get on your knees.”

Wriothesley sat back down in his chair with his legs open so you could settle between them. He took off his belt and undid his pants before pulling out his cock.

“Suck.”

You felt the urge to disobey him bubble up inside of you. You smiled up at him and simply stated, “No.”

He returned your smile once again.

“‘No?’”

His voice holds a menacing lilt.

“No.”

He sighed.

“Five, four, three.” You felt a sense of unease in your stomach, and you began to question your resolve. It was hard to be firm in your brattiness when he used that voice. “Two, one, zero.”

He didn’t say another word as he roughly grabbed your hair in one hand and forcibly opened your mouth with the other. He pushed his cock into your mouth and brought you down until you reached the base. You spluttered and gagged as you tried to get used to his cock in your throat, your jaw already hurting from how thick the Duke was.

He pulled you up and down his cock, letting out deep groans as he did so. You wiggled around, trying to slip out of your handcuffs, but you were completely at Wriothesley’s mercy.

After a minute or two of your boyfriend fucking your throat, you had a bright idea. You could use your teeth! Seconds after you slid your teeth against his cock, he was pulling you off and leaning down to look you in the eye, still gripping your hair tightly.

The look in his eyes sent a chill down your spine. You had made a big mistake.

“Do that again and see what happens, princess.”

You felt your resistance dissipate after those words. You were already being punished, and you didn’t want to make it worse.

“I’m sorry, your grace.”

Wriothesley smiled softly at your submission. You relaxed your body and opened your mouth. He pushed his cock back down your throat, keeping a firm grip on your hair, far preferring to set the pace himself rather than have you do it. This was a punishment, after all. You did your best to breathe through your nose and relax your throat as your boyfriend used your mouth like a toy.

Your throat felt so perfect around Wriothesley’s cock. He was finally about to cum, but before he did, he pulled out of your mouth so he could cum on your face, rather than down your throat. Bad girls don’t get his cum.

You instinctively closed your eyes and stuck out your tongue before his cum landed on your face. You licked up what landed near your mouth, but with your hands stuck behind your back, you were forced to leave the rest.

Wriothesley took a moment to breathe before standing up and dragging you up with him. He turned you so that you were facing away from him, and he pushed you down on his desk. He stood back, admiring your bent body before grabbing his belt where he left it on his desk. He folded his belt and stood back slightly before bringing it down hard on your ass.

You fought the urge to stay silent and began to count the strikes, just like his grace had taught you. One, two, three, four, five.

“Six!”

You braced yourself for another hit, but it never came. You felt his hand gently run over the marks he had made, and you couldn’t help but wince at the discomfort. Wriothesley removed his hand from your ass and ran a finger up your slit.

“You’re so wet. Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Yes! Please.”

A choked scream escaped your lips when another hit came from your boyfriend’s belt.

“Please, what?”

“Please, your grace!”

“Better.”

You felt the tip of Wriothesley’s cock at your entrance and almost protested at the lack of prep, but before you could, he was pushing inside of you. Tears were forming in your eyes from how much his cock was stretching you out. Fuck, he’s thick.

He bottomed out inside of you, pausing to let you somewhat adjust to his size. How sweet of him.

When he could no longer restrain himself, he started fucking you hard and deep. You felt like you had ascended to heaven after enduring hell. He filled you up so perfectly, turning your mind blank and holding your hips in a bruising grip as he worked towards his end.

“You’re fucking perfect, taking me so good.”

He couldn’t help but let out a deep moan at the feeling of you tightening around him.

“Feels so good! Thank you, your grace!”

A breathy laugh escaped his lips, and he began fucking you faster, needing you more. You were so perfect for him, taking your punishment without protest, and then taking his cock. Was it really necessary to tell you that you hadn’t actually broken any laws, and that he had used your ignorance of Fontaine’s complicated legal system to orchestrate a night of fun for the two of you? He did have to have a meeting with Neuvilette, so it wasn’t a complete lie, but still.

You were losing yourself slowly to the overwhelming pleasure and could barely form words at this point. You tried to tell Wriothesley that you wanted to be closer to him but all that came out was gibberish. The only thing that he was able to make out was “closer”, and fuck, he wanted to be closer to you too.

He wrapped a hand around the front of your throat and pulled you up until you could feel the fabric and the cold clasps of his vest against your bare back. His lips found your neck, and he kissed up towards your lips until, eventually, you were kissing. His lips moved against yours passionately as he continued to fuck you.

“I’m gonna cum! Please, need to so bad!”

Wriothesley smiled at how good you were being, even asking permission to cum.

“Go ahead, princess.”

You let yourself be consumed by the pleasure and tip over the edge. You saw stars as Wriothesley fucked you through your orgasm. As you came down from your high, Wriothesley continued his harsh rhythm, and you could do nothing but whine from the overstimulation. He always lasted longer than you, and you were almost always overstimulated by the time he was finished.

Finally, you felt his rhythm begin to falter, and finally, you felt him fill you up with his cum. The two of you stayed connected, placing gentle kisses on each other's lips as you wound down from the experience.

“How are you feeling?”

“Tired.”

You just wanted to lay down in bed and sleep after such an intense experience. If it weren’t for Wriothesley’s arms around you, you were certain that you would be laying flat on his desk.

“Let’s go home.”

The Duke undid your handcuffs and placed them back on his belt before doing up his own pants and helping you get dressed. Then, he scooped you up and began to carry you home.

Tag List: @lilia-sspouse @but-a-peach @stannazuna @izzalovesdilfs @lordbugs @randomlycockroach @licensedsimp @leena-shi @cesimaaa @welpthisisfine @dainself-when-playable @fic-rebloga @bubblyxdolly @wanderin-stories @iwysbellez @k4ze3e @kenmabfasf @vvyeislazzy @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @hopeless-smvt @bloomingheartz @crazydreamcat @kazumiku @str4wb3rizz @kyon-cherri @ravereina @ashrodisiac

morbific-or-felicific.

[sadistic-kiss]

🐺House of Alphas🐺

(Jujutsu Kaisen Omegaverse )

Summary: Waking up in a world that was not your own was problematic enough. Being the villainess was another. However, the possessive alphas might take the cake.

Disclaimer: Angsty but I ain’t Gege

Omega!Reader x Alpha!Sukuna x Alpha!Gojo x Alpha!Toji x Alpha!Nanami x Alpha!Getou

Chapter 68: AM

~

...

