#when he first received the letter from the lawyers

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

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[simpxxstan]

HELLOOO!!! CONGRATS FOR THE 550 FOLLOWERS ON TUMBLR I HOPE U GET MORE FOLLOWERS BC UR WRITTING?? DELICIOUS 💗💗

But I would like to request seungcheol + dilfism ?? Like have u SEEN that man??

Thank you!! Have a good day!

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FAVOURITE MAN <333 thank you for sending this in! LOVED writing dilf cheol. i swear this man and his sexiness of 30s will be the death of me. inspired completely by his new glasses look at caratland 2024.

this is a part of my 550 followers event, but requests are now CLOSED.

genre: smut, enemies to lovers, age gap, dilf!seungcheol, lawyer au.

word count: 13k words.

warnings: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 18+ nsfw content. 13 YEAR AGE GAP, mention of suicide, single dad!seungcheol, a ton of legal terms (not vouching to be accurate because i am neither a lawyer nor a law student nor is my research perfect), seungcheol is a bit selfish and toxic (but there's a redemption arc), ANGSTY angst, but A LOT OF FLUFF TO COMPENSATE. smut warnings: protected sex, oral receiving (f and m), mild dirty talk, implicit size kink, implicit spit kink.

"it's my first case!" you whine in surrender, slumping on the shoulder of your friend, as you both re-read the case file in front of you for the n-th time this morning. yoona pats your head, but she knows even she can say nothing to console you. it must be either sheer bad luck or some unknown person's vengeance, that you're against choi seungcheol in the very first case of your life.

y/l/n y/n: the lawyer of the plaintiff, hwang seola.

choi seungcheol: the lawyer of the defendant, KNT enterprises pvt. ltd.

nothing can save you from losing your first case in the worst way possible. not even the stellar letters of recommendation from your professors. not even your exceptional performance in the national lawyers examination process. not even your diligence during your interning years that's earned you the title of golden rookie. everyone expects you to make it big, including yourself- but that's clearly not going to happen if you lose the very first actual case you have to face in your life.

"at least no one will mock you for losing," yoona says in a meek voice. you scoff indignantly, "as if that's any comfort. still doesn't change the fact that i'm going to start off my career on the worst foot possible. why does my luck have to be so shitty?"

"hey, think about the positives. imagine how much of a learning experience it'll be. i know best how much you consider seungcheol as your idol."

you sigh. five years ago, when seungcheol had blown up across the country because of his historic debut in the court of corporate law, winning case after case and setting precedents that were welcomed with open arms, you'd looked up to him. five years ago, he'd walked into your college for an invited seminar during your first semester and blown your mind away. five years ago, you would cry in joy at the opportunity to even spend a minute in the same courtroom as seungcheol and see him in action. five years ago, he'd been the ideal man of your dreams- perfect in every damn way possible.

the only issue with that is that he's still the ideal man in your eyes. even if losing the case against him won't make your nervous, just being in close quarters with him for long hours will make you infinitely nervous.

"maybe i should recommend boss to let you take up the ca-" you tease yoona, and she squeals, whining protests instantly. "no thank you!" you laugh, hoping to lighten the tension of the moment. but the relief is only temporary, and the weight of the upcoming case lingers in your mind for hours later.

_

the first trial of the case is a week later. before that, you decide to change your mindset to a better thought process- even if you simply assume that you're going to lose this case, you're still going to give in your 100% so that you can step away with no regrets and only more knowledge gained. the first step to that, of course, is speak to your client personally, without the intermediation of the firm you work at.

mrs hwang turns out to be a woman just a few years older than you. the primary reason why she's suing the company her husband used to work at is because her husband had been driven to suicide by the constant pressure in his workplace to keep some illegal activities and fraud under the covers, which had not only harmed his mental health and morals but also affected the way his superiors judged his work performance. she may be young, but she's lost her husband merely three years after their marriage, and just one look at her face makes your heart ache in sympathy.

this isn't the first time you've seen such a case. during your years of study, you've studied plenty of cases involving companies ill-treating their workers and leading them to take up drastic steps in desperation. not only does this case come under a serious mistreatment of employees under labour laws, but also violates laws governing corporations which demand them to steer off illegal activities and maintain integrity. it's a very interesting case, and you're highly intrigued and instantly drawn into the case. there are several nuances that you know you may miss out by a hair's breadth if you're not careful. but you cannot take chances. if you have to even put up a fair fight against choi seungcheol, you're going to have to leave no stone unturned.

at the end of your discussions with mrs hwang, you're fully convinced that the company is indeed at fault here. however, you're going to have to prove it in court with the meagre evidence you have- which is low anyway, considering how big companies use their financial and social capital to turn such cases remarkably in their favour. the primary example of that being them getting seungcheol, the country's top corporate lawyer, to represent them, while mrs hwang can only hire you, a rookie lawyer at a lesser reputed firm.

however, as you walk into the courtroom, you convince yourself to not think about how the odds are against your favour from the first moment itself, to calm your nerves. you're here to debut with a bang, and you will fake it till you make it.

