#she doesn’t have evidence to go to court but who needs evidence when you have a following?

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Dummfucks of the Grid

word count: 760

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Summary: After a disappointing P6 finish at the São Paulo Grand Prix, Lando Norris finds comfort in his girlfriend Y/n's fierce support as she playfully criticizes the other drivers and team principals

______________________________________________________________

As the door to Lando’s driver’s room closed, the noise of the paddock celebrations faded into the background. Lando sat on the couch, his head in his hands, feeling the weight of finishing P6 after a race that had promised so much more. The disappointment was palpable, especially with Max winning again.

Y/n moved swiftly to sit beside him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “Hey, Lando, P6 isn’t the end of the world. You gave it your all out there.”

He sighed, his frustration evident. “Yeah, but I wanted to do better. With Max winning again, it feels like I keep falling short.”

“Falling short?” she echoed, shaking her head. “You didn’t just fall short; you navigated a field of absolute clowns out there! Let’s talk about it. You know I’m here for you.”

Lando raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? Care to elaborate?”

“Okay, first off, Max. He drives like he’s playing Mario Kart and thinks he can just take everyone out with a blue shell! I mean, does he not understand that sharing the track is part of the job? It’s like he thinks he’s invincible! It’s ridiculous!”

He chuckled, a small smile breaking through. “That’s a good way to put it.”

“And then there’s George Russell, who finished P4 today. Honestly, he acts like he’s the golden child of the grid. ‘Look at me, I’m so talented, watch me throw my weight around!’ It’s like he forgets he has to race, not just pose for the cameras. Every time he gets near you, it’s like he’s trying to play bumper cars!”

“True,” Lando said, laughing harder now. “I can feel the ego swelling every time I see him.”

“And don’t even get me started on Leclerc! He’s out there racing like he’s auditioning for the role of ‘Most Likely to Crash Into a Wall.’ It’s like he has a special talent for making the race more dramatic than it needs to be. How does he always manage to be on the brink of disaster and still finish? Is it a gift or a curse?”

Lando nodded, now thoroughly entertained. “He does have that knack for drama, doesn’t he?”

“Absolutely! And then we have Carlos Sainz. I mean, bless him, but he’s trying so hard to keep up with Leclerc that it’s like watching a puppy chase its tail. Poor guy looks so lost sometimes, you just want to give him a treat and a pat on the head! But he gets a pass because he’s your friend.”

“Right? Carlos is actually a good guy,” Lando said, shaking his head, amused.

“And then there’s the team principals!” Y/n continued, her passion bubbling over. “Christian Horner thinks he runs a royal court every time Max crosses the finish line. ‘Look at my king!’ as if it’s not a team effort. And Toto—he’s not innocent either. He struts around like he’s the head of a fashion show! Honestly, if I had a dime for every time I’ve seen him making dramatic hand gestures in the pits, I could fund a whole new racing team!”

“Okay, that one’s a good point!” Lando laughed, feeling the tension ease with every word.

“Seriously, I would fight every one of them for you if it came down to it. Size doesn’t matter when you’re this passionate!” she declared boldly. “I’d take on Max, George, and anyone else who thinks they can just push you around out there!”

“Y/n, you do realize you’re only 5’6, right?” Lando replied, grinning. “How are you going to take on all of them?”

“I may be small, but I’ve got a big heart and a bigger mouth!” she shot back, her eyes sparkling with defiance. “Just imagine me storming the paddock like, ‘Back off, or I’ll unleash my fury on you!’”

“Please don’t start any fights in the paddock,” he said, his tone light but earnest. “I love your spirit, but I’d rather not deal with the fallout. I need you here, not banned.”

“Why not? It would be entertaining!” she countered, smirking. “I’d tell them all off! ‘Listen up, dummfucks of the grid, stop getting in my boyfriend’s way!’”

Lando laughed, the sound genuine now. “You really are something else. Knowing you’ve got my back means everything.”

“Absolutely! If they try to block you from winning, I won’t hesitate to step in,” she said, snuggling closer.

“Just promise me you won’t do anything too crazy,” he replied, a grin spreading across his face. “I love your fierceness and protective side, but let’s keep you in the paddock, okay?”

[pellucid-constellations]

If It All Fell (6)

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: If it all fell apart—if you forgot who you were—would you love him again? Would the bond guide you back? Azriel doesn't know if that uncertainty is one he can bear.

Word count: 3.5k

Warnings: Angst, PINING

a/n: Sorryyyy for the wait <3 As a lot of you know I have been going through it lately, but I really enjoyed writing this and hope to post more immediately 🤜. Let me know what you think :))

Part 1 ♡ Part 2 ☆ Part 3 ✶ Part 4☼ Part 5 ☁ Part 7 ☆

Series Masterlist

~~

Day Court was immeasurably beautiful—with all of its pristine columns reflecting orange light. Marble flooring shone with distorted images of acrylic brush strokes that hung on granite walls. Fountains billowed at the mouth of every doorway, sculpted fixtures at their bases. Warm wind kissed your skin and glistening waters welcomed you and Day Court was so incredibly beautiful. 

You were sure, if given the chance, you would think the same of its residents. 

Unfortunately, you were not given the chance to come to that conclusion. 

“The High Lord is in a meeting. He sends his apologies for not meeting you upon your arrival—the merchants of Day can get a bit rowdy,” the servant laughed. “I can show you to your rooms in the meantime.”

“Rooms?” Rhysand posed. You attempted to look over Azriel’s wing to gauge the conversation, but Cassian took another step to the side, halting your movement. 

“Yes, Helion informed us that the four of you would be here, so we prepared four rooms. If that’s not—”

“Three rooms will suffice, thank you,” your High Lord drawled. 

The servant squeaked, and you were sure if you could see her, her nerves would be evident. “Of—of course, High Lord. I assume Lady Y/n will be with—”

“We will deal with the division of our rooms on our own. Thank you…” 

“Amira,” the servant offered. “My name is Amira. I will be attending to you, Lady Y/n, during your time here.” 

You knocked your head to the side, brushing Cassian’s bicep as he stood beside you. You barely caught Amira’s mousey brown hair before the membrane of a wing flushed out and pushed you back. 

“She doesn’t need an attendant,” Azriel bit out, misplaced malice creating tension in the hall.

“Oh, it’s okay, I—” 

Apparently, not even your voice was allowed to be heard. Rhysand cut you off. “No attendant,” he confirmed, after sending his spymaster a sidelong glance laced with reproach. “No servants in our rooms, either. We are rather private, you understand.”

A pause. 

You wished you could see anyone’s expression. 

From beside you, Cassian offered you a pity smile, nudging you with his elbow in an act of comfort. 

“Anything you require,” Amira shakily responded. “Shall I walk you back, then? Just to show you where you will be staying?” 

“Lead the way.” 

Azriel immediately stepped back, his shadows scrambling past him to enclose you in dim light. You felt his presence, firm and tall, looming at your back as you took the first few steps down the hall. 

This all felt entirely misplaced, with the bleakness of your group extinguishing some of the vibrance of the court you walked through. Cassian kept close to your side, some of Azriel’s shadows drifting off and cloaking the red glow on his hands and chest. Rhys, ever the High Lord, took up the front, footsteps light but purposeful. 

Everyone looked grim. 

Except for you. 

This court held no negative connotations for you, no malicious undertones that impacted the rest of your family. It was simply beautiful, and your family was simply cloistering you. 

But you agreed to this; anything to make them feel better. 

To make Azriel feel better. 

You turned your head to the side as you walked, catching the shadowsinger in your peripheral. Tense, on-guard, unyielding; Azriel’s jaw was set in a firm clench, but it was different from what you were used to. When he was tense at home, it was almost out of… anticipation? Trepidation? 

Here though… here his posture was derived from rage. From practiced, honed fury. 

You turned your head away before you attempted to fix it, to comfort him. He wanted to be angry, told you as much before he winnowed you to Day in a flurry of his shadows. 

I’m going to be different, he had told you, I need to be different. It can’t be like the last time. I can’t let you get hurt. 

The fear in his eyes had melted away in the Day Court sun; the second your feet landed on meticulously carved cobblestone, Azriel was no longer just your friend. 

Amira led you to three doors along a wall, mumbled a few parting words, and bowed away before anyone could send her a second glance. You attempted to offer her a reassuring smile amidst her flee, but Azriel’s shadows were too dense. A hand on your back led you into a room and Amira was gone. 

“That went well,” Cassian breathed, a long sigh punctuating his descent into a loveseat by the bed. “She didn’t look terrified at all.” 

The bedroom door clicked shut. Rhys raised his brows. “She’ll thank us later.” The High Lord’s eyes drifted to the shadowsinger sulking by your side. “This isn’t exactly a leisurely visit.” 

Your gaze shot around the room in the following lapse of silence, analyzing the tense nature of each male. The air felt stagnant and stiff, the light somehow dimmer even with the open windows, and you weren’t sure if your voice would make it worse or ease some of the pressing emotions. 

Rhys took a seat in a chair by the door, and you decided speaking was better than leaning into the uncomfortable silence. 

“It’s so beautiful here,” you began, playing with your fingers, second-guessing your decision to stand. Azriel remained motionless at your side. “The sun feels different somehow. Brighter, maybe?” 

“The skies have an affinity for their namesake in the solar courts,” Rhys offered kindly. 

You hummed, rolling onto your toes and then rocking back on your heels. “I suppose that makes sense. The nights are incredible back home.” 

The use of that word—home—did not go unnoticed by the group. Not by you and certainly not by the male standing guard at your side. The replacement of the word had been relatively common since you woke up. 

Here in Velaris, there is…. 

When you came back here all those years ago…

Let’s go back to the house…

Never home.

But being in Day—being away from Velaris—just solidified what you already assumed. Velaris was your home. You were sick of letting your family dance around that truth. 

~~

“Mother above, I was sure I would never see you again,” a strange voice tore your attention from Cassian’s vivid retelling of your first time flying with him, and although it was an interesting story, the man before you was even more enticing. 

With deep skin and an even deeper smile, white linen billowed around his confident figure. The man appeared to glisten as he walked toward your small group, golden sandals trailing up bronze calves. Even the air around him seemed to glow. 

Enticing didn’t seem to be the correct word. 

You’d been directed into a rather large study after a brief lunch and a “tour” of the grounds that only included the wing you were staying in. Rhys had chalked it up to Helion stalling for time. You’d tried to coax a more comprehensive tour out of the guard leading you around, but a sharp look from Azriel was enough to put that conversation to rest. 

“You look just as you did. Perhaps a bit gaunt but…” The man—Helion, you’d deduced—trailed off when the whisper of a shadow trailed at his neck. “I am Helion,” he smiled. “You have known me for many years. In love with me, as most are. But, alas, it is not fated.” 

Some of your awe shifted to shock. “I am—I’m sorry, I am in love with you?” 

In front of you, Cassian let out a long breath and fanned his wings out before letting them hang behind his chair. You sat straighter in your own seat, mortification creeping into your chest at the small laugh Rhys let slip across the room. What set your mouth into its flurry, however, was the raised brow you received from Helion. 

“I didn’t mean that to offend. I mean—what I meant was just that… Well, no one said I had a lover or even mentioned you in that way so it came as a shock. But I presume there is much about myself I have yet to learn so… you are a very beautiful man and I’m sure—” 

“Y/n, it’s alright,” came Azriel’s soothing voice from beside you, his scarred fingers pushing hair behind your ear halting your apologies. “He was only joking.” A pointed look in the High Lord’s direction. “He does that from time to time, unfortunately.” 

More mortification made an appearance. 

“Oh.” 

Helion’s raised brow had morphed into an unsure expression at some point amidst your rambling. “When they said you had no memory… You will have to excuse me, y/n. I assumed you’d have more… context. Especially with your abilities.” 

“We told you she remembered nothing and had no access to her magic,” Azriel defended, his fingers dropping to rest beside your thighs. 

“Well, yes, but often when magic tampers with the mind, the personality remains intact. Like a muscle memory.” 

“Oh, her personality is there,” Cassian retorted, a bittersweet smirk playing at his lips. “Just not when she’s met you five seconds ago and you’re revealing fake truths. Sarcasm doesn’t often work with strangers.” 

Helion nodded grimly, turning back to you. “I apologize.” 

“It’s really alright,” you comforted, attempting to calm some of the twisted guilt marring the High Lord’s face. “They worry too much. Right now everything I do is without context and I find myself embarrassed more often than not. It’s not your fault.” 

Helion did not look convinced or reassured. His eyes simply traveled to the corners of your face and tracked down to the patterns Azriel was drawing into the skirts of your dress. 

“Do you see now why we needed to come to you,” Rhys chimed in from above his crossed arms. 

Helion hummed. “Yes. Shall I get started then?” 

The room shuffled. You were informed that Helion had to be touching your head to assess the injury—unlike Rhys’s assessment—so you were sat atop a table to give him better access. Azriel followed by your side, his front pressed against the table, Cassian stood his ground behind Helion, and Rhys took up residence on your other side. 

“In Day, we have a type of healing that extends to magical wards and enchantments, was that explained to you?” Helion asked, kind eyes never leaving yours. Too kind—uncertain and full of reproach.

“Yes, they said maybe the witch put something in my mind. Like a blockage.” 

“Precisely. And I was informed about Rhysand’s unsuccessful attempt at entering your mind. That could be due to a spell, which is why I would be more useful.”

Rhys scoffed. 

You let a smile tug at your lips, but it was quickly extinguished when you considered the outcome of this process. “Will it feel the same? What you’re doing and what Rhys did?” 

You could almost hear the way Azriel ground his jaw. 

Helion glanced at him from the corner of his eye. “It will feel different. I am not in the business of thoughts or memories. I won’t be able to access anything other than any inflictions you may have.” 

“So it won’t hurt?” 

“I cannot promise anything.” 

The table beneath you shifted an inch, just to be caught by hands glowing with blue light.

I need to be different. It can’t be like the last time. I can’t let you get hurt.

“Still sure you can’t just beat the crap out of whatever’s going on in my head?” you posed to Cassian, tilting your head up to call over Helion’s shoulder. 

The general’s chuckle eased some of the tension in the room. “I would if I could.” 

“Promise?” 

“Always.” 

With a resigned breath, you nodded to Helion. The High Lord’s hands glowed a golden white, he lifted them to your head, and then there was nothing. 

~~

Azriel

If he hadn’t shot his hand out when he did, Azriel was sure your head would have fallen out of Helion’s grasp and plummeted to the floor. 

You were limp. 

Eyes closed, neck bent—completely and utterly limp. 

Azriel took the liberty of tugging on the bond just to make sure you were still alive. He hadn’t done so since you woke up in the forest, remembering the fear in your eyes, but you looked so incredibly lifeless. 

“Helion,” he barked, his worried expression never turning from your face. 

Icy panic gripped his stomach, twisting it with fervor. 

Cassian took a step forward. 

“Why is she unconscious?” his brother gritted out. His tone was an empty threat; he couldn’t hurt a High Lord, and neither could Azriel, but Azriel would do much more for much less. 

His life had become a nightmare. 

Literally. 

On his worst nights, he relived the time you went missing and the subsequent loss of your memories over and over until he woke up screaming. His heart would beat so rapidly it seemed impossible to slow and he would be inconsolable for several minutes, but he always had you there. He would wake up from that nightmare and you would be there. 

He had that dream every night now, and he woke up to the same. The guestroom he occupied didn’t smell like you, and even though you were just on the other side of the wall, he couldn’t make out the sound of your breath enough to let it lull him back to sleep. Nothing you owned was in that room. Everything he owned was still in a pile by the door after Feyre had rushed to clear the evidence of him from your space. But why did that matter? What were books and trinkets and clothes in a room that was otherwise devoid of everything he loved? 