Yoshinubu's mouth gapped like a fish, “Y-you DARE SLAP ME!?” He stood as light magic erupted all around him causing the chapel to be filled with a powerful gust of wind. The man was radiating light as his eyes glowed.

You squinted, the bright rays were so blinding that it hurt to stare into it. As if you were being hit with the most powerful high beams.

“AN ATTACK ON ME IS AN ATTACK ON THE HOLY LIGHT! I AM THE LIGHT! I AM ALL THAT IS HOLY! YOU SHALL BE PUNISHED!”

A beam of light was shot at you, and you gasped in shock, the ball consumed your vision, and all you could think of was how bad it was going to hurt, preparing for the pain.

But within a split second something blocked the light but the impact still hit.

“Ah!” You cried as you were sent flying, crashing into the double doors and then sliding upon the pathway. The whirlwind of it all had you spiraling in dizziness, but you shook your head to get yourself back to reality.

“Ngh…” Gojo let out a little groan as he sat upon his elbows, he had taken the blast for you, his infinity barrier sizzling as blood peaked upon the corner of his lip.

“Gojo!” You moved, already healing him as the furious priest came walking through the doors.

Onlookers were running to see what was happening, shocked by the spectacle.

“If YOU won’t tame your brat then I will.” The priest held up both his hands as he prepared another attack. The light gathered above him as he readied a giant ball of light.

“Don’t you dare!” Gojo sat up with snarling lips.

“What the hell is going on?!” Nanami, Toji, and Sukuna came sliding into the scene. Your blonde stood between you and the priest while Sukuna got ready to fight. Toji bent down next to you, covering you from any danger.

They didn't know what was going on but all they knew was they had to protect you.

“WHAT IS THE MEANING OF THIS?!” Nanami shouted seeing as the priests hadn't lowered his attack.

Yoshinobu hissed, ball still blazing with anger but he spoke his reasoning for attacking you, “Your omega has SPIT at the light, disrespecting all that we hold dear!”

Ok, first off this man was really on some other shit. Must be snorting the equivalent of crack in this world. It was gross how he embodied himself as the light. He views himself as greater than anyone here as if he were a god. He thinks therefore he is.

“It doesn’t have to be like this!” Yaga tried to reason behind the priests.

Utahime surprisingly tried to help as well, “Grand priest our prime alphas should handle their omega!”

Nanami raised his hand, taking a deep breath, you could hear the tenseness of his voice, “I do not know what our omega has done but allow US to deal with her.”

“She is ours to punish- not yours!” Sukuna growled out.

You were silent, watching everything unfold. You weren’t sure if you were about to fight or if Nanami could negotiate with the priest to allow you to be handled by their hands. You had committed a crime, and despite it just being a slap you had broken a law, but Tengen did it feel so good to slap that ass hole. Now you just hoped you didn't doom everyone. Gojo and Toji made sure to block you with their bodies, while Sukuna paced around, ready to strike anyone who dared to go for you. You had just noticed Getou was slinking in the shadows, prepared for a surprise attack.

It was a silent battlefield, eyes darting around in fear. It felt like hours went by but it was only but mere seconds.

Tweedle dee and Tweedle dumb joined the party, looking between everyone in bewilderment, “Good heavens! What is going on?!”

Nanami spoke without bringing his eyes away from the old priest, “Our omega has caused a disturbance, and as her alphas, we will deal her punishment. It is up to us to correct her when she misbehaves. Being as she doesn’t know how the world works she does not understand so let us correct her.”

The grand priest growled as he threw his hands down, his ball of light dispersing in a flash. He pointed a crooked finger at Nanami, “I expect a proper punishment to be dealt. I don’t think I need to tell you that if she were anyone else her actions would have bought her a life sentence or death.”

“Like I said… we will handle it, and make sure it never happens again.” Nanami repeated sternly.

The older man tossed his head, dismissing you all.

Nanami turned and marched toward you with a cold stone face. Your stomach dropped as he knelt and yanked you up by your upper arm.

“N-Nanami im sorry-“

“Be silent.” Nanami growled at you with a snap of his teeth.

...

~Read More~

[maxdibert]

What do you think would be a fair punishment for James and Sirius, considering the werewolf attack (murder attempt) and Snape's worst memory (sexual assault)? In real life, those actions are crimes and they could go to jail, but things are a little different in the magic world.

We know they didn't get any punishment because the school either didn't care or covered up everything. But if the truth came out, what would be the best way to hold James and Sirius accountable for their actions? To me, expulsion would be a start, but it's still the bare minimum.

Okay, we should take several things into account. First, we’re talking about 15-year-olds, so they are minors, which is always relevant when issuing a judgment or requesting any type of sentence. We’re also talking about different crimes, so on one hand, I would judge Sirius, and on the other, James. Perhaps, aside from these specific crimes, I would ask the judge to consider the fact that they committed constant bullying. And then we also need to consider that they are British, so we should base it on the legal system of that country, which I vaguely know. Let’s remember that we are not talking about normal criminal law but juvenile criminal law, which is different because minors are never really judged with the severity of adults, and I’m not going to deviate from that script.

I like this question because I’m a criminal lawyer but not specialized in minors nor am I British, so I’ll be guided by what I know about this type of law as well as the specific laws of the country.

The first thing, obviously, would be to separate the charges I would request for each because the crimes are different.

For Sirius, taking Snape to where Remus was during a full moon, knowing full well what could happen, that’s attempted murder or at the very least reckless endangerment. He was putting Snape’s life at risk with a dangerous creature, which is no small thing. Even if Sirius didn’t directly mean for Snape to die, the fact that he acted with such disregard for Snape’s life would qualify for attempted murder under reckless disregard for life.

James is a bit different. We’ve got him on assault, battery, false imprisonment (by levitating and holding Snape in the air), and indecent exposure (since he forcibly exposed Snape in front of everyone). All of these are serious charges, especially the public humiliation aspect of the SMW incident, which would be aggravated by the bullying nature.

Given that they were 15, they’d be tried in the Youth Court unless the crimes were deemed severe enough to move to the Crown Court. For Sirius, considering the gravity of the attempted murder charge, I’d push for a youth detention order, which could range up to the max of 2 years for the most serious cases. The court might also look at an extended sentence under the Youth Justice and Criminal Evidence Act, if they believe he poses an ongoing risk.

For James, we’d likely be looking at a community rehabilitation order, given the multiple charges but also factoring in that it’s not as severe as attempted murder. The focus would be on rehabilitation, but the court might also impose a youth detention period if they find the indecent exposure and public humiliation severe enough.