Leaving his room was worse. 

Gods, all he wanted to do was hold you. To really, truly hold you and for you to hold him back. But you looked at him cordially, the same way you looked at Cassian and Rhysand and Mor. 

When he left the house he had to deal with Feyre and Nesta’s constant questioning. Even Amren had taken an interest in your well-being, and while he appreciated the care for his mate, he couldn’t take it. 

He couldn’t take echoing the words, “She’s fine. Healthy. Less pain today,” over and over when he could tell what they really wanted to know were things you wouldn’t share with him. He couldn’t take the fact that you didn’t tell him you loved him—that he would whisper it at your back every time you turned around and you never heard. You were skittish at his touch and shy when you spoke and you were never the first to voice your opinion and he just couldn’t take it. 

With your head in his broken hand, Azriel felt another piece of him crack. 

“I did it.” Rhys broke the silence, a concentration twisting his brow. “Helion and I agreed it was the best way to go about this. It had to be sudden though—unexpected. We needed a moment where her mind was completely unexpecting.”

Cassian cursed. “You couldn’t have told us that before you made it look like she died, Rhysand?” 

“If y/n were dead no one would be standing here right now and you know that.” 

“Still,” Cassian mumbled. “Warn a guy.” 

“I’ve felt this before,” Helion said, shaking his head. “But that’s impossible. Rhysand, you would have—” 

“I would have, yes, but not if it was created through other means. It was a witch, not a daemati.” 

“She could have been both.” 

“Extremely unlikely. Keep going.” 

Azriel watched the way your lashes fluttered, counted the beats of your heart and pretended you knew who he was. 

“What’s happening?” he asked. “You’re both in her head. Talk.” 

“I couldn’t get through the wall myself because it wasn’t her magic,” Rhys explained. “I assumed it was the witch’s, but this signature is too similar. It’s exactly like it was before, just muted.” 

“Like it was before?” Azriel repeated, finally turning his head up. 

Rhysand looked grim. “Almost identical.” 

“That isn’t possible,” the shadowsinger immediately refuted. “I killed that bastard myself. There is no way he could have done anything to her.” 

“Azriel, I think it’s possible that—” 

But Azriel did not let the High Lord of Day finish his thought. “You don’t speak to me about her,” he seethed. “Not when she came to your court and one of your people did this to her. I trusted you with her. I sent my mate here and she has been paying the price for that ever since. This is your fault, so you do not tell me what you think. You tell me what is certain.”

The room went silent, and Helion looked back at you, eyes glazing as he continued his work. 

A strong, steady hand clapped against Azriel’s shoulder. It took Cassian three tugs before Azriel reluctantly let your head go, but only after Rhysand placed his own hand at your back. 

“Look, I get it,” Cassian comforted, hands on his brother's arms. “If this was Nesta I’d probably be tearing this room apart right now. But he’s all we have here. And you know it wasn’t his fault last time. You remember how hard he worked to get her back.” 

Azriel ignored him.

Cassian roughly shook his frame. 

“Hey, you know that. And you know y/n’s going to be pissed at you when she gets her memories back and hears how much of an ass you’re being to Helion. She’s going to be severely pissed if you start a war trying to kill the guy.” 

“If.”

The small smile Cassian was sporting faltered. “What?” 

Azriel finally met his eyes. “If she gets her memories back. It was an if last time and it’s an if again.” 

The two High Lords discussed quietly in the back, their hands still on you. Azriel’s shadows refused to leave your side, weaving through your hair and your clothes and the fingers against your head. 

“Well last time she got them back, didn’t she?” 

“You truly believe that will happen twice? I was praying to the mother for luck the first time, Cassian. She won’t listen again. I guarantee she won’t.” 

“Az…” Cassian trailed off. There was no speech to formulate, not when defeat and resolution were so clear on his brother’s face. 

“She won’t love me a third time.” 

Your cough had Azriel bolting away from his brother’s concerned gaze in an instant. You were no longer in Helion’s grasp, instead leaning against Rhysand’s arm as the High Lord of Day scribbled something in a book.

“Ow.” You rubbed at your head with a pinched expression, squinting up at Azriel as he leaned down. “I think I passed out or something.” 

It was mostly out of hysterics, but a small laugh escaped the spymaster. “Or something.” 

Gods, you sent a spark of joy down the bond and it was all-consuming. You did that from time to time, unintentionally flooding Azriel with whatever emotion you felt the strongest. More than once he had to stop himself from opening his side completely just to relish in the reminisce you offered him. 

“What about this time? Did we figure it out?” you slurred, squeezing your eyes open just to have the drop closed once again. 

Azriel tucked his hand against the back of your head and looked expectantly at the two High Lords before him. 

When Helion spoke, Azriel let him, if only because he was still living on the high of his mate’s lingering amusement. “Whatever the witch did, it was a mimicry of the daemati that tore into her head all those years ago. I need to do more research, see if I am able to undo whatever it is she redid without irreparably damaging her mind. If I can’t, the only answer is the witch.” 

“Is that even possible? To mimic something like that?” Azriel asked, stepping forward so your drooping head would fall against his arm. 

“Witches draw power beyond their reserve and even beyond the cauldron. We know so little about them. Tamlin should not have been making deals with them,” Helion curtly replied. 

Any lightness in the room had very clearly disappeared. 

“Take your mate back to your room. We can discuss this when she no longer looks like she’s fighting to stay awake.” 

“I am awake,” you argued, trying and failing to haul yourself into an upright position. 

Rhysand huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t even be awake after having two high lords in my mind. Go rest. We will talk in the morning.” 

Azriel assisted as you stood on unsteady legs, but the attempt was futile. The shadowsinger gathered you into his arms as you sent an accusatory finger in Rhysand’s direction. “Liar.” 

It wasn’t until you were alone in the hallway, your head against Azriel’s shoulder, his arms beneath your body, that you spoke again.

“Azriel?” 

He hummed in response. 

“What’s a mate?”

Part 7 ☆

[mrsdarkandyandere7]

❤ Yandere Lawyer ❤

▶ This is a yandere/dark work and it may contain triggering content so please READ THE WARNINGS before. Do not read if minor.

More at Masterlist

Female reader

WARNINGS: Obsession; Misogyny; slight Power Abuse.

This idea credit goes to @d-lioncourt cause she's the one that motivated me for this idea. Hope you like this :)

--

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who works in the top law firm of the country. He’s cold, determinate and calculative. Always thinking 10 steps ahead of everyone, carefully considering all possibilities and creating extensive back-up plans. 

His job relies on his capacities and he always aims for the top. If he’s not recognized as the best lawyer available, then he doesn’t even know what he’s been doing so far. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who doesn't care about how things are done as long as he wins the case in the end. Who said lawyers are saints?

He may be an advocate of the law but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t bend it to his will, finding sneaky gaps to reach his goal: win. 

Isn’t that what makes him such a requested lawyer? Isn’t that what causes every big corporate company to try to sign him up, to offer several millions for him to represent them in court? Because everyone knows that he wins.

No matter what happens during the trials or how badly the opposite side tries, he wins. It’s an irrefutable truth and anyone that tries to contradict it is a complete and utter fool. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who is upset enough when he’s informed that he’s gonna have to take a Pro Bono case for a random civilian. It’s frustrating to spend his precious time and expensive resources on a worthless someone.

It’s stupid and he'd immediately refuse it if it wasn’t for the strict order he receives from the higher ups.  

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who rattles you up, insisting on long sessions so he can know your side of the story.

His questions feel like accusations and you hate spending long hours answering him. Makes you feel like you’ve actually committed a crime of sorts when the reality is none of that. 

He knows you’re bothered by the way he pays attention to each of your words, taking mental notes of every minuscule detail so he can bring it up later.

He’s highly aware of how unnerving he can get and it’s fun to see you get so quiet and shy over it. 

He loves it when people get intimidated by him and it’s particularly pleasant when a pretty thing like yourself gets too timid to spare him a few words. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who drags the case much longer than it needs to. He could definitely end it in a blink of eyes, it would be so easy for him. A piece of cake. 

But he doesn’t. 

It’s exciting to see you on court, a helpless expression covering your whole face and your eyes at the verge of tears as your future lays on his hands.  

So pathetically weak. You can’t even defend yourself, you need him to do that for you. To defend your honor, to protect you. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who makes sure you know that despite it being a Pro Bono case, you owe him. He wants you to know that he’s winning this case for you, wasting his valuable time just to save your pathetic ass from those embezzlement charges. 

That he’s the one saving you from going to prison - despite the very evident fact that you have such a weak personality that it’s practically impossible that you’d steal money from your boss. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who takes every chance to hurt your feelings with snide remarks.

You look prettier when you cry, something so enticing about those shiny diamond-like tears that glow in your eyes and the miserable way you furiously blink to keep them at bay - to which you fail. 

You’re crying because of him. That’s enough to make him buzz with a twisted sense of possession and control. He holds that much power over you. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer whose mind wanders over the tempting fantasies of returning home to you. You’d do a submissive girlfriend, he’s so sure of that. If he gave you a nasty slap and a few harsh words, you’d bend to his will so fast - like a obedient girlfriend should. 

It would be so easy to control your life.

Order you to move in with him. Command you to become his stay-at-home girlfriend. Push you to cut off friends and family until only he remains. 

Those misogynistic ideas keep him thinking about you longer than he should. 

◾ Yandere! Lawyer who isn’t afraid to act upon his wishes and so he does. After a triumphing win on court, he leaves.

Storms off without even looking at you and you don’t even have the chance to thank him, but you forget about that quickly. 

You have more pressing issues to focus on, such as rebuilding your life all again. Celebrate your win. Find a new job. Move on with your life the best as you can. 

Your peace lasts exactly one week. And then everything comes down in rubbles.

Because then he comes to retrieve his payment. 

[glassballdinosaurs]

She’s literally not a victim but go off I guess. She’s done the same thing to her previous ex.

Actually, I HAVE been a victim of abuse. When I watched Shubble’s video, I had a REALLY bad gut feeling. While trauma affects people differently, there are common ways trauma manifests. Shubble in no way comes off as a victim. She sounds vindictive and all her fidgeting doesn’t read as anxious but rather insincerity of her statements.

Wilbur made a statement, not an apology. He was genuinely shocked. He signed a record contract iirc so he legally can’t speak on the subject. It’s evident he was told to make some sort of statement to minimize damage. But considering how blown out of proportion this has become, even if he WERE to speak about his perspective, the internet has already played judge, jury, and executioner. A lot of his friends haven’t unfollowed him. Niki was a victim prior to Wilbur so she’s likely second-guessing every interaction between herself and Wil because Shubble has thrown doubt on Wilbur’s character. Minx is a liar and an alcoholic as far as I know. I don’t watch her or Niki’s content so I don’t really know enough about them to accurately judge them. I’m just not going to. I feel far more empathy for Niki than Shubble though.

Wilbur isn’t part of my identity. I’ve personally been falsely accused of being abusive, by my own abuser no less, and because she was persuasive people believed her over me. Thankfully, I’m not famous enough for it to have wrecked my life. But seeing how blindly devoted people are to Shubble and how they see her as someone who can do no harm and convict Wilbur on the flimsy evidence that is word of mouth makes me all the more dubious of Shubble and her followers.

Shubble profited heavily on these allegations. If she genuinely cared, she should have told her followers specific signs to avoid in relationships to not fall victim to abusive people. But no. Money and clout are more valuable than morals. She’s 30 years old and Wilbur’s 27 and this should have been a private conversation between the two of them rather than Shelby deciding to make false allegations.

Shubble and Wilbur seemed, from Shubble’s video anyway, to have had a bad relationship for BOTH of them. But a bad relationship isn’t inherently abusive. Shubble seems to conflate the two and equates Wilbur’s depression to him being a bad person. Shubble accused him of financial abuse without actually knowing what that IS.

I genuinely am worried about Wilbur because he’s been open about being depressed and anxious. I’m terrified that he’ll be doxxed and the death threats aimed at him and the people manifesting desires for him to join the 27 club sickens me to phrase it mildly. Why on Earth would I support Shubble or her followers upon seeing this behavior?

I’m not blindly following Wilbur. I don’t trust Shubble’s intentions. Her behavior is appalling. She actively liked posts about Wilbur killing himself. She blocks anyone who asks for clarification regarding her abuse or anything who doesn’t instantly believe her. Teenagers have literally died over this but she denies it happened. Her ‘evidence’ is lacking at best and completely false at worst. There’s no concrete evidence. False allegations can be believed once other people throw their weight in support of them. Shubble is a disgusting human being and her actions speak just that.

I could discuss my perspective in more detail but neither of us are going to change our or each other’s minds.

If you support Shubble/Shelby Grace unfollow and block me right now. She lied for clout and doesn’t give a fuck about the consequences.

I support Wilbur Soot and there’s nothing any of you morons can do to stop that

[blitzbuckzowild]

On Stolitz, Kink and Power Dynamics, and Role Reversal - Stolas Centric

So, I have been thinking a lot about the kink dynamics between Stolas and Blitzø, especially how they are portrayed in the show vs. what is popular (or more popular than you’d think) among fan works. A lot of this has probably been said, but I am unsure what has and has not, and I have only recently begun to interact with the community.

For some background, I have about 10 years of experience within the kink/BDSM lifestyle including several long-term dynamics as both Dom and sub, attendance to events, extensive engagement in online forums, etc. I’ve been in many types of dynamics and have a good understanding of the culture.

We have very little knowledge on the intricacies of the dynamic between Stolas and Blitzø but from what I can gather its a pretty standard one without very much structure. This makes sense seeing as before recent canon events, their scenes are primarily limited to once a month. There is no evidence of switching that I can find in the show, most likely they stay firm in their roles of Blitzø as Dom and Stolas as sub. There is the comment during the Loo Loo Land episode, where Blitzø say “wait till her dad tries diddling your holes”, but the keyword being “tries.” Now obviously he could be receiving penetration, but I find it hard to believe that there is any actual control given to Stolas.

This structure obviously allows for some entertaining role reversal, and (on the surface level at least) mitigates some of the issues with the power at the same time. I find myself often wondering how people would regard the dynamic between them if Blitzø was portrayed as the sub. It obviously doesn’t really fit his character as he is now, but it is a thought.

Anyway, the point is actually to explore the idea of a role reversal between the two and what this can represent. Obviously, a lot of this has been touched on in fan-works, and probably other posts, but primarily in the framework of Blitzø’s experience subbing. I think that is well-established that a lot of the draw for Blitzø to submit is the idea of him being vulnerable and letting go of control. There are many works that focus on this.

But what about Stolas? That’s something I haven’t seen a lot of.

Stolas is passive. Even if he snarks back at Blitzø and does set some boundaries a bit at the beginning of Apology Tour, and he does tease and push, it’s really not substantial. Even with Full Moon, even with the crystal, he is still so submissive to everything that happens around him. He makes his grand gesture and throws the ball in Blitzø’s court until he can’t handle what that looks like. He let’s things just happen to him for the most part. So a lot of his character growth in the show focuses on him gaining confidence and taking initiative.

Even in Apology Tour, at the Blitzø Hate party, he makes it clear where he stands on what he wants his role in a relationship to be. He wants to be pursued, like a woman in a rom-com who stereotypically and historically takes a passive role to whatever confident or goofy hunk wants her. Sure, she wants him (usually), but typically she is not doing the pursuing. Instead she rolls her eyes and things happen to her.

Stolas taking on a dominant role, taking control, even in the context of kink, can be symbolic for him learning ambition and initiative. Everything has been decided for him and he’s letting Blitzø’s actions and responses make the decision for him. Even with Octavia, he acts as if he is collateral to her behavior and emotions. It’s fair for him to want Blitzø pursue him and to take accountability. However, at some point he needs to pursue as well. You could say that the crystal was an instance in which he did? But was it really when at the first sign of resistance from Blitzø, he folds and pull back.

All this to say, there can be some really great story telling using their BDSM dynamics. I don’t really expect the show to address this, because I think there are some intricacies here that can only be appreciated by those really involved in the BDSM lifestyle, and honestly I am not sure how knowledgeable the writers are about it outside of the mainstream knowledge (Well mainstream compared to someone like me.)

With the deal ended, and the power dynamics somewhat balancing out, the door is really opened for this type of thing. There isn’t as much baggage in Blitzø being portrayed in a sub role. The class divide is still there, but Stolas no longer holds all of the cards

There is waaaay more I can say on this in regard to the roles of sub and Dom and how they relate to Stolas and Blitzø but this is already so long. Some things to consider would be the the actual emotional needs that are filled by each role, the ways relationships in dynamics develop, different BDSM subcultures and theories on the nature of their dynamic, and more of my thoughts on how their current dynamic with Stolas subbing and Blitzø Domming impacting perceptions of their previous arrangement by viewers, how Blitzø is already submissive to Stolas in ways, the general emotional state of people when engaging in kink, etc. I could also provide my own thoughts on Blitzø subbing but I feel it’s already well addressed in the fandom.

Maybe I’ll do a part 2 if it’s wanted or I get the will. I would love to engage in any discussion (agreeing or otherwise) on this, I probably missed some things, or interpreted stuff differently than others.

And here is a Poll to wrap this up

[clawbehavior]

‘change of plans,’ yohan says as soon as the elevator doors ping open to reveal his associate judge. he pivots neatly, trusting gaon to follow. ‘instead of meeting with the financial crimes team, we’re getting dinner with a former executive assistant from saram media.’

‘chief,’ replies gaon, hurrying after yohan as they exit the building. ‘there’s something i need to tell you. urgently.’

‘after dinner,’ yohan offers without breaking his stride, mind moving faster than his feet. ‘if the assistant has credible information on irregular expenditures we can -- ‘

‘i’m leaving the live court.’

years of fighting practice are all that prevent yohan from tripping over the last step in the staircase. he whirls in place to stare down his associate judge, who moves fluidly down the stairs to meet yohan, face resolute.  ‘and law, for the time being.’

yohan searches gaon’s stubborn expression for clues and finds none. his associate judge was straightforward to a painful degree, so he can’t parse out this sudden need for gaon to stand his ground.

‘where to?’ he asks and immediately blanches when gaon replies unflinchingly, ‘the social responsibility foundation. jung sunah invited me to be her executive assistant, seeing as the position was vacated by her promotion following chairman seo’s untimely passing.’

‘you mean his murder,’ yohan replies, appalled at gaon’s cavalier attitude. ‘or did you forget that along with the rest of your senses. kim gaon, what are you doing?’

the doors slide open at the top of the stairs, unseen footsteps halting then frantically shuffling away, eager to escape the scene unfolding near the back entrance of the ministry. 

‘making a difference,’ gaon replies. he has the gall to find this a complete answer and doesn't elaborate.

‘isn’t that what you’re doing at the live court, in the country’s first truly democratic --’ he ignores gaon’s skeptical eyebrow -- ‘trial in half a millennia. stay here. this is where you can make a difference.’

‘once upon a time, yes, when cha kyung hee was our primary opponent but the game has changed,’ gaon replies. ‘it’s gotten far bigger than us, than the live court. the SRF chooses our cases. our evidence gets tampered with. our witnesses go mum or missing.’ gaon follows yohan’s gaze when yohan looks away irritatedly at this recollection of their failures. ‘i’ve played the game your way but it’s not working. we need a man on the inside.’

‘she’ll hurt you,’ yohan replies lowly. ‘she’ll destroy whatever idealism you have left, manipulate you into compromising on your principles, threaten you with her own hands if being in association with her doesn’t put you in danger first.’

‘that's not so different from the danger i currently face,’ gaon counters quietly.

yohan refuses to feel shame. refuses to look away or cow down. ‘being my associate judge is what makes you vulnerable. gaon, jung sunah won’t trust a thing you say or do. she’ll misguide you, use you, and discard you.’

looking into gaon’s far too knowing eyes, yohan suddenly recalls with abrupt clarity how it felt to squeeze the younger man’s neck while gaon scrabbled uselessly at yohan’s hands, face turning red as he choked before yohan slammed him against the bookshelf in the study.

gaon shrugs but he looks invigorated instead of defeated. ‘maybe so but she can’t be everywhere at once. when she looks at me, you’ll be in the shadows. and when she’s distracted by you, i’ll have your back. yohan,’ he shakes his head. ‘we don’t know what the SRF is planning, only that lives are at stake. we can’t wait for her to act first.’

‘save your heartfelt speeches for the public, gaon,’ yohan grouses, unable to maintain his composure given how fast this conversation is going off track. ‘i won’t let you go. in fact, i forbid it.’

‘you can’t stop it,’ gaon says, expression turning tender as he looks at yohan.  ‘PD-nim aired it in an announcement just now. preventing me from leaving will mean contradicting an official communication from the ministry --’ 

he gasps when yohan springs up the two steps separating them and grabs gaon by the collar, tightly, yanking him in. where words failed violence would suffice. ‘i’ll retract it,’ yohan breathes, eyes blazing. ‘frame it as hearsay and fire the entire production team for their careless mistake. 

‘you could,’ gaon says, unresisting, ‘chain me to you, and the live court. but i would escape eventually. seeing me unhappy would affect you. you’ll slip up.’ and his hands come to rest on yohan’s trembling frame, sliding down yohan’s back in a physically soothing gesture.

‘you have some nerve,’ yohan says with a dangerous manic grin, before he hauls gaon in for a fierce and fiery kiss. it’s their first one and the furthest thing from gentle but gaon comes willingly, hot little mouth opening under yohan’s aggressive tongue as gaon practically climbs on top of him, crushing yohan's suit jacket and messing up yohan’s coiffed hair in his greedy hands. 

‘one year,’ gaon tears his mouth away to pant, wetly and hotly against yohan’s lips. he presses their foreheads together. ‘one year to find out what she and the SRF are planning. after that, you can get me out of there. i promise.’

‘i want daily check ins and a GPS tracker on you at all times, do you understand?’ yohan snarls and sinks his teeth into gaon’s plump lip, splitting it down the middle and licking the blood that wells up. 

‘this is crazy and dangerous,’ yohan pants. 

‘yes, yes,’ gaon gasps. they’re in public and in imminent danger of being caught. it’s taking all of yohan’s discipline to leash the animal part of him that wants to claim gaon on the public steps for all to see like a lion in rut.

‘which is why it’s going to work,’ gaon says. ‘now kiss me darling, before have i go.’

‘presumptuous,’ yohan replies but his entire body short circuits at gaon’s intentions, his skin going hot and his core trembling in anticipation.

at the top of the stairs, gaon pauses and says nonchalantly, ‘tell elijah i’ll be home on mondays, wednesdays and thursdays to make dinner. and, don’t worry about maintaining my bedroom. i moved all my things into yours before i left.’

‘or prescient. trust me. i know what i’m doing,’ gaon throws over his shoulder and leaves.

[spenceragnewfics]

as the ABSOLUTE CHAMPION of whumpfic in all fandoms, I will never not request fics in which he's hurt and y/n takes care of him. I will request this to literally anyone who will listen, the word must be spread. :P

(not really into the torture-style whump where there's someone like lowkey abusing them, gimme all the broken legs and car accidents and fainting spells and all that fun stuff. :P )

I have never written a whump fic and I've read very few but I hope this is what you were hoping for.

HIS CARETAKER | Spencer Agnew x F!Reader

TW: Major injury, blood, needle, stitches

Word Count: 872

Description: Y/N has always been a caretaker, she just didn't realize how much she would need to be one for her boyfriend.

Y/N has always dealt with accident-prone people. Her little sister is very accident-prone so she’s been a caretaker since she could remember. When she moved to LA from her hometown, she didn’t think she would have to continue to be one until she met her loving but very accident-prone boyfriend, Spencer Agnew.

Spencer is one of the nicest, sweetest, most understanding people you could ever meet, but this man gets hurt just about every time he walks. Cuts, scrapes, bumps, everything you could think of this man has and very often. His hands are almost always wrapped in some kind of bandage done amazingly by his loving girlfriend.

Thankfully, he hasn’t had anything too major happen yet. No broken bones, no hospital visits, just small cuts and bruises. So Y/N is happy to take care of him as long as he doesn’t do something super stupid.

One day at Smosh, Y/N is putting the finishing touches on Arasha’s makeup before she goes to the games set. As the head of the makeup and hair department at Smosh, Y/N is always busy making sure the cast looks amazing.

“Okay, Rasha you look stunning as always. Now get Chanse over here, he’s my last one for this shoot.” 

“Of course, thanks again,” Arasha says before hugging her and walking off to get Chanse. Y/N gets a little bit of time to clean her brushes and area before Chanse arrives. While she’s doing that, she feels a hand on her back. Normally, she’d jump but the familiar cologne makes her smile instead, “Hey, honey. Whatcha doin'?”

“Just coming to see how everything’s going before we do this shoot. Are we still good for dinner tonight?” He asks, his hand resting on her waist while he looks at her lovingly. “Of course, you know I never turn down free food.” Spencer rolls his eyes with a small laugh before kissing her cheek. “If that’s how you see it, I’ll see you after the shoot.”

The two share a quick kiss before he walks off to the games set, “Honestly, you two make me believe in love.” Chanse says while walking over to the makeup station. “Well thank you. I know you’ll find the perfect guy one day, Chanse. Just gotta give it time.” She says, sitting him down as she starts on his makeup.

It doesn’t take her long to finish Chanse’s make-up and when she does, she starts to clean up. She has it down to a science after doing this job for so long. Checking the time, she sees that it’s still a while before the games shoot will be over so she decides to get her a snack.

Almost an hour later, the doors to the games set burst open with Courtney running out. “Y/N! Y/N!” They scream, looking around for the girl. Hearing her name being yelled, she gets out of her chair at her desk and looks around before seeing the blonde running up to her, “Court, what’s wrong?” She asks, holding her friend’s arms in comfort.

“It’s Spencer, he hurt himself. We need you, like now.” Hearing that her boyfriend is hurt, she quickly grabs the first aid kit she has at her desk before running with Courtney back to the games stage.

“She’s here, Spence. It’s going to be okay.” Arasha says when she sees Y/N running in. Everyone moves away as she gets close and kneels on the ground. She looks over at her boyfriend whose hand is bleeding heavily, a huge gash evident. “Shh, shh, it’s going to be okay, baby.” She assures him, as she opens the first aid kit.

“I’m so sorry, I was being stupid.” He says, trying to look at his hand but she stops him. “Don’t look at it, Spence. Just look at me.” She says, grabbing the needed supplies: alcohol wipes, thread, and a needle.

“What happened, guys?” She asks the room as she starts to clean his hand. “We were trying to do a bit but it went wrong and he got cut. I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Chanse apologizes, his voice wavering. 

“It’s okay, I just…can we clear the stage for the time being?” She asks, her eyes not leaving the wound on his hand as she continues to clean it. “Yeah, yeah, come on guys.” Alex Tran says, moving into his producer role and having everyone leave, Y/N and Spencer being the only ones on stage.

“I’m so sorry, babe. You’re always having to take care of me and I just-” Spencer says, but she stops him. “Charles Spencer Agnew, I do not care. I take care of you because I want to. I love you and I will take care of you.” She says while grabbing the needle and thread.

“Now this will hurt but you need stitches. You’re lucky my mother was a nurse.” She teases before starting on the stitches. He winces every so often before she finishes and kisses it.

“Thank you, I don’t know what I would do without you.” He says, smiling at her. “Bleed out or be dead on the side of a road.” She jokes before leaning in to kiss him.

[bullet-prooflove]

The General!Series - Part Four: Moving On: Beau 'Cyclone' Simpson x Reader

A little get well soon gift for my girl @dizzybee03

Tagging: @kmc1989 @justameresimp @agentorange9595 @lxaah11 @librarian1002 

Broken Buttons (feat: Harmon Rabb)- Beau discovers the real reason you broke things off with him.

Messy - Companion piece to Broken Buttons - Beau discovers the truth about what happened that night.

Choices - Companion piece to Broken Buttons and Messy - Beau and you discuss your choices moving forward.

Sitting in court is excruciating but Beau endures it, he endures it because no matter how fucking horrified and nauseated he is, you must feel it tenfold. He can’t imagine what it must be like to sit in front of a room of your peers and describe what that man did to you, to have your story questioned and torn apart, to have someone tell you to your face that you were asking for it. They try to paint you as unstable, the kind of woman who intended to sleep her way up the ladder, whose now crying wolf because she was rebuked.

He almost punches the prosecution attorney in the mouth for the shit he says to you. It’s only Mic Brumby’s iron clad grip on his arm that stops him from launching himself across the table and strangling the man.

It’s the physical evidence that’s the worst.

You had the competency to go to the hospital afterwards, you’d been bleeding, scared when the doctor had seen you. You’ve worked with enough women through your time in Victim Support Services to know the procedures, you needed the morning after pill, medication to counteract anything that son of a bitch might have given you.

The hospital had logged you under an anonymous patient I.D. It’s something they do for victims of sexual assault when they collect evidence, when they’re not ready to file a police report.

It sickens Beau to hear the injuries you’d sustained, he hadn’t realised how violent it was, not until then.

You’re found not guilty of the offense. The jury of your peers accepts that you acted in self-defence when you broke the General’s nose, that you were too traumatised to attend work in the aftermath.

Your case, it opens doors for other women it’s happened to because you weren’t the first woman he did it to, you weren’t even the last. He’s arrested during a charity function for victims of sexual assault and the fucking irony of that astounds Beau.

You spend an hour in the shower after you give your testimony, before you fall asleep on the couch with your head in Beau’s lap. He spends the whole night, his fingers running soothingly through your hair as he begins to plan the next steps.

You’ve told him you can’t stay in Washington, that Admiral Chegwidden has granted you a transfer back to San Diego. There’s too much trauma attached to this place.

He spends the next couple of days helping you pack up your things. You throw away more away than you keep because you don’t want the bad memories following you. Harmon Rabb and Mic Brumby turn up on moving day to help carry the boxes down to the truck. Besides him, they’re the only two people who’s touch you don’t flinch away from these days.

“Thank you.” Beau tells Harm when the two of them are alone in the apartment, grabbing the final few boxes. “For bringing me here, for fighting for her.”

“Don’t thank me.” Harm says, his voice gruff as he crosses his arms over his chest and stares out of the window. “It happened on my watch. I  was there that night, I should have stuck around but me and Mac were going through some shit…”

Harm shakes his head, his jaw clenching.

“It never should have happened.”

Beau sighs, shifting the box he’s carrying to his other hip.

“Ally doesn’t blame you and neither do I.” Beau tells the other man. “If it wasn’t that night, it would have been another. You heard the testimony, once he had her in his sights…”

It was the same with all the others, that son of bitch had enjoyed the chase, it made catching his prey all the more sweeter. He treated every single one of those women like a trophy, something to be hunted down, caught.