Both would have conditions attached, like attending counseling, educational programs, and possibly community service. The aim would be to rehabilitate but also acknowledge the seriousness of their actions.

That’s as far as general terms go. But if you’re asking me personally what I would do as the prosecution attorney and what kind of strategy I would follow, the answer is that I would go all out. Because I always go all out in criminal trials, and because I’m quite competitive and I like not just winning, but winning the best possible outcome for my clients. So, in a case like this, I honestly wouldn’t have much mercy, especially knowing that the defendants are rich kids. So, well, my prosecution strategy would be something like this:

argue that the actions of both Sirius and James were not isolated incidents but part of a prolonged campaign of bullying against Severus Snape. This ongoing harassment exacerbates the gravity of their specific actions — Sirius’s attempted murder and James’s assault and humiliation — and establishes a pattern of behavior that warrants harsher scrutiny.

Evidence and Arguments:

1. Constant Bullying: We would present evidence from witnesses, including other students and possibly teachers, who can testify to the frequent and targeted harassment Snape endured at the hands of Sirius and James. This could include verbal abuse, physical intimidation, and orchestrated pranks that go beyond mere schoolyard teasing.

2. Collaborative Nature: It would be crucial to highlight how both Sirius and James often acted together, using their power and popularity to target Snape, who was frequently alone and without allies. This demonstrates a systematic effort to harm and humiliate him, which should aggravate their charges.

3. Power Imbalance: We would emphasize the socioeconomic and emotional vulnerabilities of Severus. Coming from a less affluent background and dealing with family struggles, Snape’s isolation and lack of resources made him an easy target for the more privileged Sirius and James. This context would further paint the defendants’ actions as exploitative and cruel.

4. Psychological Impact: I’d call on psychological experts to assess the long-term emotional and psychological damage caused by the continuous bullying. This would show that the harm inflicted went beyond the physical, leaving lasting scars that justify a substantial legal response.

Of course i would also would show asistí on al charges.

• Aggravated Assault: For both, given the sustained nature of their actions and the mental distress caused to Snape.

• Harassment: Under the Protection from Harassment, showing a course of conduct causing distress.

• Public Order Offenses: For creating a hostile environment within the school, disrupting not just Snape’s peace but potentially that of others.

For Sirius, adding these charges could push the court to impose the maximum youth detention period, with a strong emphasis on rehabilitation programs designed to address violent tendencies and lack of empathy.

For James, the aggravated charges and public order offenses might lead to a combination of a longer community order, including mandatory participation in programs addressing bullying and its impacts, and a possible detention period if the court deems the public indecency and assault severe enough.

And of course I would seek financial compensation for Severus under the Criminal Injuries Compensation Scheme, which provides payments to victims of violent crime. Given the sustained nature of the abuse and its psychological impact, we’d argue for a substantial amount, citing:

• Medical and psychological treatment costs.

• Lost educational opportunities due to the hostile environment affecting his learning.

• General damages for pain and suffering.

This compensation would serve both as a recognition of the harm caused and a deterrent for similar future behavior in school environments.

And yes, I would demand a large sum of money from each of their families. I would also require a public apology from both of them, apologizing to Severus in front of their peers. And, of course, immediate expulsion from Hogwarts and a prohibition on continuing their studies in a standard school environment unless they complete and pass all reintegration processes and programs.

I think that covers everything lol.

[izxz-is-deranged]

Baptism by Fire | Matt Murdock x BAU!Reader

Summary: You love your position at the BAU, but your life is uprooted when Hotch sends you on a temporary assignment to the FBI field office in New York. Apparently, someone had the bright idea to make a deal with a crime boss named Wilson Fisk, and now it's your job to build a profile to determine if the information he gives can be trusted. As you realize quickly things aren't as they seem, you must find a way to protect yourself- If protecting yourself has something to do with a masked vigilante... That's no fault of yours.

multiple crossovers | slow burn

A/N: Starts about ep3 of S3 of Daredevil! Reader uses a fake name, and can be seen as an original character if desired. Future storylines may involve Reader's past coming back to haunt her (Supernatural) and the trials and tribulations of her day job (Criminal Minds)

< ao3 link > <Masterlist>

7: Means to An End

Where the hell are you going?

What the hell are you doing?

All your training at the FBI couldn't've prepared you for this. Luckily, your previous life running in hunter’s circles didn’t make you panic having to act outside the law. You couldn’t go back to the hotel. God knows its crawling with Agents who you weren’t sure were compromised or not. Plus, Fisk is there too. You’re not keen to be in the same city, let alone the same building as him. Obviously, you’d underestimated how deep Fisk’s tendrils ran. Your wounds throb as a brutal reminder.

You try to focus on driving, but your mind doesn’t leave Matt in the backseat. What the hell sort of abilities did he possess? Was he actually blind? Was it some sort of psychic ability? Was it possession? He did take a scary amount of punishment without stopping.

Slipping a coin out of your pocket, you keep one hand on the wheel. You’d seen him touch iron bars of jail cells, but a silver test wouldn’t go astray. You could rule out a few monsters that way. You thumb over the tarnished coin, placing it calmly on his hand. No reaction… Good. You feel a bit partial to the man who you owe your life too. You run through a scenario of that riot where he wasn’t in that nurse’s office with you. You’d like to think you would’ve survived, but you know deep down without his weirdly adept fighting and sixth sense… You’d have left in a body bag.

God. That’s another question. How does he fight like that?

Exhale. You had to take this all one step at a time. He’s a civilian, there was time for speculation later. Priority one is getting Matt somewhere safe. He asked you to take him home. You could deal with your problems with Fisk after that. You steal a glance in the rearview at him laying limply in the back. Matt’s dark hair flicks back and forth in the rushing wind from the broken window. You should probably take him to a hospital- Jesus, you should take yourself as well. Yet, if Fisk had eyes in the prison, they’re probably hidden in the hospitals too.

The road your driving slowly turns more urban. You’d get lost if you weren’t careful. You needed his address quick. There’s only one person you can call.

“Office of professional genius, be prepared to grovel at my feet- How can I dazzle you today?”

“...Garcia?” Your voice cracks. Relief floods you hearing a familiar string of words from a friend, even if it was through the speaker of your phone laying on the dash board.

“Oh, tweety bird, you okay?” She asks quickly, concern evident.

“Is that Wren?” Another voice pops up.