“I need you to promise that you’ll check in every once in a while, tell me how she’s doing.” Harmon says, his palm rubbing over the back of his neck.

“I will.” Beau tells Harm as he picks up the remaining box and heads towards the apartment door. “Ally may need a little time but I’ll make sure to keep in touch.”

“She’s going to get through this.” Harm reassures him as they step out into the hallway, he waits as Beau closes the door behind him, locking it up for the final time. “It’ll take some time but she has it in her.”

“I know.” Beau says as he slips the key into the mailbox for the landlord to pick up. “If anyone can make it through something like this, it's her.”

Love Beau? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

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Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[fruitbasketball]

okay so

got an ask regarding this that’s pretty inflammatory so i won’t post out of fear of the corn people but i WILL paraphrase and add my own thoughts to

genuinely wishing for paige to go to the fever so that she can help caitlin is without a doubt some of the most selfish shit i’ve ever heard.

1. the fever coaching staff and front office are both ASS. paige would not want to go to an organization that will value her and/or will utilize her properly. that’s the unfortunate truth.

2. paige and caitlin have never shared a court. for those of y’all who don’t know, when they both played for jeff walz. paige was the starting point guard, and caitlin was second string coming in for her. there is no evidence for whatever supposed chemistry mfkers are cooking up.

3. y’all caitlin fans swore up and fucking down caitlin was better than paige. and now you WANT HER in indiana to help caitlin. can’t have it both ways bud.

4. just because paige IS a pass first player doesn’t mean that is the best way she plays. yes, she needs to be selfless, but she also needs to be selfish, and that can’t happen when she’s the 3rd scoring option behind caitlin and aliyah. paige bueckers deserves to be a first (or second if she’s w stewie) option player get it fucking right.

[pippin-katz]

He Likes You

I was just thinking about this line and how meaningful it is, because it truly is.

Hunith has literally known Arthur for a couple days, but she can already read him incredibly well. Not only does she deduce that he cares about Merlin, she specifically says he likes him.

What’s the difference? Why does that matter?

Think about what you imagine someone behaves like when they like something or someone. They’re usually pretty happy, smiling, and they say good things about it. When it comes to typical behavior, it’s easy to tell when someone likes something.

Merlin likes doing magic, and he shows it when he can:

Think about Arthur though. He doesn’t seem to like anything when you use those behaviors as the evidence. The viewer knows it’s just Arthur’s personality, but from a complete outside perspective, he doesn’t appear to like anything.

He doesn't truly smile that much. He makes fun of everyone he's close to, sometimes even going too far with Merlin in particular.

This is how most people would expect him to act if he likes someone:

But he doesn't act like that on a regular basis. He rarely ever actually smiles like that, and especially not around people.

When he smiles normally, there's an undertone of cockiness or superiority that comes with being the prince and having to behave a certain way in front of others. It's not quite genuine. (The first episode is the perfect example of that.)

Or it's not even really a smile. He's not frowning, and you can tell by his eyes that it's a positive expression, but he's not showing a full smile to indicate that he's really happy.

OR he's got his "public face" on; it's sort of blank, but it changes slightly depending on the context. It's a guarded/doubtful/slightly annoyed look, but it's not a full frown that implies a bad mood. He uses it when he's in court with Uther, when he's bickering with Merlin, and when he's thinking. It's sort of his resting expression.

Uther does the same thing, where he's not really smiling, but you can tell it's a positive expression.

The thing is, you don't need to like someone in order to care about them. Plenty of people care about the wellbeing of people that they don't actually like.

Perfect example: Merlin and Gwen wanting to help Uther despite both having justifiable reasons to want him dead.

So liking someone isn't the same as caring about someone, cool, but what's the big deal with Hunith's line about Arthur? He obviously cares and likes Merlin, why does this matter?

Hunith doesn’t witness any behavior from Arthur to indicate that he likes Merlin, other than helping out his village. But:

This is an absolutely true statement. Merlin may be in denial that Arthur would actually like him, but he’s not wrong at all. Arthur earlier in this very episode voiced his desire to help anyone regardless of where they live. He helps people throughout the show in ways that don’t benefit him: Mordred as a kid; the woman in the tavern who was being harassed; Guinevere when Elyan was captured; the old woman about to be burned at the stake.

Hunith, however, can see through all of that.

What do you do when you like someone?

You care for their well-being

You think of them fondly

You enjoy their company

You want them to be happy

Arthur likes Merlin. He thinks of him as a close friend. He wants to make him happy, and to keep him safe. He wants him around. And Hunith figures this out from a couple days of observing them.

My mind starts to run around, because I wonder what Hunith saw in Arthur during the short period she spent with him that told her that he liked Merlin. His father didn't understand why Arthur cared about Merlin even when he saved his life twice.

It makes me so curious of what Hunith was thinking. You know what they say about mothers always knowing.

[jooniperbonsai]

I'll Give You the Sun (jhs) | Part One

Pairing: SunDeity!Hoseok x MoonDeity!Reader (afab)

Rating: 18+

Part One Length: 10.6k

Release Date: Fri, April 19, 2024

Genre: Smut, fluff, angst, fantasy au, royalty, mythology

Summary: Fated to fulfill an ancient prophecy claiming he will ascend into a curse-breaking hero on the day of his kingdom’s first total solar eclipse, Hoseok is jaded and cynical over his lack of choice in becoming the king and god of the Solar Kingdom. He’s even less pleased that his coronation is to be shared with the future king of the Lunar Kingdom, whose clear obsession with power is already a sign of trouble ahead. 

But when the moon fully overtakes the sun and bathes everything in darkness, the ascension of gods and kings doesn’t seem to be all that the fates prophesied. With you now coming out of the shadows to claim your rightful title, the pressure is on for the two of you to break this curse together, before it completely destroys your two kingdoms. 

Warnings: Swearing, physical aggression, low self-esteem, implied emotional and physical abuse, dirty talk, grinding/thigh riding, dom! hoseok already making himself known

a/n: yayyyyy welcome to the new series! may sun deity hobi be as adored by you as he is by me. You can look forward to Part 2 where we meet our y/n very soon. -h

He can hear her shuffling down the hall. His mother. No doubt draped in the silky, long golden cape that shines as she passes by every sunny window. He doesn’t need to look at her to know that she’s wearing it. That, or her crown, pointed at all sides in honor of the many ancestral deities who have served the stars before, whose power and strength created the very particles of the universe. He also doesn’t need to look to know she’s heading directly toward his chamber, seeking Hoseok out. 

He knows she is, because he was supposed to be in the Great Hall an hour ago to go over his coronation and is instead sitting out on his balcony, looking up at the moon high in the sky despite it being one in the afternoon.

“Hoseok,” his mother echos from his doorway, breathless and exasperated. 

“I know,” he calls back. He knows he’s due for a lecture, but because his mother is impatient, because the entire palace and kingdom and evidently the entire fucking universe is impatient for their prince to become a king, and with that title, a god, there’s no time for a lecture. 

He takes one last look up at the sky, the pebbled moon inching ever closer, and scowls before retreating back indoors.

If Hoseok had things his way, he would seek out whichever god before him who uttered his prophecy to ascend to the throne and burn him with all the power of the Sun he is so called the god of. Apollo, Ra, Helios, Tsohanoai, Sol, Tai Yang Xing Jun, whoever it was who caused this, who murmured his message before the fates, he is probably laughing at Hoseok as his mother clucks at him and pinches away invisible specks of lint from his pristine suit. 

“Your father wants to see you before we begin.”

“I thought the party was already under way,” he mutters, his mother cocking an eyebrow at him. 

“It is, which I now take it you are staunchly avoiding instead of simply losing track of time like I was prepared to give you the benefit of the doubt for.” 

“Eomma, you know I don’t want to do this. I have told you so for years. I don’t want to be king. I don’t want to be a god.”

“Yes, but the fates decided it so. They chose you over your sister, and this means whether there’s a party or not, it’s going to happen. You might as well enjoy the food and music and make the best of it.” With a sigh, she adjusts the heady gilded crown pinned to her head and strolls out of Hoseok’s chamber, leaving behind the faint note of her jasmine perfume. 

Hoseok knows he can’t hide here forever. He knows that once the total eclipse occurs in a matter of hours, he will be thrust into a life of duty. And not soon after he ascends, he also knows that he will be expected to begin courting someone. That is another matter entirely, one he is not going to even entertain today.

He’s not opposed to marriage or courting, not in the slightest. His elder sister married a few years ago, a marriage that gives structure and stability. Her husband clearly loves her, and Hoseok enjoys when he sees his brother-in-law when they visit during the summer months, when the days stretch into nights and for a little while, the state of things feels less cursed and oppressive. 

They often have long, decadent dinners in the back garden, surrounded by the low hum of the bees as they move from sunflower to sunflower (his mother’s favorite). The summer months are coming, which means soon Hoseok will feel a little bit more like himself. Why wouldn’t he want to spend time with someone, to enjoy strawberries straight from the garden and walk along the river with the one he courts? 

All of these things are exactly what he wants. 

Or he used to, anyway. He glances at the mirror above his vanity, his black hair already losing some of its hold despite only being styled a handful of hours ago. Normally, it doesn’t do that. Normally, once set into place, he appears as the precise and put-together person in the room. 

But today, he realizes, is not normal. 

In his lifetime, there has never been a total solar eclipse over his kingdom. Which is why in many ways, today is the beginning of the end, as today he will fulfill his destiny within the prophecy:

On the Eve of day, the day of night,

when the moon fully captures the sun’s light

over the House of the ones who worship the rays, 

will an alliance occur that pleases the fates:

Two kingdoms will gain what they most need

after long years of suffering from past gods’ greed.

From the cliffs off the shore where the sky hangs low, 

will come the fated one crowned with a moonlit halo.

And from the flowering valleys where the rolling hills run, 

will come the destined one crowned with the beams of the sun. 

The shadows shattering during the fifteenth hour

shall bestow these two souls with ultimate power.

The moon stepping forward with nothing to hide

is burdened not by the sin of pride

nor the sun is he plagued by the darkness above, 

but balanced with allegiance, passion, and love.

United these two the fates will regard

with the highest of honor among the stars. 

What was once divided now becomes one, 

with the all sacred moon and almighty sun. 

And together these two blessed by the heavens’ ring, 

will end the curse of the promised false king.

He can recite the entire thing by heart. It is a prophecy that echoes in his oldest memories, ones when he could scarcely understand the phrases coded within, but recognized the cadence of over time as it swirled into words he one day understood. It was read on his tenth birthday as he watched the red wax of his “10” candle slide down the pillar and onto the buttercream frosting of his cake, the red upon white almost looking like blood. It was read at weddings, graduations, all a reminder of the great hope that is to come. 

Even then he knew it to be less of its intended blessing and more of a curse dooming him to follow its guidelines, to be “balanced with allegiance, passion, and love”. Hoseok doesn’t deny that these are traits he has, but he isn’t entirely sure if these are traits he was destined to have, or if through the power of suggestion and pressure over the years, he has become a self-fulfilling prophecy.

He looks back in the mirror, scooping a curl off of his face, memorizing the rich brown of his eyes, the even slant of his nose. He knows his ascension isn’t technically supposed to change him, at least not in the ways that are noticeable. All of the royal advisors and lesser gods on the council have assured him, reassured him, and if it’s even possible, over-assured him as such. 

Even his parents have dipped their toes into the conversation, despite always and forevermore being mortal.

It’s not like you’re going to sprout a second head and start devouring the souls of mortals. You are just going to feel different. More powerful. Rightly so. You will be. 

And that’s what concerns him. Not the sprouting of another head or bloodthirst. 

How can things still be the same–how can he still be the same–if he is about to be given power? Not just any power either. This is enough power to end the long-standing drought that wiped out the southeast corner of the Solar Kingdom. A drought so severe that the only thing left in that part of the kingdom is abandoned homes and stories from the Elder gods that prove it was once a vivid place full of diverse life, with lush flora that bore plump, juicy fruits, art, and culture. 

The Elder gods have been around for, well, no one quite knows how long, including them. When asked, they often click their tongue, sipping whatever sparkly alcoholic concoction that fancies them that day before dismissing the curious soul who asks. After a while, time just rolls itself together. You mortals are so obsessed with it. Relax, take it all in. Hundreds, even thousands of years may have passed, but still we eat and drink and dance. 

And from all that eating and drinking and dancing came the many stories about the parts of the kingdom that Hoseok had never heard of, and some he is still sure don’t really exist. How on this planet were there once waterfalls that fell up instead of down, or vines that could bear grapes the size of his head? Over time, he has learned to take what the Elder gods say at face value; they are bored and ancient and looking for something to entertain them. The only reason he knows the southeast corner once had any of these things is because of the ruins. 

When he was young, he was taken there by the royal council and his parents to help him understand the weight of his place in all this, how crucial it was that he rise and grow to end the drought that forced thousands to become displaced and desperate. How better was he to understand the importance of the power he would one day be given than to see how selfishly wielding it only resulted in strife and suffering for all?

The drought is expanding, leeching more from his kingdom by the year. By his twenty ninth birthday, the Great Forest of Solaria, a region two hours south of the capital, known for its tall redwoods and cypresses, has had three sizable forest fires, forcing its people, including Hoseok’s best friend Namjoon, to flee north. Namjoon and his family have been living in the palace for almost a full year. 

But because of this curse, this reign of the nefarious king Mang Shin, who tore down Hoseok’s people and the land around it for his own selfish gain, because of his cruelty that angered the fates, the Solar Kingdom has been managing a worsening drought. How much longer before the capital city can no longer sustain any of its people, when it is no longer a refuge?

His kingdom is not the only one impacted by the cruelty of Mang Shin. The Lunar Kingdom to the northwest is half underwater after high tides that led to flooding. While the capital city of the Solar Kingdom has not directly suffered from the curse of Mang Shin, the Lunar Kingdom’s capital city has not been so lucky. 

A month ago, a large tidal wave capsized the northern end of the city, drowning thousands and destroying a major sea port that was essential to the booming trade industry of the north. From the rumors Hoseok heard, the crown prince was set to be in the district that morning on official business, but was running behind after spending a night out drinking and occupying the brothels in the southern corridor. He would have been washed away in the sea if he were on time. 

Which means all this, all that Hoseok has been procrastinating on attending, has stopped seven times in the short hallway over, would have been for nothing. There would be no end to this curse, only the slow suffering of his actual fate. 

No. The crown prince is in the Great Hall waiting for Hoseok to get his shit together and help restore balance to both kingdoms. A dual coronation. Two princes to become kings of their own kingdoms. The Lunar Kingdom exists as the Solar Kingdom exists. Both need each other now to ensure the longevity of the other. There’s no other destiny than this. 

He pauses in front of the door to his father’s study, grazes his knuckles against the wood of the door. He sighs. 

You have to do this. There’s no other way. 

And just as he thinks to turn, to run, to flee his home and this kingdom and go everywhere and nowhere all at once, the door to his father’s study opens. 

He expects to see the firm set frown of his father, to be given his final lecture and coronet before his father abdicates and Hoseok is the owner of the hefty, ornate crown he has come to despise.

He is not expecting to hear a soft feminine gasp that is very different to the sounds his father makes. Nor is he expecting to see you staring right back at him. 

You’re wearing a long navy gown flecked with what looks like stars shimmering in the glow of the study’s dim light. 

You should be wearing a tiara, or at least some kind of diadem like your mother, whom Hoseok saw this morning when he snuck into the kitchen after skipping the official breakfast. He should have been embarrassed, but she seemed even more so for being there and helping herself to custard cakes that were meant for today’s celebration. 

I won’t tell if you won't, she'd said, her voice tight, possibly from speaking between bites of the creamy custard. Her diadem encrusted with diamonds in the shape of what looked like the constellation Cygnus gleamed in the sunlight that leaked into the kitchen. 

She didn’t care that he hadn’t given your family a proper greeting, and she seemed unbothered by his unwashed and unshaved state. She looked at him like he was just a boy. So he didn’t say a word, just stole a cake for himself and locked himself in his chamber until his mother hunted down Namjoon to let him in and at least convince him to bathe. 

Even informally dressed, your mother wore her head adornment, which is why it is not only odd to see you striding out of his father’s study, but to also see you walking around without anything to signify you are more than just a palace advisor or lady of the court. 

Then again, you were always odd. While your families were not close by any means, their strained allyship and understanding of their dependency on one another meant that Hoseok’s family and your family had met a few times over the years, and each time he was in the vicinity of you, he couldn’t help but notice how out of place you were. 

While your brother commanded the attention of everyone in the room, demanded the world stopped to hear the new song he composed on guitar or rambled on and on about diplomacy and trade relations over a feast, you instead faded into the background of every place you entered, a shadow that cast itself behind the path of her brother’s radiant glow. 

So maybe not wearing a crown isn’t so unexpected when it comes to you. A crown is the opposite of a shadow. It demands everyone look at it, too. And even if you wanted to be looked at– which he assumes is not true given the fact that you’re practically shrinking away from Hoseok as he looks at you now– it doesn’t seem as though your brother would be willing to share the spotlight long enough to even give you the chance. 

He realizes he doesn’t even need to ask what you are doing in his father’s study, he already knows: you are doing what you always do when he sees you, what he suspects you do when he isn’t around too: you made yourself invisible. You often snuck off during your visits here to the library or the palace gardens, returning late in the day with dirt on your skirts or charcoal on your hands. He notices the object that confirms his suspicions: a sketchbook nestled between your fingertips that is staining your inner fingers black. 

“I was just–” you begin, eyes wide as you stammer. “Your father, he said I could be in here. I didn’t touch anything, I was drawing!” You hold the book out in front of you like a shield. 

Hoseok raises his hands up. “Hey, hey, relax. I’m not accusing you of anything!” Your eyes soften a little, but you still remain frozen in the doorway, the sketchbook acting as if it's made of steel, not paper. “Speaking of my father, have you seen him? He said he wants to talk to me before, y’know…the thing.” 

“The thing…” you repeat, finally lowering the book as you knit your brows together. You give him a puzzled look before answering. “Uh, I did. I was sketching him, actually. But he left to go to the Great Hall about ten minutes ago to deal with something urgent. But he said if I saw you to tell you to get your coronet on. It’s in here, on his desk.”

With a flurry, you twirl, heading back into the soft glow of the office behind you. As you turn, a puff of air leaves Hoseok’s chest as he sees the effect your dress has in the shifting light. It’s as if millions of stars are swirling around you, centering you as their moon in a night sky. 

Whoa. 

For a moment, he’s stunned, not entirely sure what he just saw. But then he remembers what he is supposed to be doing, and he follows you like a sailor follows the stars, letting you guide him into the cold room. 

Sure enough on his father’s desk is the coronet, a small box of pins to fasten it into place beside it, and a handwritten note from his father. 

Be extraordinary. 

Or be nothing at all, he finishes mentally. Hoseok’s father has spent all of his life uttering that phrase, placing his very soul behind the words that are supposed to be inspirational. He had learned it from a book at the university he attended when he was a young scholar, coming across it and deciding it suited his philosophy: excel beyond ordinary leadership and be a great ruler to his people. If not, what was the point in being a leader at all?  

This was a phrase that always unsettled Hoseok, because extraordinary measures mean one-upping himself in the process, and that is something his father seemed to push in his youth. Top marks in his class? He then needed to be the top of his class and on the student council. Developed a grant for young dancers to encourage a stronger relationship to the arts from a younger age? He must establish an entire foundation for performing arts within the next five years. Higher and higher he has always been forced to climb, until the clouds once above him are nothing more than wisps of air at his feet. 

And he’s afraid of heights. Of falling from this place where he is held so high in regard and duty he might as well live among the stars. 

He swallows a knot in his throat, taking the note with his father’s message and crumpling it in his fist. 

You, who have been curiously watching him this entire time, raise an eyebrow. Hoseok suddenly feels particularly defensive and on edge from his father’s notice. The king has written it on official letterhead, technically making it Royal business and not familial. It’s not a phrase of encouragement for him to be extraordinary, but an order. 

“What,” he snaps, and immediately regrets it as he watches your face cloud slightly before you regain composure. 

“It’s a pretty morbid saying, isn’t it?” you say thoughtfully after a moment, nodding your head to the balled up piece of paper in his hands. “This idea that if you aren’t always beating yourself then you’re not successful or good enough to rule. But it’s so damning. How can you win when part of you must always lose?” 

Hoseok inhales sharply, the words hitting him hard. But before he can even think to respond, you are scrambling. 

“Exactly,” he says darkly. He takes the coronet in hand. “The thing is, either way you spin this, it’s a loss.” 

You chew your bottom lip for a moment before stepping toward him, reaching for the box of hairpins. “I’m sorry,” you mumble and pluck a pin from the box, gesturing for Hoseok to bend down. 

He isn’t the tallest man in the kingdom by far, and you’re not much shorter, but next to you, he somehow feels huge. Do you have horrible posture or something? He glances over at you, but then he notices that while your head would rest above his shoulder if you moved closer, and your back is perfectly straight–straighter than even he has been trained to stand– it’s not your height that makes you feel so small. It’s everything else. You are a walking optical illusion. In his memories, he had always placed you as half his size, and he finally understands why: it lets you fly under the radar.  

He sighs, placing the coronet upon his head at last, turning over the idea of being under the radar in his mind. Something in him sours, a prick of jealousy flaring up at how you will inevitably spend the rest of the night after the coronation. “Not like you had any part in this. Soon this will all be over and you can go back to hiding in rooms with your sketch pads and books and be invisible to everyone again.”

You flinch at his words, the pin you have begun fastening to his head to steady the crown snags into his scalp. 

“Ouch! What the fuck was that?” Hoseok yelps, and you jolt back, tears brimming your eyes as if you were the one who was just stabbed in the head. 

“Oh, I get it. So you think this is the end of the world for you and the rest of us are just going to go about our merry way like the savior gods have solved all our problems.” Your voice is sharp, unlike anything he has ever heard come from you, and he can see the fury burning into your eyes as tears begin to spill. 

“Have you ever fucking thought about how the rest of us are going to cope with these changes? Yes, I understand the ascension is damnation in its own way, and that this awful fucking curse has plagued our kingdoms for centuries but you’re so selfishly focused on yourself when there are two of you who will share the burden. And the power. Yes, you are vain and self-absorbed but your drought will end. The forest fires will have paved the way for nutrient rich soil and things here will thrive better than they ever have. Your friend Namjoon? He can return to his community and rebuild. And you, Jung Hoseok, you will live on forever in the glory of all that you saved and your stupid ego will be smoothed over with godly power. Power that who knows what the hell you’ll do with. In another thousand years you too will be bored and sighing with the other Elder gods talking about the time you saved us all and embellishing your stories to bring new life into them. 

“And the rest of us? We will be doing all that work for you as you sit on your throne and watch us break our backs to continue to pay for what Mang Shin did. And then we will die. My own best friend died in the floods we had a month ago. And I will die, having only lived a life that is in service to another god. Mang Shin or you or my fucking awful brother–” 

You freeze, realizing your mistake. But Hoseok is seeing red at your accusation. 

“You think I’m just going to be like all those other lazy gods? I want to be nothing like them! Unlike them I care about my home, my people, and family! And you have the audacity to stand in my father’s office and claim that I won’t do the right thing? That I’m in this and moping because of my ego? Oh, fuck you, Y/N! You don’t know the first thing about me. When I walk out of this room and into the Great Hall, I am no longer me. I am the pawn they raised me to be in some game I never want to play. And you, you’re free.” He spits those words at you with a sneer. 

Your nostrils flare and you close the distance between you two. He can feel the heat of your body as you shove it against him, backing him into his father’s desk so he can’t escape. The soft flurry of your gown grazes the back of his left hand. 

“Free?” you say low, your voice dripping with disgust. “Let’s get one thing straight. I am not free. I am invisible. And not by choice, by necessity.” You reach down between you, grabbing one of his wrists and pinching your fingers around it. Then, you grab the other with the same motion and hold them both up to him. “One shackle for being born without the fates’ blessing. That would have been damning enough. An outcast compared to my brother. At least your sister was given some response from the fates upon her birth. Some gift.”

You tighten your hand around the other wrist, your nails digging small crescents into Hoseok’s skin. “The other for being born into a life where I will always be cleaning up the messes of a tyrannical ruler, be it a king who lived a millennia ago or my own brother or a beloved god like you.” 

Hoseok’s stomach drops as you hiss the last word out and he tugs at his wrists to try to free himself from you. He feels as though he’s going to explode. Who the hell do you believe yourself to be? Royalty or not, you know there are rules in place that forbid you both from touching, though those rules were mostly enforced during the time of puberty for the both of you, but there was never an official retraction. If he thinks about it, this is the first time the two of you have ever even touched. And it’s probably for the best. 

He feels like he’s burning under your gaze, a fire hotter than anything he’s ever known. Your fingertips digging into his skin, feel like needles and iron weights under him. In one moment you have gone from being small and frail to fierce and terrifying, the radiant glow of royalty your entire family wears breaks from you as your raw emotion unravels your smooth exterior. 

You are in this moment the furthest thing from invisible and Hoseok’s heart beating wildly as you shift even closer to him tells him so. But Hoseok has trained his entire life for combat, knows how to put mind over matter. So he focuses and with an exhale composes himself, a devilish smirk spreading across his face. 

Your brows knit together, but your hold remains firm. 

“My sister can hold her own. The fates knew that. She was not suited to be a ruler when she had much better skills with people and commerce. That, and they probably knew that she too would lead with some kind of bias.” He snorts. “But you, that really is a shame. Maybe the fates were wrong about you. Maybe they made a mistake in forgetting to give you a gift.” 

You gasp, and he jolts, releasing your hands from his wrists. “Don’t say that. You shouldn’t say that.” 

He knows he shouldn’t. To speak ill of the fates could lead to serious punishment. When born, everyone is visited by the fates during their first long slumber. For most people of good standing, the fates bless them with some type of gift, be it physical wealth, talent, status, or some other quality or characteristic that solidifies them in society.

While there is no set pattern in who the fates often deliver gifts to, in the last few generations, most blessings from the fates are given to those born into nobility. At least for Hoseok, everyone in his family as far back as his great grandfather was given a blessing. His mother had received the precise skill of archery, picking up a bow and arrow as early as seven years old and shooting the target nearly dead center. The only reason she was off was because the bow was too heavy for her. His father was given his intellect, leading to him being a great scholar and general. His sister was given a hand mirror embedded with large rubies. 

All the gifts are left in a pouch tied to the baby’s bassinet. If the gift is not physical, a small note is often attached with an explanation or hint for what will be fulfilled. Some larger gifts may just be laid next to the bassinet, but rarely is it larger than the size of one’s hand. 

For Hoseok, the fates’ gift was a scroll with the prophecy copied to it, along with a gold ring engraved with a sun that he is wearing now. Not too cryptic to interpret. His parents knew from the start who he was. 

Your family, however, is another story. From what Hoseok understands, when your older brother was born, he did not receive such a literal interpretation of the prophecy. Rather, his gift was a monocular that for years people thought was broken. It wasn’t until he once used it while stupidly looking up at the sun that your brother realized the monocular wasn’t broken. 

Instead, it provided a very important film over the lens that allowed him to stare for hours at the sun and not go blind. During the sporadic partial solar eclipses over the years that gave Hoseok chills down his spine, your brother was often on the cliff banks, gazing at the sun flares and embracing his future. 

A monocular meant for solar eclipses. What else could that mean but that he is a fated one? 

As for you, Hoseok heard that the evening of your birth a handful of years later came and went with no blessing. When your parents had woken to find nothing in the pouch or the areas around your bassinet, had asked every palace worker thrice to see if anyone had entered the nursery that evening and everyone had assured that no one had entered and the door that separated the bathroom between you and your brother’s rooms had remained locked, your brother sound asleep, there was nothing left to do but accept that for the first time in generations, your family had ended its line of fated ones with your brother. 

In a way, did it matter? Whether you are blessed or not if your brother is the one who will finally end the curse? Perhaps not. But either way, Hoseok can’t help but feel pissed at the fates today, and wants to poke at them a bit and let him know he isn’t happy with the gift they gave him. 

Sure, no one is supposed to insult them. There are many tales told to children about what happens to those who test their authority, cautionary lessons that warn them not to misbehave or they will suffer greatly. It is, after all, the result of Mang Shin’s own challenging and disrespecting the fates that caused all of this anyway. 

But right now Hoseok doesn't have a single fuck to give about what they decided anyone is destined for. How they “always choose wisely.” That doesn’t make sense to him. The fates can’t be perfect, can they? In all things. Including you. 

Especially you, he realizes. Because he would be foolish to write you off as a boring nobody, even if that is the mask you wear. 

“Why not? Why shouldn’t I be pissed at them and question them? If they have decided this is a burden I must shoulder forever, then let me have my doubts! I’m actually disgusted by the fact that no one has ever questioned my role in this. A savior of an entire kingdom! Me? The one who broke into the armory and stole fireworks to launch on my eighteenth birthday?” 

Which, had been an awful idea. The fireworks had been locked away because of their tendency to cause fires. And with that winter having much less snow than ever before, the farmland he had drunkenly lit those fireworks in was full of dead, dry brambles. The perfect kindling. 

His transgression cost the kingdom millions. He was lucky there was no wind that day to carry the fire across the creek the farm jutted up to. But the fire did enough damage to burn that entire farm’s crops for that year. 

You snort. “Yes, well I think your accidental arson doesn’t alter your favor with the fates.” You gesture for him to bend again to finally pin on his coronet. The angry steam trapped inside his chest is starting to lessen. In some way, it just feels good to have said it out loud. 

So he obeys and lets you change the subject as you work. “Why did you want the fireworks anyway?” 

Hoseok stills, wanting to avoid another stabbing. Your fingers are more nimble this time, sweeping gently through his scalp before securing the pins. As you make your adjustments, your pinky skims the shell of his ear. 

It’s that tenderness that prompts him to answer honestly. “I was sad, or rather mad that in an entire ballroom full of people celebrating, I had never felt so alone in my whole life. It didn’t feel like they were celebrating me, but this idea of us getting closer to the end of the suffering. Another year passing means another year closer to when we could more accurately predict the eclipse, if it was actually going to be a total one and pass directly above us. So my birthday became this symbol of hope I guess.” 

You hum in response, a quiet prompt asking him to continue. He feels your fingers adjusting the pins in the back, gentle, oh so gentle. His eyes fall closed, trying to focus instead on his story. 

“I should be happy about that, right? To be this symbol of hope for everyone. But I didn’t want that. I never wanted to become a symbol of something over being a person, and that seems to be what all this ever is. I had come to realize it at the time, and wanted to rebel, to do something for myself for my birthday instead of being in service to others. 

“So I broke into the armory while everyone was dancing, said I needed a moment to relieve myself. The guard was easily bribed by a strong glass of whisky I claimed wasn’t to my taste and the smell of the feast in the hall. I told him I would find the captain to have him guard his post while he went to enjoy the celebration.” 