A warm smile grows on your face. “Hey, Spence.”

Spencer Reid (Affectionately, Spence) was like a drop of sunshine. Most intelligent man on the planet and huge, huge nerd. Him combined with Garcia was a recipe for long nights watching Doctor Who, and deep dives into the weird and wonderful. It had been all of 3 days since you’d been in the same room as them, but it felt like a lifetime.

“I don’t have long to talk- I’m on a bit of time crunch,” You start again, then add, “And yes. I’m fine. It’s just been… a day.”

“How’s New York?” Reid asks, voice cheerful.

“...Chaotic.”

“Well, New York City being home to about 8.8 million people it’s likely-”

Garcia begins to shush him, and he trails off. You can see his guilty face in your minds eye.

“You said time crunch, girlie. What’s up?” Garcia cracks her knuckles.

“Can you send Matthew Murdock’s address to my phone?”

Furious key typing projects from your speaker and it ends with a ding. “Easy. Done.”

“Matthew Murdock? Isn’t that the lawyer who-” Reid starts.

“Yes, that one,” you affirm, knowing he already had the information correct and memorized. It’s more surprising when he didn’t know something than when he did.

“Ooh! Did you find out more about him up and vanishing?”

“Well, funny story…,” You look over your shoulder at Matt’s unconscious figure, “I, uh… May have just found him.”

“Was he missing?” Reid asks. A rare instance of being lost.

Garcia responds, “Catch up, Boy Wonder. Wren’s solving a case for the ages.”

You shake your head, smiling softly and grabbing your phone and setting the navigation up. You say your goodbyes and they wish you well. Garcia adds that you have to bring her some tourist trap New York nick-nack for her desk. You promise to. When the call ends, you’re thrust back into the reality of your situation. Should you tell them? Should you ask for the help of your team?

… No. This is too dangerous. You can’t drag the BAU into this. Trained agents or not, risking your life is not the same as risking theirs.

~

God bless New York. People truly mind their own business here. You’d been worried someone would catch you in the taxi driving around a half dead guy, but you pull into the Matt’s street without question. Your mind is on a one way track: Get him inside. Get him safe. Get yourself out. You veer the yellow hunk of metal into an alley, tucking it behind dumpsters and trash cans. To any passerby, it’d look like any other taxi parked off duty.

There was a back door entrance to his apartment building through here. You spot it as you step out of the vehicle. Good. You really didn’t want to drag his bloodied self into the broad daylight of sidewalk. You hope internally his neighbors mind their own business too. The smell of the trash, the steam from the sewer grates, and the laundry exhausts fills the alley, an assault to your senses. You don’t think you’ll get used to how pungent this city actually is.

The backseat car door opens with a whine when you pull the handle. Replacing the scents of the ally is the sharp twang of iron- of blood. It muddles with whatever warm cologne and sweat Matt has clung to his skin. He doesn’t stir at the sound, or your intrusion leaning into the back, or the unbuckling of the seat belt you’d secured him with. You press a delicate two fingers on his neck, making sure his heart was still beating. It’s slow, but steady. He’s warm under your touch. You exhale, allowing your fingers to dance upwards with urgency. You peel back his eyelids, but then realize just how unresponsive his pupils are to the light. Holy shit. He really is blind.

You feel the exposure weigh in on you, leaned into the car like this makes it almost impossible to track your surroundings of the alley. How the fuck are you supposed to get him inside if he was out cold? It’s not that you weren’t strong, it’s just that this man was about 5 foot 10 inches of lean muscle and all of it is densely packed dead weight right now. You grip his shoulders, delivering a decent shake.

“Mr. Murdock- Mr. Murdock, can you hear me?” You speak a little louder than normal in an attempt to reach him in the distant recesses of his psyche.

His eyelids barely flutter in response.

You try again, shaking a little more fiercely, but trying to avoid actually aggravating his wounds. Your voice is the picture perfect example of the cool, calm Agent you were trained to be, and not the panicked wreck that rattles against your rib cage. “Mr. Murdock. I need you to try and stand for me. This is Agent Singer- We need to get you inside your apartment.”

His breathing picks up, and his face has the faintest hint of alertness. You see his limbs begin to stir, dragging like they were tied down by bricks.

“Where… Where are…?” Matt begins, voice scratchy and pained.

“Your home. Your apartment,” You coax, repeating, “Which floor are you on?”

You knew the number, 6A, you just needed to know how many stairs you were about to scale.

He makes an attempt to shift towards the door, hands loosely grasping at the leather seat around him. “...Top. The top floor. Door on the… left when you get up the… Ah, stairs.” Each phrase and word takes tremendous effort on his part. His sentence is intermixed with gasps of air and pain.

Matt practically rolls out of the car, footing failing him. You let out a gasped “fuck” as you go pull him back up. His hand smears a line of rusty red across your shoulders. While he was lightyears away with about as much control as a newborn deer, he still manages to stand, leaning almost all his weight on you.

Now you just have to get inside.

It’s a goddamn struggle, but why wouldn’t it be? You’re doing most of the heavy lifting. It’s through the door from the alley, up maybe 5 flights of old new york staircases. You wonder what could possess a blind man to live with all these stairs. That has to be some sort of risk, right? The thought doesn’t stay long, and by the time you reach the top, the only thing your focusing on is keeping your breathing steady. It reminds you of the training drills from the academy.

The dark wood of the floorboards creak as you take the step onto the final floor. The hallway his apartment door is on is yellowed with age. It’s lighting dim, with only the sparse coolness of a singular ray of daylight reaching from the other end of the hall. It feels old, but not like a discarded lamp at a goodwill feels old. It’s in the way a grandparent’s chair feels old. Well worn, lived in and safe. It briefly reminds you of Bobby’s house. Nostalgia hits you like a old friend punctuating a joke.

Matt becomes more alive at the presence of his door. He must’ve been counting the flights, or using whatever sense helped you both out of the prison. His step picks up, and he points over at an old radiator heating system.

“My spare key… Hidden behind the third rod.”

He shrugs off of you, leaning on the space of wall next to his door. You fish the key out of the hidey-hole and go towards the knob, prepared to unlock it. A wide hand is placed over yours, interrupting the process.

“No. No need, Agent… You’ve done enough. I’ll be fine from here,” Matt breathes out, words dismissive in a way you didn’t expect. His hand radiates heat into yours, and you glance down at the vicious splits and bruising in his knuckles.