He hears you chuckle, an infectious, feathery sound that piques his interest. He wonders how often you laugh at things. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard you do so before. 

He smirks. “Yeah, he didn’t think twice about that. Why would the well-behaved, diplomatic prince try to break into the armory during his birthday celebration? Once he was out of sight I walked right in and grabbed what I was looking for. Ditched the ball, grabbed a bottle of whisky and went to drown my sorrows. The rest was history. I barely got to look up and enjoy the fireworks before I saw the fire begin. And by that point I was too drunk to walk straight to even know what to do. I couldn’t run fast enough to stomp it out and I didn’t have any water with me. So I just stood and watched it all burn before me.” 

Your fingers stroke the coronet in Hoseok’s hair and then he feels them fall, your fingertips combing through it, nails sometimes scraping against his scalp. It’s so soothing, grounding to him, and he inhales deeply as your hands weave around him, one side and then the other, as if you are guiding every hair, every part of him back into place. 

“That’s when I started to really wonder if the fates got it all wrong with me. Because I can cause so much damage so quickly if I’m not careful. And selfishly too. What I did, that was because I couldn’t let people see me as this symbol of something that I’m not even sure I represent And if I have power? What if I use it wrong?” 

“You’re right. I am vain and selfish to be complaining about this stuff when I’m lucky. I got to go on a bender and blow up a bunch of illegal arsenal and the most I got was a stern finger waggle because I’m a ‘fated one’. And once this is all over, I don’t know. I’m probably not going to be the king everyone thinks I’m going to be. And I’ll fight like hell but I’m terrified that I’m going to be different. That somehow the second I’m blessed with this power I’m going to wield it to hurt others, to be that same selfish asshole of a child that I was.” 

He feels your hand pause, and opens his eyes. Your eyes meet, and your hand falls from his head, returning into your orbit as you cross your arms in front of you. 

“But you didn’t mean for that to happen, Hoseok. None of that. I don’t think the fates are going to fault you for a mistake like that, and I don’t think they made the wrong choice for a human acting as a human. And even when you’re a god, I don’t know. You’ll probably make mistakes too, but that doesn’t mean you’re going to be cruel.”

You sigh. “I’m sorry I said that about you. I…you’re not like him, Mang Shin. You aren’t going to be this lazy ruler or probably even a bad one. Because you care. Didn’t you repair the damage to the barn yourself?” 

He nods.   

“That really speaks more to your character than whatever air of diplomacy you think you need to have. And the same for your power that you’ll receive. The ascension doesn’t make you invincible, but it just amplifies the qualities you have. And you don’t have malice in you to burn down an entire farm.

“My brother however? I think if he was in your position, he would have argued the fire was the farm’s fault for not sprinkling the crops with a fire retardant or something. Or, if he wasn’t getting the attention he wanted, that might have made him so furious that he spread the fire beyond the farm on purpose. One time when we were younger, he received awful marks on an exam he admittedly did not study for, and when our tutor scolded him for it and wagged his finger in his direction, he bit the tip of his finger clean off. And he smiled as he did it.” 

Hoseok blanches. He has heard that your brother wasn’t the most savory of people, some of the people of the Solar kingdom having encountered him during the royal family’s visitations. Hoseok himself knows that he’s rude and narcissistic, often interrupting during their different conversations to talk about himself or scowl at the palace workers as they try to serve his meals. Particular, they always describe the Lunar Prince. He is not a bad man, just very particular. 

More like entitled, and borderline ruthless, Hoseok thinks to himself. 

“Your brother sounds very...particular,” he says instead of what he’s actually thinking.

You roll your eyes. “I hate that fucking word,” you mutter, uncrossing your arms and stepping back to look at Hoseok. You click your tongue once and then nod in approval. The coronet must be even. 

“What word would you use instead?” Hoseok whispers, taking a step toward you. 

This conversation feels private, and no matter how private his father’s study feels, he doesn’t want the physical distance between the two of you as you share more intimate thoughts. 

You hesitate. Your eyes flash to his, and then he can see the well of tears brimming up into your eyes once more. “Does it really matter anyway? A monster, a tyrant, an asshole. He’s going to be king, a god, regardless of how I describe him. And it would be treasonous, not to mention unwise, to question the decision of the fates. If he hears what I think, I’ll suffer worse. But everyone chooses to see something in him clearly that I do not, gifted him that monocular and wrote him into the prophecy to seal it. He is a fated one. And regardless of what you think or what I think, that’s how it’s going to be. I wasn’t gifted with anything. I’ll admit that I’m not looking forward to this transition and how messy it'll be. I spent most of my youth cleaning up his small messes and I’m sure I’ll be doing the big ones now. But I’m trying to make peace with it, I don’t have much of a choice.” 

A renewed anger boils in Hoseok. “So your way of handling and accepting all of this, the fact that your brother is about to receive hoards of untapped power that might teeter your kingdom into oblivion, is by being invisible? By throwing your life away? How is that supposed to be helpful?”

You jerk away, the small distance between you growing larger as your dress glitters in a spotlight, casting refractions of it onto the walls and bookshelves all around you. In every pocket of the dark room, there’s a part of you shifting yourself onto everything else, including Hoseok. He opens his palm where the refraction casts, almost as though he’s holding a part of your light in his hand. 

But just as soon as you’re in the light, you’re out of it, the refraction gone, and you into the shadows. 

He steps forward, tries to cross the distance once more, but the intimate moment of secrets is gone, and stops him in his tracks. He can tell he has struck a wound by the sharp laugh that blares from your chest. It sounds nothing like the one he heard before. 

“What am I supposed to do exactly? Go waltz in there and scream to the fates that he’s the wrong choice and we are all doomed? Demand he surrender his title and not accept this gift? Do you think anyone would even listen to me if I were to raise such doubt? I would be exiled before the eclipse reaches totality. 

“I’m no one Hoseok. Not to my kingdom, certainly not my parents or brother. I’m simply here to put as much of a wedge between the blows my brother deals and the people of my kingdom who will receive it. And as far as how I’ll handle it, I have two options: I can continue as I am now, cleaning up the mess. Or I can re-enter the shadows of life and marry the Duke of Nebula and leave the Lunar Kingdom forever.  Didn’t you say so yourself that I am free because of my position? That I am unburdened with the sense of duty that you are? Maybe you should think less about me and more about what you’re going to do after all this is over.” 

You turn away from him, the skirt of your dress rustling as you try to make your escape, to leave him without the last word. 

No, he thinks. Not like this. He has spent enough of his life not having the last word when it comes to matters about him. 

Fury licks through his veins. He feels heat rush through his face, the tips of his ears, the tingling part of his scalp you were touching mere minutes ago. No, this conversation isn’t over until he says it is. He stalks over to you as you reach for the door handle, grabbing your wrist in his palm, tugging it over your head as he shoves your back against the door, trapping you. 

You release the air in your chest with a huff, your other hand coming to fight him off. But he’s faster. Again, he’s trained his whole life to do this. He easily pins your other wrist above you. 

“So that’s it? Your two choices are to marry some old wrinkled Duke or stay as your brother’s punching bag.” 

He scoffs. You struggle against his hold. 

“That’s none of your business! Let go of me!” you growl, tugging, ragged breaths heaving your chest. 

“No,” Hoseok says. “I’m not done. If I’m going to walk out of here and take on the burdens of the world, then I’m going to at least spend the last moments of my mortal life ensuring you don’t waste yours. You have a choice in all of this freedom and you’re choosing wrong. The worst fucking things you can possibly choose. Consider it my first act of diplomacy as king.” 

You angle your head up to him, your brows furrowed. “Then please, your majesty, enlighten me as to what you would choose for me, since you feel so inclined to do so.” 

Your body is just as heated under Hoseok as he is now, a sheen of perspiration blooming in your décolletage. Both of you are boiling in your anger. Yet you take it a step further, widening your stance and looping one leg behind him to try and find the weak spot behind his knees. 

You succeed, his leg slipping and tangling itself in the skirt of your dress. Rather than break the hold he has on you, however, he falls forward, his forearms falling to either side of your head, his body now fully leaning into you.  

Under any other circumstance, Hoseok would immediately untangle himself, apologize, blush at the embarrassment of his body colliding with another, especially with it being taboo in the law. But this time he doesn’t. And as you struggle against him, he can feel your soft thigh brush against the front of his trousers, sending a lap of heat to his cock. It’s almost dizzying how hot it is in the study now. The room is kept at a cool temperature to ensure the books don’t warp from humidity. 

Which means the heat that is scorching through his veins is from the two of you creating it. He pulls a deep breath into his chest, trying to focus on finishing this conversation, on his frustration with you for being so careless with yourself. 

“If I was free like you, without the universe waiting for me outside my door, I wouldn’t be hiding in the cold shadows hoping no one noticed me. I would be out in the world, discovering all the things I’ve been denied.” 

He adjusts himself against you, and as he does so, his thigh lands between your legs, resting at the crook of where they meet. A sharp intake of breath crests from you, and your eyes meet, your gaze hard.

“Like what?” you ask. “What exactly would you be chasing instead of denying yourself?”

Hoseok smirks, knowing he’s trapped you in this conversation. He really has been trained well. “Pleasure,” he says, and your eyes widen.

“What?”

“You heard me, Y/N. Pleasure. You think you’re going to find that with the Duke of Nebula? He’s so ancient, I doubt he could even get it up. And even if he still can, god what a bore he would be. He’s sired enough children in his lifetime, and can't be expected to run around and play with or care for any of the ones you would give him. 

“So you would either be sitting around just the two of you for the rest of his life–gods hoping it wouldn’t be much longer–or you would be raising his children practically by yourself. They would have no status either, too far down on the family chain to have any standing. Which means you would rot in that place until you found another man to marry. And that would be your life. What a waste of your potential. You’re young, beautiful, intelligent, and throwing your life away.” 

He clicks his tongue. “Pleasure you wouldn’t find with him. Maybe even the next guy. So why sign yourself up for any of that when you don’t have to? When you can feel alive while you’re alive and feel good. Know ecstasy, your joints coming loose in your body, fuc–”

“I’m not a virgin, Hoseok. I know what pleasure feels like,” you spit. Hoseok’s eyes flash. He licks his lips. 

“Do you really?” he whispers. “Do you know how it feels to really fuck for the sake of pleasure, Y/N? Of letting someone else hold the reins of your undoing and pulling them so taught you think you’re going to snap, only to finally give you what you truly need and set you free over the edge?” 

You shiver underneath him, closing your eyes. Good, he thinks. You’re listening, separating yourself from the rule-bound life you shouldn’t be bound to. 

“What is it you really want, Y/N? What is it that you’re denying yourself of having? Of taking?” 

“Nothing,” you whimper. 

“Liar,” Hoseok grins. “You want so much more than this. You’re too much of a dreamer. Tell me, what do you want?” 

“It’s none of your business,” you pant, though he can feel it, your resistance of your hold slipping. 

“No, it’s not. But I’ll trade you. Your secret, your dreams for mine.” 

You meet his gaze again, and Hoseok sees the shimmer in your eyes, curiosity blooming as you fall foolishly into his trap.

“Fine,” you yield. His grin spreads even further. He knows he probably looks deranged, but he can’t help it. He’s come this far. If the world is ending after this, he wants to know he at least spent his last moments of humanity trying to help someone else hold onto theirs. 

“I want things that don’t matter. To be a mother someday. I want to write and sketch and sit in an open garden where I can stare at the sky from morning to night, counting all the stars over and over again and laughing when I lose count. I want laughter the most. For someone to pull it from me in the darkness. To bottle the feeling he gives me and fall asleep in his arms. I want to feel warm, like this, because it always feels so cold and lonely out here. And I’d miss home, but I want to leave it because it’s just as cold there during the summer winds than it is on the most mild winter days. And I want pleasure. Fuck, I need pleasure. I would divide up the universe for it. I want to feel alive as I do at this moment. Electricity, fire and ice all at once. I want to be taken and held, fucked, devoured as if I matter.” 

You drag your hips up, and Hoseok gasps as you move yourself against his thigh, against what is now his throbbing erection. 

He feels it too. Electricity. Fire. Ice. All at once. So he grinds his hips back down into you, giving you more pressure as he releases some of his. This is humanity, he thinks to himself. This is what I fear losing when I ascend. 

He stops that thought there, buries it under the mountain of stability and refinement he’s been trained to put in its place.  

“Fuck,” you hiss. 

Hoseok releases your wrists, looking at your blown out pupils. He expects you to move away, but as your arms fall from over your head, they find hold on his biceps, steadying yourself as you move with each other. 

“You owe me yours,” you say breathlessly and Hoseok laughs, his voice light and airy in his chest. 

“You just want to know my dirty thoughts,” he teases and you dig your nails into his biceps, pinching him in warning. 

More. I need more. Before all of this is gone.

He laughs again at the challenge. “Okay, okay, fine. If I dream of freedom like you, I dream of excitement. Sailing away to cities we know nothing of, learning about the people there. Dancing different dances in the street and eating foods I never would have thought I would taste. Losing days to pleasure instead of deciding what treaty needs to be signed, what law approved. Lazy mornings where I lick every inch of my lover.” 

Hoseok leans in then and as if he is pulling you into his dream, licks a long strip down your neck, the salty dampness thrusting his hips sharper into yours. You moan. 

Something in him shifts, a desperate need to hear it again. So he lathes his tongue along your neck and collarbone, sucking sharply on the skin after. 

“Shit,” you rasp. 

“Yes. That’s it. This is what you are missing out on, Y/N, pleasure.” He ruts against you. “I bet under those skirts you’re absolutely dripping, aren’t you? Isn’t this what you want?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then take it honey. Give yourself what you want.” He pulls back slightly, enough to keep his thigh firmly for you to use, and he sees the lust in your heavy eyelids, welcoming more of him into your orbit. He dips his head again, this time his tongue exploring the cleft between your breasts that peeks out over your dress. He hears you sigh, and hums in satisfaction. 

He feels alive, not like those dinners with his family or sunsets in summer. This is different, a type of freedom he has never experienced before. Yes, he’s fucked people, he’s had fantastic sex in scandalous places, has known the thrumming of his pulse under his skin as he worked his body over another. But that was sex, and the two of you are still clothed, just exploring each other’s bodies. 

It dawns on him. Is this what freedom is supposed to feel like? 

He chases after the feeling, addicted now, teeth grazing along your breasts as you shiver below him, your hands leaving his biceps to pull through his hair, to cup the back of his neck to keep him steady. 

“It could always be like this, if you wanted. Those sweet sighs, long days where you lie back and stare at the clouds and stars while coming undone on my mouth.” He presses back and you let him rise, where he fixes his gaze on your mouth. 

You lick your lips, drawing him forward. 

“We could forget the whole world and just be free,” he says, his lips resting mere millimeters away from yours. 

And just as he moves in to claim them, Hoseok feels your hand on his chest, shoving him back. He recoils, pulling himself away to see your incredulous stare. 

“We can’t just forget the whole world,” you say, and Hoseok takes a deep inhale, feeling the natural cold of the study quickly overtaking the heat in his body. 

What happened? Weren’t you both on the same page?

“Why,” he asks. “Why not for a little while?”

“Why? Hoseok, look around us. What are we doing?” 

He obeys, the gray walls of the study a dull reminder of reality. He looks back at you. 

“I thought we were giving each other what we wanted,” he argues. “I thought you were finally understanding how much better things can be if you don’t keep pretending you don’t matter. Because you do.” 

He takes a step forward again but you push him back again, harder. 