You feel an emotion snap like a rubber band in your chest. Hurt? Disappointment? Indignation seems like the right word. You scoff. “Respectfully, Mr. Murdock, I didn’t get myself almost killed in a prison riot nor by a crazed cab driver to let you bleed out on your couch now. You at least need someone to look at your headwound and logic says hospitals are out of the picture.”

His sightless eyes are fixed in your direction. Even through the foggy sedative wearing away, you could see flickers of running thoughts in his expression. Hesitation. Deliberation. Call it what you will, you just saw the warryness of man not keen to trust you any farther, but to your surprise, he retracts his hand.

Matt nods, granting you permission to stay.

You unlock the door, eager to get out of the hall. You both had luckily missed any neighbor encounters and you attributed that to this all happening in the afternoon of a workday. Matt pushes in first, stumbling through the entrance. You walk in more hesitantly, locking the door behind you.

If your profiling skills didn’t serve you wrong, you imagined Matt’s apartment would be something practical, sparse of furniture that could be a tripping hazard. Something distinctly bachelor pad, but still put together enough to show that he was a working professional. Matt blows through the space like second nature. You step out of the entrance hall slowly, taking it all in.

Light spills in from big glass block windows, which almost remind you of a warehouse from the early 1900s. Each pane is a slightly different shade and hue. The ceilings are high, with a bedroom on the far side and a kitchen on the other. Met in the middle under the windows is about as an intense of a living room as you’d get in such an open concept apartment. Everything is as you guessed, but the entrance to the roof rising to your left surprises you. What does he want roof access for? Rent here couldn’t be cheap, there had to be a reason he chose this particular unit.

“What happened with the cab driver? After I was out?” Matt calls, digging in his bathroom. He exits carrying a hodge-podge of first aid items. His steps are heavy and so is his breathing, but you can tell he’s still trying to conceal how much pain he’s in. He’s growing more cognizant the longer he stays awake, though.

“He pulled a gun on us,” you respond swiftly. Matt moves aside 3 neatly stacked piles of mail to make room to place all the items on the coffee table, prompting you to meander over to it.

“Did you kill him?” He asks. His voice is low with his back to you. Matt says it like it’s somehow a test. You squint at him. He’d directed you to not shoot anyone unless absolutely necessary in the prison. Guess he had a bit of an opinion on taking a life.

“No. We fought. I broke his arm and forced him out at a roll,” You answer.

He huffs in amusement. “Well, that’s one way to do it.”

Matt begins to slowly peel off his suit jacket. His motions are slow and pained. You track the way his broad shoulders move, just barely cloaked by the thin fabric of his white button down. Red splotches of blood and grime stain the front, but he doesn’t remove the shirt, opting instead to push up the sleeves and loose his tie. It joins the grey jacket on the floor.

You pick both up wordlessly and drape them over a chair.

“Listen, do this quick,” Matt groans, eyes fluttering as he drops onto the couch with a sharp exhale. “Then you need to pack up and leave town.”

You don’t take your eyes off him, but your brow knits together in response to his commanding words. As you sit down as well you can’t help but scoff. “Like hell I will. A bad 2 hours doesn’t send me running, I’m too stubborn. Fisk can try to kill me all he wants but all that’s gonna make me is more pissed off.”

Matt shakes his head. “No. You don’t understand. If he wants you dead, it’s over. Your best bet is to leave.”

“I’m assuming this line of thinking excludes you?” You slyly remark, beginning to fiddle with the first aid supplies. Matt looks lost in his thoughts and you prep a few wipes to get the dried blood off his face. A nasty split in his forehead is really what you wanted to fix. It definitely needs stitches.

“I can handle myself.”

“Like you handled yourself at the prison? Sick moves for a blind dude,” You say, turning to him. You raise the alcohol wipe, but pause a few inches from his face. “Can I?”

He nods lightly. You notice he tenses when you place your hands on his face. A worry of hurting him bubbles up, but he relaxes just as fast. You hold his head steady with one hand and gently clean away the dried blood in rhythmic, delicate wipes. It’s quiet in the apartment, and that quiet makes the action laced with an intimacy you didn’t expect. You pretend to not notice the raw feeling.

“People usually accuse me of faking it after seeing something like that,” Matt mutters as he blinks slowly at you.

“I’ve seen weirder things,” You hum, working on a particularly tough spot near his cheek. “And unless you magically know how to keep your pupils from constricting in direct sunlight, I won’t question it.”

A ghost of a smile graces his face. “You don’t seem like the type of woman to not question things.”

“What do I seem like then?”

It’s like all his attention is trained on you, even if his eyes miss the mark slightly. The tilt of his head, the parting of his lips, the relaxed arch of his shoulders. There’s an intensity to him that simmers just below the surface of his skin. A deep set well of emotions, with such a tight and fallible lid. You feel like if you pressed just enough, he’d snap closed like a mouse trap… Hurting you in the process.

“You seem smart, if not a bit reckless. Capable, driven. Fisk said you went to Rikers to investigate further despite warnings from your Superiors, so definitely more independent that the FBI bargained for,” Matt explains slowly. “Stubborn. But you just said it yourself, so don’t hold that one against me.”

You toss the dirty wipes to the side, and begin to focus solely on the headwound. If this was any other situation, you would’ve assumed Matt was lightly flirting as he spoke. There’s always this look men get in their eyes; The way their smiles look distant enough that you know they’re lost in the thought of you. You could swear you see a glimpse of it, under the weight of the day. You smile for the first time, almost on instinct, not seeing it as the trap it is.

“I’d say I’m impressed, but I work with the BAU, you know,” You answer playfully, “So I’ve seen better.”

You’re stringing the suture needle with the thread when he speaks again.

“You want better?” Matt cocks his head.

“If you’ve got it.”

“Alright,” He says before his voice drops into a sharp whisper, “Why did you lie about your name?”

Your mind goes blank in shock and dread, then it kickstarts like it’s running a hundred yard sprint. How does he know that? Did he somehow figure out your past? Did he research you before you walked into that prison nurse’s office? No. Not possible. Think. Profile.

Matthew Murdock is an orphan. He grew up in the system. Children who do have issues building deep relationships or opening up due to lack of trust in others. Since he grew up in a strictly catholic upbringing, it’s likely religion is a corner stone of his psyche. Lost his father to mob violence, so he deals with that grief and guilt by becoming a lawyer to do good in the legal system. But you saw today he’s not above the dirty work, making deals with Albanian mobsters and fighting like a rabid animal. His sense of justice is too great-

Wait. Stop. It’s too familiar. Where have you heard this before?