Your face falls. “But I don’t.” You take a deep breath, pushing off the door and adjusting your dress. “Because what you are describing isn’t real. You said so yourself. It’s a dream. When we walk through those doors, you will be seated on the dais, waiting for the sun and moon to converge and to take your rightful place as a leader. And I will be standing in the crowd, watching you and my brother ascend and break this curse. I will not have the power to divide the universe for pleasure or anything else. I will go back to my kingdom, stare out at the cliff’s edge. Marry someone, maybe not the Duke, but someone and I’ll try to be happy. To live within my means. This is what the fates decided.” 

Another jolt of reality slaps against him. 

“Fuck the fates!” Hoseok roars, slamming his fist into the nearby bookshelf, toppling a few onto the floor. “Stop giving them this much power over us! To decide everything, to rip away the things we want!”

“Stop trying to assume you know what I want!” You yell back. “You don’t! You don’t know me! Stop trying to blame the fates for the world we live in! This is it! This is what we have. And we can’t play pretend that it could ever be any different. There are too many factors, too many risks. You said so yourself you care too much about your people to not do anything, so this feverish, desperate attempt at divorcing yourself from your reality needs to end.

“I’m sorry I fed into it even for a moment. I should have known better. I know it’s scary! I know this is fucking awful. A half an hour ago you were ready to dig your own grave over the reality of things. But that doesn’t mean we just…run from it!” 

“I’m not running! Gods, I’m sorry I just wanted to find some other way to make our bleak reality feel better. So that when I walk into the Great Hall and stand before your monstrous brother, as I let my entire world shift beneath me, I could have something to ground me from what is to come. Do you feel it, too? That feeling of hope that things could be different? Of feeling alive? There’s hope in these dreams we have and–”

“And they’re dreams, Hoseok! They aren’t real!” 

He feels like he’s been flayed open and then dragged through a pile of glass. He can see you drawing the curtain on yourself, going back into that hiding spot that he only just coaxed you from. 

You scoff. “What, you fucking me in a field will somehow fix all of this? Suddenly I will be healed and you won’t become an immortal god slated to stop the end of the world as we know it?” 

Hoseok sucks in a breath. His cheeks heat with embarrassment. Why did he let it go this far?

No, no you were just as much a part of this as him. “You didn’t seem to mind the idea of me fucking you a few minutes ago as you grinded against my thigh,” he says through gritted teeth. 

“Don’t try and act like you didn’t want this too.” 

“Stop! Stop assuming you know what I want!” 

“Stop pretending that no one could ever understand what you want! Stop denying yourself of a life you could be living!”

Your hands clench into fists, and you close your eyes, drawing breath in and out. 

“You know what Hoseok? I feel bad for you. Truly, I do. This is going to be a long road ahead and I know you feel like you don’t have a choice. But that doesn’t mean you get to choose for me. We are both imprisoned by something greater than us. Damned to be pawns in the universe’s game. But you need to get it through your head. This is fate. Like it or not. It’s time we stop dreaming about things that will never be real.”

His stomach sours, the music echoing down the hallway flooding his ears with an awful tinny ring. Somewhere inside me, the steady mountain of rock he’s steeled himself under cracks.

“Don’t say that.” 

You are looking down, though he can hear from the shakiness in your voice you’re on the verge of crying again. “Dreaming is nice, isn’t it? It’s a break from reality. A moment we get to feel alive. But at some point, we have to wake up.” 

“Stop.” He feels the fight leave him as the words lance from his throat, all the heaviness of the world that he’s been fated to carry bursting from him, toppling pillar after pillar, rock after rock among him. 

“I’m sorry,” you cry. “This is just how it is. You have to be extraordinary. I have to be invisible.”

That goddamn phrase is like pouring acid on his open wounds. You’re doing this on purpose, he realizes. Adding to his agony and he doesn’t know why. 

“Fuck you,” he spits, a knot forming in his throat as he tries to hold back his tears. “Fucking get out of my sight.” 

You reach for the door handle, turning it and opening it a crack. 

Bright light bursts forward, almost knocking Hoseok down. He can no longer see your face in the shock of it, just the glimmer of your gown as it captures the beams of the sun, using the very thing he will soon rule to blind him.  

“I know you think you’re not worthy of this. Or that you can’t do it. But you can. I was there on your birthday. Maybe I was too good of a shadow or you were too drunk to remember. But you saw me as you snuck out, begged me not to say anything. So I didn’t. And I watched the fireworks from the window. Saw the spark that caught the fire. And Hoseok,” he can hear a smile in your voice. “At no point did I ever stop thinking it was the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.” 

If there were any more rocks left in the mountain, they’ve now buried Hoseok alive under them. The fury and fight left extinguishes. With his eyes finally adjusting to the brightness, he watches you walk out of the dark study, toward the Great Hall, never looking back.

The rage that licks at him starts to fall away, the dullness of the room now more familiar and steadying.

After a few moments, he composes himself, sliding the mask of allegiance, passion, and love back into place over his crumpled spirit. You are right. This is just how it is.  

When he steps into the light, a flicker of something on the wall catches his eye, and he realizes it’s a refraction of light like the ones you caused in the study. But you’re nowhere to be found in the hallway. Puzzled, he looks down at himself, his chest tightening at the realization. 

The glitter of your dress has transferred onto him, a large concentration of it along his crotch, but it’s everywhere, even in his hair. In a flurry, he tries to brush it off, to not draw suspicion from other party goers about you two humping like wild animals in his father’s study. But he realizes it’s useless. 

You’ve left your mark on him and he can’t get rid of it. As he catches his glimmering reflection in the window, Hoseok can’t help but think that he looks like he’s covered in stars. 

©2024 by jooniperbonsai

[thestormynobody]

Turnabout Timeloop Chapter 1

“I’ve heard enough. It’s time to declare my verdict.”

(This is bad.) Apollo didn’t have the evidence needed to turn this around. (What should I do???) He was out of options, wasn’t he? (That doesn’t matter!! I can come up with a good reason why. For now, I just need to ob-)

“Guilty.”

(….ject)

Almost instantly, a voice rings out across the courtroom. “NO!!!!! Frin would never do something like that!! Let them go!!!” Bonnie struggles helplessly in Odile’s arms. They must have found a way to sneak into the courtroom after all. Odile’s expression is unreadable as she tries to usher them back out of the courtroom. None of them had wanted Bonnie to see this.

Apollo’s client, Sifferin, nomiddlename nolastname (Still can’t believe that was allowed), stares in horror at the commotion. “Bonbon….”  They look shattered. Understandably so, considering they were just declared guilty of murder, and in front of Bonnie, no less. 

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. I didn’t- I just- wanted to-I’m sorry.” Their voice is small. Practically drowned out by the scuffle happening in the back of the room.

(What do they mean?) Was there something he missed? There had to have been. It just didn’t add up. (I wish I had more time to investigate, maybe I could’ve-)

Apollo

Feels 

A 

Tug 

On 

His 

Stomach 

Apollo wakes up at his desk in the Wright Anything Agency. (A dream? Man. I must be really stressed about this case if I’m dreaming about losing it huh? That dream was weirdly detailed though….weird.) 

He tilts his head back and forth to try and deal with his stiff neck. It pops unpleasantly.

“You’re going to end up with back problems like me, you know.” A familiar voice calls out.

Phoenix. Wright. His boss. Didn’t he say something like this before? Apollo had just kind of responded noncommittally in the dream, something about not doing it again. It was pretty passive, and he’d felt weird about it after. Like he was a kid getting scolded by his dad. (Gross.) 

“Dunno, Mr. Wright. You sure you’re not just old?” 

“HA. I guess you don’t want this coffee then. More for me.”

“Wait, no I was just joking-” he wanted that coffee.

“Yeah, yeah I know-” He pauses and with a devious smirk adds “....kiddo.” and ruffles Apollo’s hair.

(Eugh.) Apollo nabs the coffee from Phoenix’s hand and downs it. He’s not sure how long he slept but he needs to get to work. There was lots to do. Meet with the client, investigate the crime scene, interview the witnesses…the sooner he got started the better. He didn’t want a repeat performance of his dream.

“Alright, you know Trucy and I are going to be out of town for her next show. Gonna have to get your own coffee for a few days. “

“I’m sure I’ll manage.” It was kind of a shame. Mr. Wright did make weirdly good coffee. Maybe he worked at a coffee shop at some point when he was disbarred? Who knows. Wasn’t like he’d tell Apollo if he had.

“Good luck on your case. I know Prosecutor Von Karma can be intimidating but she’s mellowed out a lot since I faced her in court. You got this!”

Prosecutor Von Karma…she had been practicing law abroad for some time now and had only just recently returned to Ka Bue. The daughter of Manfred Von Karma, the prosecutor with one of the longest win streaks known in the law world as well as the adoptive sister of the head prosecutor Miles Edgeworth. Family legacy aside, she was well known to be very good at what she did and to take very little nonsense in the courtroom. He’d have to be at the top of his game if he was going to be facing her. In his dream she’d been as formidable as he’d imagined… Perhaps it was some sort of subconscious warning against complacency? Sure. He’d go with that.

“Athena’s out of the office today but should be able to assist you in the trial tomorrow if you need back up.” He knew she’d been enjoying some down time after her last big case and didn’t want to drag her into his own workload. Still, her skills were invaluable in many past cases so he should consider his options carefully.  

“Water Charley for me, won’t you?”

Oh, he’d been in his own head about the case and not responding to Mr. Wright, oops. “Of course. I’ve got things here Mr. Wright. Go enjoy Trucy’s show”

“I know you’ve got this, I just gotta do my job as your boss, heh. See ya in a few days.”

“Don’t forget to take a few videos of the show for me!”

“‘Course.” He says as he leaves the room with a small wave.

 He fixes his signature spikes and pulls on his suit pinning his badge to the lapel. 

His pretrial nerves were starting to get to him as well as lingering weirdness from the dream. Well. No one was here to judge him for doing his cords of steel warm ups as he got ready sooo-

“APOLLO JUSTICE IS DOING FINE!!”

“APOLLO! JUSTICE! IS DOING FINE!”

“I'M FINE!”

“I! AM! FINE!”

(Alright!! All warmed up! It's go time, Apollo!)

He hops on his bike and pedals away to the detention center. He vaguely remembers how there had been a traffic jam in his dream so he takes an alternative route where he could stick to side streets more. Silly maybe but hey if his subconscious was trying to protect him from being late who was he to argue?

  A woman is waiting for him outside the building. She is technically the one who hired him. (Odile if I remember correctly. She’s a Ka Buan citizen but has been abroad up until recently. She was part of a group that saved the country of Vaugarde.) 

This case was somewhat of a diplomatic nightmare. Despite the distance, Vauguarde and Ka Bue were in pretty good standing with one another. Convicting one the saviors of Vauguarde carried steep political implications. A citizen of Ka Bue had been murdered though and the law was clear that justice must be served regardless of the circumstances of the accused. It was his job to prove his client innocent and possibly prevent an international incident. (No pressure!)

“Mr. Justice.” She says it more as a statement than a question. HIs defense badge must have given him away.

“Yes, ma'am! At your service!”  He realizes he sounds a bit too over eager and tones it back a bit. “You must be madame Odile?”

“That’s correct.” She gives him an appraising look. Her expression does not give away any conclusions she may have drawn. “Thank you for coming out on such short notice.”

“Of course.” (Short notice is kind of the norm in my experience…) 

“Siffrin is inside. They wouldn’t let me inside to talk to them but they should let you in as his lawyer.” 

(She seems calm for someone whose friend is currently being held on suspicion of murder. She’s either one tough lady or she’s convinced they didn’t do it.)

“I’ll see if I can get you visitation privileges after I talk to them.” 

She gives him a small nod. “Thank you.”

Apollo enters the detention center trying not to think too hard about how Odile had appeared so accurately in his dream. It was probably just his brain mixing up memory with dreams after all. She just looks similar enough that his brain THINKS it's the same! (....yeah that’s gotta be it)

His client looks very distraught. Understandable considering the circumstances but they look like they’re on the verge of a panic attack. (I should do something to calm them down.)

In Vauguardian he says: “Hey, breathe for a second alright?” When their attention snaps to him he hesitates for a moment then: “Here um. LIke this?” He breathes in. Then out. 

They follow his lead and after a bit seem to have centered themself a bit. A realization seems to dawn on them a moment later however. “How did you know to do that?”

“A breathing exercise? I mean. It's a pretty common calming technique isn’t it?”

“No- You…did it differently before” 

“Before…?” (I did do it differently in the dream didn’t I? This way seemed to work better for them in the dream so I guess I just led with it? But that was just a dream. Wasn’t it???)

They seem to be deep in thought for a long moment then they fix an intense look on him. “Something of mine was found on the victim. What was it?”

“A coin.”

The answer was so automatic he surprises himself. That wasn’t right. He hadn’t even been to the crime scene yet. Sure in his dream there’d been a coin but that was just-

“Stars. You remember.”

[mel-vaz]

Chapter 2 of the King 2019

In the apartment, Hal and Y/n are making love to one another. 

Y/n: Henry we need to talk

Hal: why must we talk when I'm show you my love

Y/n: You should go see your father.

Hal Kiss y/n try to stop her from talking.

Hal: do not mention that man in our house

Y/n: Henry I know that you do not have a good relationship with him but he is your father. Maybe he is summoning you to apologize.

Hal: I will not go to that horrible place and we are not to speak of this again. Do you understand?

Hal is snoring, he is sleeping naked on top of Y/n their legs are intertwined with his face on her bare chest. Falstaff enters the couple's home. He opens the curtain, stirring the Y/n. Hal doesn’t stir. 

Y/n: it is too early for your foolishness. Falstaff go home. 

Falstaff: He needs to go see his father. 

Y/n: I have Falstaff, he will not listen to me.

Falstaff: A Man who does not listen to his wife is asking for death. 

Y/n gets up and moves Hal's body off of her, She gives Hal a quick kiss. Looking at him with so much love and affection 

Y/n(whispers to Hal); My heart you need to wake up. (to Falstass) all go make breakfast. 

Falstaff I’m sorry to interrupt your slumber. 

HAL What are you doing?

Hal speaks muffled, groggy, face smudged into the pillow.

Falstaff: Visit with your father.

Hal: Go away. 

Falstaff: If your father is indeed enough gravely ill to request your presence, then you must visit with him - it should be better to regret having done so than it would to have not. No matter your feelings for him. If your father is ill, you must visit with him. And - let me add - I say it not out of concern for our king’s well-being, more for fear of the drunken soak to which you be likely to succumb should you fail to heed his call and he were to die without you having squared your ledger... I fear it would be soak enough to put even me to shame. If not for yourself then for Y/n, 

Hal stares at Falstaff, lucid and penetrating, with his one eye not smudged into the pillow. Falstaff watches Hal a moment. 

Falstaff: Do it. If nothing else I ever suggest. 

Falstaff rises and exits. Y/n brings the cup of coffee as Hal sits up in bed, Y/n sits next to him and brings the cup to his lips. 

Hal: get dressed we are going to see that King 

Hal and Y/n are at the palace gates. Without exchange with the guards, they are granted entry. All watch them with cold interest if not disdain. They walk the hall under escort. As Hal approaches the antechamber he crosses paths with Grey and Cambridge on their way into the great hall. Grey eyes him with contempt. Cambridge looks at him cautiously, searching. 

King Henry is in his chair, visibly weak, presiding over a sitting of parliament. The full court plus  The Archbishop of Canterbury and clerical attendants are there. Thomas Of Lancaster, the King’s 18-year-old son, Hal’s younger brother, is there too. The Archbishop is addressing the king. He’s arrogant but nervous, he speaks with a lisp.