…Holy shit.

You turn agonizingly slow to face him. Flashes of the way he fought today overlaid visions of a man in a black mask. You focus in on his lips, recalling the spilt you spotted last night. Sure enough, the wound was still there. A nothing short of evil grin cracks open you face. If he airs out your secret, you’ll air out his.

“And how long have you been Daredevil?”

It’s his turn to act shocked, but Matt masks it expertly. Doesn’t mean you still can’t envision the flames seeping out of his nostrils as they flare.

“I asked you first.” His tone is nothing short of icy.

“I ask you second. How’d you know I was lying?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!”

“Do you work for Fisk?”

“Is that was this is about?! No! No. I don’t work for him. Goddamn, you really do have trust issues.”

The room quiets as the tension from the quick exchange releases. Matt shifts, letting out deep exhale. He nods like he just accepted something to himself. You wonder if you just offended him with that comment. A long silence fills the space, both of you judging your next steps forward.

“...Did you really think I worked for Fisk?” You ask slowly as you resume your prep of the needle.

Matt thinks for a second. “Maybe. I just wanted to make sure.”

“After you let me into your apartment? I feel like that’s bad instincts,” you turn to him to, ready to stitch the wound closed, “I could be lying anyway.”

“You’re not.” He’s resolute.

“I go back to my question: How do you know that? Is it a psychic thing?”

Matt laughs as his face brightens into a surprised amusement. “No, no it’s not that. It’s… It’s more of a sensory thing. It’s really how I fight… or see for that matter.”

You blink. “That doesn’t clear much up, you know.” You bring the needle up, and Matt leans his head down for you to get the best angle. “This is gonna hurt like a son of a bitch.”

“I’ll be fine.”

And he is. Beside the odd hiss as the needle works through his skin, Matt doesn’t give any indication your stitching his forehead closed. Even still, you keep talking, your curiosity eating at you. “What do you mean ‘sensory thing?’”

He considers for a second, and internal debate happening. You can almost feel his thoughts humming under your fingers as you hold his head.

“When I went blind, my senses… changed. Heightened, or whatever people like to say. I woke up and everything was just more. The sounds. The scents. The feeling of fabric. The ragged breathing of patients down the hall. It was like someone dialed everything up to 11, and then never turned it back down,” He’s stills as he talks, lost in the memory, “Eventually, you start to differentiate them, how to put the pieces together to… see a scene. It’s just my reality.”

“That explains how you navigated the prison,” You note, pulling the thread taught, “I still don’t get how you can tell if someone is lying.”

Matt shifts ever so slightly to focus more directly on you, careful not to interrupted the stitching process. A long moment passes until he says, “Heartbeats.”

“You can hear heartbeats?”

He nods. “Yours jumped when you introduced your name. It didn’t when you said you denied working for Fisk. Lie v. Truth.”

You’re just beginning to tie off the last stitch, trying to decide whether or not your believe him. You, unfortunately, didn’t have some super sense to tell you the difference, just a keen eye and FBI training. It’s such a wild and novel concept you can’t help but take it at face value. I mean, you really have seen weirder, to be fair. You weren’t lying about that.

“Alright, so you’re a human polygraph, and more aware of you’re surroundings than most seeing people,” you drop the needle onto a tissue on the table, “Stitches are done. Any other life threatening wounds I need to look at?”

“No, no, just bruised.” Matt brings a hand up to lightly touch the stitched wound. He nods. “It’s good work. Where’d you learn to stitch like that?” he asks, probing you to open up further.

You’re wiping the last of his blood from your hands when you chew your lip, hesitant to go there. You knew exactly where you learned to stitch like that, but talking about your past didn’t come easy. You hid it from everyone, the BAU, the FBI in general (It’s for the best, most of your close “family” was on multiple watchlists), but it wasn’t an admission of anything terrible. And, in complete fairness, Matt already talked about his “super senses”, so perhaps there wouldn’t be too much harm in repaying the favor.

You sigh, “My brother- Well… Sort-of brother, Dean… He used to come home all busted up, with Sam, our other brother, dragging behind him. Sam was the baby, unless I was in the room, and I’m pretty sure half the stitches I helped with, Dean earned trying to protect him while…”

You trail off, trying to figure out how to dance around the subject of hunting. All these years and it still bled through into your actions. It was weird, saying Sam and Dean’s names out loud to anyone besides Bobby. You couldn’t risk saying a word in front to your team. Lord knows Reid alone probably had their files memorized, and you didn’t want to put a target on your back… human or other.

Matt’s eyebrows raise. “You didn’t go to hospitals then either?”

“No,” You quickly say, then try to cover it, “It was… a religious thing.”

His head cocks, and he cracks a knowing smile.

“Yeah, yeah I get it. It’s a lie.”

Matt gingerly touches your arm. His touch is gentle and you feel taken aback by it, compared to how swiftly you saw those fists just earlier that day connect with convict’s faces. Your eyes watch him, warily. “Listen… We don’t have to talk. We’re not friends. You can lie about whatever you want to. The less we know about each other the better. But, if you’re not going to leave town, you’re still FBI. We find Jasper Evans, get him to confess? You arrest him and help put Fisk back where he belongs. We can be a means to an end for each other. Put Fisk back in prison and get you back to the BAU.”

You’d already resigned yourself to the fact you’d have to find Jasper Evans. You had a feeling, even if you left New York, Fisk would find you, and that could put your team at risk. This was new territory for you. Fisk’s game was larger than you anticipated, and you’d made a damning move waltzing into that prison. But, what Fisk didn’t anticipate, was that it may have made a very, very dangerous alliance. Working with Matt, who just so happened to be the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen, could be lethal. Together, you could do some real damage.

“That sounds like a plan, Mr. Murdock.”

---

taglist <3: @echo-dreams-of-recs @juskonutoh @groovycass

[welcometothejianghu]

Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 악인전기 / EVILIVE.

EVILIVE is a 2023 Korean crime drama about a mild-mannered middle-aged lawyer who becomes convinced by a beautiful tall mob boss that he is tired of being nice and does want to go apeshit.

I'm going to try real hard not to do the "[guy who has only seen Beyond Evil, watching a second Korean drama] this is giving Beyond Evil vibes" thing, but you have to admit up front that comparisons are inevitable. Both of them are tight, emotionally charged dramas with a lot of blurred lines about right and wrong, and both star the absolute acting powerhouse that is Shin Hakyun playing against a gorgeous younger man who sexually threatens him a lot.

However, EVILIVE makes Beyond Evil look warm and fuzzy. The series is tight, violent, messy tale of what happens when bad choices are the only choices left to make, but you lean real hard into them anyway. So especially if you're a fan of Infernal Affairs, The Gangster, the Cop, and the Devil, and/or other homoerotic East Asian crime-and-punishment media, let me give you five reasons why I think this ten-episode series is worth your time.

1. Daddy's home

But which one of them is Daddy??? Well, that's part of the fun. See, one of the characters is older and more composed, but also clearly the economically and hierarchically subordinate of the pair; the other is younger and has spent more time obediently submitting to his crime bosses, but has all the money and wields all the power in any room he walks into (and also uses every inch of his 6'2" frame to do it). So whichever one you think deserves that title, you're right.

Watching Shin Hakyun in a couple other things, I realized how often he's cast as a sniveling, pathetic, nerdy boy-man -- and he makes good use of that experience here. His Han Dongsu starts off as a wet paper towel of a person. They put that handsome fellow in the worst possible haircut a Korean man is allowed to have by law, frumped him up in some ill-fitting suits, and left him out in the rain for a couple scenes. It'd be criminal how much they nerfed his hotness if you didn't know from the start he's got a glow-up coming.

And it's a perfect contrast to the tall, lanky, and always slightly underwashed Seo Doyeong, played perfectly by Actual Runway Model Kim Youngkwang. Equal parts sleepy-eyed and vicious, Seo Deoyeong is a perfect handsome thug. He too looks like a lion who asked a good fairy to turn him into a beautiful Japanese lesbian, only his good fairy missed slightly, but the results were still pretty great.

And oh boy, does he want to fuck that old man in half.

There is a lot going on in this show, but the core dynamic is the weird dance between these two as Seo Doyeong opens the door to the criminal underworld and Han Dongsu makes the choice to step through it. The Korean title translates roughly to 'Villain Story,' so you know from the start this is going to about one guy looking at another and going, I can make him worse. And then he does.

I know there are those of you reading this right now who like it when those boys get rough with one another. I am here to tell you that EVILIVE does not disappoint on that front. If you consider stabbing someone a love language, this to you will be romance.

2. The TENSION

And I don't just mean the sexual tension, though, as my previous point noticed, there sure is a whole lot of that.

EVILIVE is not an easy feel-good funtime show. The very first scene (a flash-forward) involves seeing a character get stone-cold murdered by another character. This show features Legitimately Bad People Who Do Legitimately Bad Things. You may want some of them to get away with it because you like them for other reasons! But you know that geting away with it gets less and less likely every time you see them do yet another Legitimately Bad Thing.

The general shape of the plot is that a deeply stressed normie man who has been repeatedly fucked over gets a chance to strike back against the people and organizations that fucked him over by going to work for a violent mobster -- because all the systems that were supposed to help him are deeply corrupt and run by people arguably even worse than said violent mobster. So you don't even get the moral high ground of saying that Han Dongsu should have done things the right way because, motherfucker, he tried. He tried doing things by the book, and all that got him was a bunch of debt and humiliation. Worse, it got his loved ones a bunch of debt and humiliation to go right along with his.

Yeah, you notice I call him "normie" up there, and not "normal"? Han Dongsu is not a normal guy. Maybe he was, once, a long time ago, but life broke him very badly. Now he's trying to do what all the nice people say he's supposed to do, all the while being a bottled-up rage monster beneath the surface.

That's where Seo Doyeong comes in.

I do think the back half of the show is unevenly paced, to the point where I don't think it should have taken your full standard sixteen episodes of a regular-sized Korean drama, but I definitely think it should have gotten more than ten. The show kind of handwaves over months-long stretches of time that I very much would have liked to see play out, especially to watch Han Dongsu and Seo Doyeong bounce off one another some more.

If I were to put on my tinfoil hat, I would say that you would have to fast-forward over those stretches, because if you did show the extent of those boys' interactions during those periods -- enough to give some later events in the show the gravity they deserve -- things would quickly get unsustainably gay.

All right, all right, I know I'm calling things gay again, but how gay is it?

Well, to some degree, only as gay as these things ever are. I mean, you know the genre, so you understand the inherent sexiness of busting the lip of a guy you have a complicated life-or-death relationship with. If one of them were a girl, there'd be no question about what we're looking at here. (See: the Butch and Sundance digression in point 5 of my Sand Sea rec post.) You pretty much can't create the intense dynamic needed to sustain this kind of story without getting into at least a little unintentional homoeroticism.

Except I don't think it's entirely unintentional, and for that, I'm going to point (again) to Seo Doyeong.

When we first meet Seo Doyeong, he claims to have a girlfriend -- but then we actually meet her, and she's everyone's girlfriend but his. He never shows any interest in women. He never mentions romantic or sexual histories with women. I don't think he even interacts substantially with any adult women, minus one critical scene. Actual Runway Model Kim Youngkwang playes Doyeong like he clearly has the 'fight' and 'fuck' sections of his brain cross-wired, and he is always spoiling for a fight.

Now, of course, we are getting into the murky territory of 'just because a guy doesn't express interest in women doesn't necessarily mean he's gay!' Which, you're right, it doesn't. But when said guy is spending damn near every scene looking like somebody's about to get their dick sucked, yeah, it kinda does.

Wait, did I say we weren't talking about sexual tension? Well, that's fine, because there's still lots of high-stress surprises left! I've already made allusions to some of the general shapes of the narrative, and I'll make even more before this rec post is through -- and I don't feel like those are spoilers, because you can know the trajectory of the story and still find yourself holding your breath about what's going to happen next. It's like Breaking Bad! You know he breaks bad! That's not a spoiler! It's in the title!

EVILIVE's plot exists in a tangle of warring organized crime factions, all the bosses and goons vying for power inside said factions, the politicians they've paid off, the lawyers who know all their secrets, the businessmen trying to maximize their profits through illegal enterprises, the corrupt law enforcement agencies trying to make the conclusions fit their preferred narratives... What I'm saying is, it's going to get messy.

Oh, and there's also the one honest cop who's onto them, so, you know ... good luck with that.

3. Baby brother. Baby.

Every tragedy needs collateral damage. EVILIVE's comes in the form of Han Dongsu's dipshit younger half-brother, Han Beomjae.