Servant: Henry, Prince of Wales. And His wife Y/n Princess of Wales. 

Henry IV: My son. Come to me. 

The Archbishop appears put out. He regards Hal with derision and Y/n with disgust. Hal crosses the room with his arm around Y/n holding her like she was life. They bow before Hal’s father, taking in his frailty. The King takes in his son’s disheveledness. 

Henry IV: Come closer. They take a step closer. 

Henry IV: I feel my life is nearing its natural end and yet still even I must appear of ruder health than you. 

Hal doesn’t respond. He continues looking his father in the eye. While Y/n looks to the ground filled with uneasy 

Henry IV: The time has come for me to consider the issue of my succession. You will not be king.

Hal remains fixed. A barely concealed smirk on the face of Grey.  

Henry IV: While you are my eldest son, for reasons that must be evident to you, that are on display for all here to see and smell, and due to your commoner wife, you will not inherit this crown. 

Hal: Nor have I sought it. 

Henry IV: That privilege and responsibility will instead fall to your brother Thomas. 

Thomas straightens, postures regally. It doesn’t suit him. 

Henry IV: As you may be aware - to whatever degree you are aware of the world outside your own - I will assume you are aware that the kingdom is at war with itself. Matters as grave as these require leadership committed to their resolution and you - of this I am sure - can not provide that commitment. Thomas, however, can. He is soft, but he is eager and he will lead my army against the newly treasonous Percy Hotspur. 

Hal looks at Thomas who has trouble meeting Hal’s eyes. 

Henty IV: I will assume this news comes to you as neither a surprise nor disappointment. I do however see it as my duty as King and as a father to say it to you directly. 

Hal walks to Thomas dragging along Y/n. 

Thomas raises his head and holds Hal’s eyes. 

Hal: How do you feel, brother? 

Thomas: Strong. 

Hal: When do you fight? 

Thomas: I set off tomorrow. We fight by week’s end. 

Hal: You need not fight. These feuds need not be yours. 

Hal takes Thomas’s face in his hand. Thomas leans his head away and tries to stare at Hal. He is young and afraid. 

Henry IV: I have said what you were summonsed to hear. Leave us now. 

Hal turns to his father, one last cold look, then leaves. Take his wife along with him.

[neoxghoul]

hey, it’s buni (if you know who i am, you know who i am. i know neo does lol) (please don’t tag me if you know who i am. i don’t want to be defined by my past)

i have been a melanie martinez fan like… all my life, and i especially latched on to her music after i was sexually assaulted for the first time. i was around 7 or 8. it was by my cousin who decided it would be fun to grope and kiss me. at first i said okay, because he just asked me to go around the corner with him, then he kissed and groped me. i had no idea how to feel. that’s all i remember. i don’t remember the day, i don’t even remember my exact age.

with sexual assault, you should always believe the victim at first. but then you need to look at the perpetrator and talk to them, or look at their actions. this cousin, who i saw recently last year, was very touchy with me again, dispute me being double the age i was when the assault happened. (i am now 16)

i asked him to stop this time, and he got upset and proceeded to play basketball with our other cousins. it was horrifying to me to know that i went through that with him. i haven’t brought this up since it happened. it’s been over 8 years.

now if you’re wondering why i bring this up, it’s because of the situation with timothy. i do think she is lying. and if she isn’t, she’s exaggerating the events drastically.

let me say, it’s so hard to prove sexual assault or rape in court. i have tried to go through the process, but even a few weeks later was too late. you need to have samples of the other persons dna, video or photographic evidence or something else.

but, with how she keeps telling the story over and over — not to friends, but to a wide audience of people who really don’t even know her — tells me she’s probably lying. she brings it up again when melanie is blowing up, selling a lot of product. she hasn’t directly interacted with her in 7 years, and only now it’s important again?

i get it if she came in contact with melanie, saw her as an opener, or something similar — but nothing like that never happened. she has said “i have been isolating myself”

i saw my perpetrator in person, i was mere inches away from him, and i didn’t shout from the rooftops “he groped me 8 years ago!” but timothy is, mostly likely, MILES AND MILES away from melanie and SHES shouting from the rooftops.

yes, sexual assault is something that effects you for the rest of your life.

i try to bring it up with trump, who admitted he raped a woman, who was convicted. the woman who brought it up — i believe her. because she has been trying to get it in court for YEARS.

timothy hasn’t done anything but post. and then, again, why would she dress up as her rapist the year after?

i, now, have an issue with dating people who look like my perpetrator. i could never dress up as them.

melanie has said “ {she} never said no to what we chose to do together.” which indicated something DID happen between them, but not to the extent that timothy is claiming. melanie never said anything like “oh this bitch is lying about everything. i’m gonna keep bringing it up over and over” and she isn’t doing the opposite either, completely ignoring it. she responded and said basically said something did happen between them.

i don’t think melanie is in the wrong. and it’s not just because i like her music, it’s because i, as another human, have been raped, sexually assaulted and abused MULTIPLE times in my life. it isn’t fun. it doesn’t go away, but it isn’t something you bring up every time the person gets popular.

that’s all i have to say. do i think either parties are fully innocent? no. do i think they both need to take accountability? yes, but i think melanie took hers. timothy needs to stop talking about it and take time herself to heal. like seriously, heal.

healing isn’t bringing up the topic over and over, it’s learning from it, learning to move on — like grief. accept it, and understand you may not have everything exactly correct.

that’s all i have to say :/

seriously, guys, we need to stop letting timothy bring this up to get her fame.

Wow thank you so much for sharing this Buni 🥺

I completely agree with you and support you all the way 🤍

[bonecarversbestie]

why do you hate azriel, what is there to hate about him he's quiet and polite? just curious

Thank you so much for asking, I’ve been waiting to talk about this topic for a long time.

For your pleasure and convenience, I’ve organized my points into an easily digestible numbered list:

Caution: Azriel criticism ahead

First, his particular brand of emo broodiness is just not my cup of tea, and I enjoy scenes less when he is lurking in the corner.

Similar to how some people dislike Nesta because they have been hurt by someone like her, I have never liked Az because I’ve had someone in my real life pine after me like he did to Mor (read: super obvious, with no encouragement from me, in a way that made me feel guilty for not returning their feelings and everyone around us felt uncomfy/like they needed to buffer the situation)

I didn’t appreciate that he wasn’t a very good chaperone to Nesta. If the IC was going to force her into “rehab” they were obligated to protect her while she was there (including from Cassian). I accept that Az was busy spying on Briallyn, but even when he was around it seemed clear that he did not take his chaperoning very seriously.  

The hero complex. I get that this comes from his trauma and low self esteem – he doesn’t value his life as much as the lives of his family, but he also knows that they are all competent and strong, and trying to take on every risky task to keep them from darkness or danger is not practical, possible or fair.

The torturing people thing – yes it’s his job, and sometimes it’s justified like with the Attor. But torturing Eris’s soldiers was wrong especially because it was clear they were not in their right minds and Eris is an ally to their court. He also alludes to torturing people for information in the human queens’ castle. Yes, some of them may have been sympathetic to Briallyn’s cause, but how many were just humans working their 9 to 5? After Eris’s soldiers I don’t trust him to make ethical decisions about choosing his victims.

I’m uncomfortable with how easily he can invade the privacy of others with his shadowsinger gifts. We don’t have evidence that he abuses these gifts, but I don't completely trust him either. (see point 5, ethical decision making)

Most of my reasons for disliking Azriel actually have little to do with ships, but as he relates to Lucien: I don’t like how little respect he seems to have for Lucien and Elain’s bond while apparently wanting a mating bond himself. And his assertion that Lucien doesn’t deserve Elain despite being her mate, and despite the fact that Lucien has been nothing but polite and cooperative since arriving in the Night Court rubs me the wrong way.

And as for Elain: I think he will be yet another person in her life who is overly protective and coddling rather than someone who will empower and encourage her to grow (see point 4: hero complex) I also never got the impression that his feelings for her come from a place of genuine interest in Elain as a person. I cannot blame him for being interested in someone who is kind and beautiful, but I think that’s all she is to him. Elain is also extremely vulnerable and isolated at this point in her story and it seems like he is just pursuing her because she’s there and available (and per the bonus chapter he feels at least some amount of entitlement to her).

His temper is a red flag. Even Rhys admits that Az still sometimes scares the shit out of him. He could have ruined everything at the High Lord meeting by taking Eris’s bait, and he had to be called off by Feyre. It gave the same vibe as a child having to sit by the teacher because they can’t keep their hands to themselves.

Doesn’t want to write poetry. Not very romantic if you ask me. Doesn’t need to resort to it? Or doesn’t know how? Sounds like a skill issue.

[likecanyoujustnot]

Cardan’s letters pov

Part 5: vexation

A/n: I wrote this one last don’t know why. Oh well. I really struggled for ideas for it. I had to make sure cardan didn’t sleep on his back in the court of shadows scene lol.

Part 4. Part 6

Another bloody revel.

I was getting sick of them. Which was saying something since I used to count down the days till the next one.

But Jude had been here then.

I still hadn’t heard back from her, and the roach was refusing to give me any information about her, probably knowing I would do something irrational. Which I would.

“My king.”

Jude?

I turned to the voice.

“Taryn.”

She looked like she hadn’t betrayed me and her sister a month and a half ago. She looked innocent. But there was a tiredness to her, evident by the bags under her eyes and her pale skin. Her simple green dress doing nothing for her complexion.

There was no news of Madoc other than he was somewhere north with the court of teeth. This unnerved me. He was undoubtedly biding his time until he stuck. He always believed me to be a weak and incompetent king. And I would show him I was not.

“What do you want?” I snapped.

“I wished to know if you had heard from Jude.” Her hands where clasped in front of her.

I kept my face as blank and my posture as relaxed as I could. “Why would I? I exiled her, put a death penalty on her head, if she sets foot here she could die.” She could die, if a guard found her and decided to kill-now-ask-questions-later, I didn’t even want to think about it. But Taryn didn’t need to know about the loophole.

“I wasn’t sure if maybe she’d asked to be able to come back.”

“It’s Jude, she doesn’t ask permission, if she wanted to be here she would, and she would first go for the people, who have betrayed her.” I put an emphasis on people, hoping she would get the hint that Jude was just as upset with her as she was with me. Presumably.

I got the reaction I wanted from Taryn. She flinched. “I really didn’t mean it.”

“You didn’t mean to pretend to be my seneschal, and trick me into releasing my general from his oaths, effectively allowing him to declare war on me?”

“He made it sound like it was the right thing to do.” She looked at her feet.

“That’s what manipulation is. Now get out of my sight.” I didn’t have time for her self-pity stories.

How could she just stand there and look so much like Jude, but be so wholly different? I watched her retreating back, her shoulders tense.

I stared at the wine in my glass. Horrid thing.

There were footsteps up to the dias.

“Cardan.” A soft feminine voice said.

Nicasia. My former friend, my former arranged fiancée, my former lover. Before she’d ruined that. Today was a day for bringing up past demons.

“What.” I snapped, not even trying to be pleasant. I was only going to stay another few minutes before I went back to sulk over my disastrous marriage.

She looked beautiful. Dark hair swept up and held in place with pearled combs, the cut of her deep purple dress low and inviting. Once upon a time I would’ve invited her to my bed, but the princess was as interesting to me as a rock in that moment.

“You’ve been acting weird.”

I sighed. “I don’t need you to worry about me.”

“You’re my friend.”

I raised a brow at her. “Didn’t stop you from cheating on me.”

She at least had the decency to look ashamed. “That was a long time ago.”

“Yes, and I’ve finally come to terms with it, I was never enough for you Nicasia, no one will ever be, you will tire of who ever warms your bed and move on like they never existed.” I was married now, and Nicasia needed to understand nothing would ever come of pining over me again. “I no longer have to deal with your presence to avoid upsetting our parents, I will never marry you, no matter what your mother may want. And that is final.”

She looked hurt. “Is that it? You’re ending our friendship over mistakes I made years ago?”

“I’m ending our relationship for many things, what you did to Jude when you kidnapped her being one, allowing balekin to control her, starving her.” The way she looked as she was half dragged out of the water would haunt me till the end of my days. She’d been so pale, so thin. I threw up that night. Cried for seeing her like that. My strong fierce Jude. “Allying with the man who killed my family-”

“Those were my mother’s choices.” She protested.

“And you went along with them.” I shut her down.

“Is that it? Jude? You care that much for her you would cut me out of your life?”

“I’m not cutting you out, I’m merely suggesting you stay away from the high court when it is not absolutely necessary.” I stood.

“It is Jude.” She laughed. “Of course it is, I knew you liked her, we all did, you’d stare at her, bring her up in conversations that had nothing to do with her, you’re pathetic.”

I kept quiet. I could not deny it. I loved Jude more than anything. And i was glad to be rid of Nicasia, had been looking for a way for years. Now I had one.

“I hope she never comes back. Or she does just so she can kill you. You���d deserve it.” She storms away back to her entourage of kelpies and merfolk.

Good riddance.

She had been a good friend, cruel, but never to me. When we’d decided to take our relationship further, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.

Until it wasn’t.

I’d written another yesterday.

To the High Queen of Elfhame

Above me is the same silvery moon that shines down on you. Looking at it makes me recall the glint of your blade pressed to my throat and other romantic moments.

I do not know what keeps you from returning to the High Court- whether it is a vexation with me, or whether, having spent time in the mortal world, you have come to believe a life free of the folk is better than one ruling over them.

In my most wretched hours I believe you will never come back.

Why would you, save for your ambition? You have always known exactly what I am and seen all my failings, all my weaknesses and scars. I flattered myself that at moments you had feelings for me other than contempt, but even were that true, they would make but a thin gruel beside the feast of your other, greater desires.

And yet my heart is buried with you in the strange soil of the mortal world, as it was drowned with you in the cold waters of the undersea.

It was yours before I could ever admit it, and yours it shall ever remain.

Cardan

It was the longest one that I had written, one that bared what was in my heart, and left things unsaid, for me to tell her if she ever did come back.

I took the crown of my head and studied it.

It was heavy, made of soft gold, it would be so easy to just, break it.

But I wouldn’t do that.

I kept it in my hand as I got up to leave the revel.

I was stopped by a young woman, thick dark hair that offset the slightest green tinge in her skin. I noticed her fingers had an extra joint. Strange, but not unheard of.

“My king.” She bowed.

“Can I help you?” I sneered at her.

“I was wondering if you may wish to join me tonight?”

I huffed. “Not interested, sorry.”

She looked crestfallen as I walked away.

I caught a flash of orange hair as I walked away.

Of course Locke would swoop in to “comfort” a woman at the same party his wife was at.

He made me sick.

I hoped someone cut his throat

I stared at the ceiling from where I layed in bed. Hands folded over my bare stomach, wishing, as I always did, that Jude was here. She would chastise me for being so pathetic, for longing so strongly for her.

56 days. 8 weeks. 5 letters.

And I hadn’t even gotten a “piss off Cardan, I’m not coming back”

It was silence.

As always during this time of night, even before her exile, my thoughts strayed to Jude.

To her smile and mouth, her soft hair, her curves and the way she tasted when I kissed her. The noises she did her best to muffle. How every time she looked at me I wanted to make the world disappear so it would just be the two of us and I could live out my fantasies.

Great. Now I was hot and uncomfortable. But I wouldn’t do anything about it.

This was my self-inflicted punishment, the misery.

I couldn’t sleep on my back.

The position was too vulnerable. Reminded me too much of the horrors I’d faced from my brother.

Maybe one day I would tell Jude.

Maybe.

If,

She,

Ever,

Came,

Back…