God's perfect failure to launch, Beomjae is an underachieving doofus who has some real computer smarts, but lacks the ability to get his shit together in any meaningful fashion. Dongsu has taken care of Beomjae pretty much their whole shared lives, and now he also takes care of Beomjae's precious daughter, Minhui, who lives all but full-time with Dongsu and his wife.

I like that Beomjae's not some perfect angel either. Pretty much the first thing we do is see him scamming a customer at his part-time job so he can earn some extra cash. He's sweet and earnest, but he's also absolutely capable of taking advantage of situations to get by. When he's lying to customers about the price of refurbished hardware, that's one thing. When the big brother he'd do anything for gets wrapped up with a mob boss, that's quite another.

The show is kind of fuzzy about what the age difference is between them. Shin Hakyun is nearly twenty years older than Shin Jaeha, Beomjae's actor, but we get one little flashback when we see the boys together as kids, and there they look like they're maybe five and ten. I'm going to call bullshit on the flashback and go with the actor ages, because to me it definitely makes a big difference in Han Beomjae's character if he's supposed to be thirty and has been managing being a single dad -- and mismanaging everything else about his life -- since he was twenty.

Beomjae's a gentle little disaster, a petty fuckup who's used to getting by on petty crimes and trying his best (which is not very good). He is not a bottled-up rage monster. He does not want to go apeshit. He wants a mild-mannered existence, scraping together what he can to make a, well, mostly honest living for himself. Unfortunately for him, he's wound up in a genre that doesn't reward honesty.

Shin Jaeha turns in a solid performance here, especially considering his part is more understated than a lot of the others. Most of the time, he's sharing the screen with at least one of two real heavy hitters, but he holds his own. At first, I thought Beomjae was going to be annoying and exhausting, little more than a burden on Dongsu, but he turns out to be wonderful -- and because this show is the kind of show it is, you know eventually that's gonna hurt.

4. It's just beautiful

Ugh, this is the point where I have to get mad about how few screenshots there are of this show to poach from the internet, because it's lovely. The folk behind the camera are quite talented, and shots are framed and lit so well.

Here, I'm going to do my best with what's out there.

I mean, yeah, this show gets a cheat in how Actual Runway Model Kim Youngkwang is so gorgeous that you can't really get a bad shot of him. But the camera knows how to lean into his menace so effectively that it uses his natural resources perfectly.

Also, the posters they did for the main three are stunning.

I actually think this beauty is not just an incidental charm, but a key feature of the show. As I've said a couple times now, this show is quite violent. The violence, however, is presented in a way that is both lovely and awful at once, so you have something worth looking at even during the brutal scenes that isn't just ceaseless human misery. This is especially important to me because I'm pretty squeamish about violence! While I had to look away from the screen more than once (scenes with severing and breaking fingers in particular), I always kept wanting to look back.

Also! This show is set in 2008, which means it's got a cool recent-past vibe to it. Pretty much everything looks modern, except all the technology and cars are just out of date. It's a neat effect.

5. It resists an easy moral

Ah, we're back to Beyond Evil! You knew it was coming. Anyway, Beyond Evil ends -- and I'm saying this in as unspoilery of a way as possible -- with the people who did bad things getting punishments suitable to the level of badness they did. It's a show that skates the edge of copaganda but avoids it because of its steadfast belief that power and privilege should not insulate you from the consequences of your actions. Through this belief, it creates a story about a fantasy world in which power and privilege do not insulate you from the consequences of your actions.

Ha ha ha oh boy that is not EVILIVE's take on things.

EVILIVE exists in a world of extensive corruption and collusion between organized crime, politicians, and businesses -- and that world is very real. I remember when the South Korean president declared martial law last month, which prompted an immediate oh hell no response from pretty much everybody in the vicinity. A lot of non-Korean people were asking online how a country whose citizens seem so cool and action-oriented keep electing a bunch of absolute shitbags. And the answer seems to be, the whole system is jaw-droppingly corrupt, which means all the candidates are shitbags. You must be this shitbag to play. There is no non-shitbag option.

So it's not like Han Dongsu and Seo Doyeong are inventing some new kind of crime here. This is not the tale of how two bad dudes disturbed a pure and perfect ecosystem. It's a story about how, when presented with the choice of becoming the abuser or staying the victim, the "moral" choice is not the easy one.

I don't even think you can draw an easy conclusion about "oh, back when he was poor, at least he was happy and had friends!" because no he wasn't! His lack of money created so many problems for him and everyone around him! He has moments of happiness and togetherness, but they are vastly overshadowed by the grinding horror of his day-to-day life and the way it keeps him from being able to provide for or protect his loved ones. And he's haunted the whole time by the knowledge that the reason everything is so fucked up in the first place is that, once upon a time, he tried to do the right thing.

The real villain of the show is poverty, with a henchman of how it's so much easier to join a bad system than it is to challenge it. If anything, I wish the show had been a little more upfront about that, because I think that it's subtle about it to the point where it's easy to take away a shallow 'wow, bad things happen to people who do bad things!' lesson. That's not what it's saying. Yes, bad things happen to bad people, but sometimes good things happen to bad people. Actually, frequently good things happen to bad people, because the bad people do the things that make enough money to keep the bad things from happening to them. And bad things happen to good people because the good people don't have enough money to keep the bad things from happening to them. And if you're going to end up suffering either way, why not choose the way that also lets you live in a really nice house?

...I mean, okay, I guess there is at least one easy moral here, and that is DON'T GAMBLE ONLINE, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, JUST SET YOUR MONEY ON FIRE, IT'S FASTER

Ready to play ball?

For some reason, EVILIVE is not available on your regular streaming services. MyAsiaTV was how we were watching it, except that between episodes eight and nine (argh!), whatever external site they were hosting the videos on went kablooey for me. I'm leaving the link there because maybe it'll work for you? However, in searching for a replacement, I found that this DailyMotion account has the episodes as well, and has had them uploaded for over a year now, so perhaps that's a more reliable source. Whatever works for you!

In both cases, the subtitles are absolutely fine -- definitely some hiccups and typos here and there, but on the whole they're fine. They are, however, bowdlerized to the point of hilarity. You get scenes where these blood-covered gangsters are stabbing one another, and the subtitles have them yelling things like, "You jerk!" Which adds to the experience, but maybe not in a good way.

Anyway, watch it, then come back here, and we'll go together to see what AO3 has in the way of fix-it fic, okay?

He's a Benjamin Button baseball boy!