_

it doesn't work.

it doesn't work because the moment you enter the courtroom, you see choi seungcheol sitting next to the defendant's CEO on the other side of the room, dressed in the most immaculate suit, his glasses perched on his nose as he inspects the documents you've submitted in court prior to the trial as preliminary evidence. when you walk towards the bench you're going to sit at, he looks up at you.

it's a careful, measured glance. a glance of confidence, a glance of self-awareness. he knows he's going to win. and yet, he smiles at you indulgently.

moments later, he meets you halfway across the room.

"good morning. i'm seungcheol," he extends his hand for a shake, his nose upturned as he looks down at you with an aura that nearly blows you away. you wish that you hadn't worn heels tonight- because if he keeps looking at you like that, your knees are going to give up.

"of course, who wouldn't know you?" you steady your voice mustering a smile.

seungcheol's smile does not change. "it's nice to meet the golden rookie finally."

his words send shivers down your spine. there's just something about meeting your idol from so up-close that you want to submit instantly to his infinitely higher knowledge and experience to you. there's also something particular to him that's affecting your mind and body- because if seungcheol at thirty-one was handsome, he's absolutely godly at thirty-six. he's aged like fine wine- the rimless glasses sitting firmly on his nose, tiny wrinkles around his eyes, and a few graying hairs around his sideburns.

you don't get a chance to respond as the judge enters the court and you're pulled away to your bench, sitting next to a very nervous-looking mrs hwang. you forcefully drag your eyes away from seungcheol, who still has that tiny smile on his face as he talks to his client, and focus on your client, giving her much-needed confidence boosts (needed both by her and by you).

_

as anticipated, the first trial does not go well. it's just your fucking luck that the judge knows seungcheol already- but then, it was wrong of you to not consider that already, knowing how famous he is. on top of it all, mrs hwang breaks down in the middle of seungcheol's questioning, shaken completely by his straightforward questions and uncaring gaze, and the court gets adjourned, leaving you stranded without any proper progress against seungcheol's stronger case. the next trial is scheduled for a week later. you wish you could think that your work has been cut out for you, but it's far from that.

the second trial comes quickly- but it doesn't let you progress much further. seungcheol looks even more nonchalant on the second trial- dressed in another suit, he's less fierce today during his questioning. you don't notice it, because you're too flustered with your own work, but his eyes stray towards you more often. his eyes glaze over with something soft every time you make eye contact, and you immediately look away, like you've been caught in the act. but seungcheol doesn't let it slip- he keeps up his passive aggression when he's shaking hands with you before exiting the courtroom.

"tough luck, rookie. focus between the lines more."

his words make you even more nervous than before, but you put on a brave face for seola's sake. this motivates you to change your gameplan, and you decide to stop focusing on existing evidence, which is scarce, and use more verbal reports of other employees who have willingly stepped up to speak the truth after the suicide of their friend and colleague. by the time you're just three days before the third trial date, you have a solid set of verbal witnesses who will provide evidence on your side, but every time you feel slightly more confident than earlier, seungcheol's voice rings in your ears and you lose all hope.

on the morning of the fourth day, you receive an email from your boss.

y/n, please attend a lunch meeting on my behalf with some of our older clients (whose list i have attached below) today.

you jump to the opportunity- being provided a chance to interact with the old clients of the firm is a lucrative opportunity to impress those who've stayed with the firm from the beginning (and naturally, have graduated into stakeholders at the firm).

so it's safe to say you're in for a rude shock when you reach the lunch spot at a five-star restaurant along the banks of the han river, and find none of your clients but instead you find seungcheol waiting for you.

_

"close your mouth and stop drooling," jeonghan's voice somehow appears in his mind when he sees you enter the restaurant. "you make it obvious how hot you find women in suits."

but seungcheol cannot take his eyes off you. hasn't been able to for the last two times he's seen you. even if the courtroom is no place for indecency, he's had plenty of indecent thoughts whenever he's seen you, dressed in your suits and blazers, your curves prominent and your hair tied up in a practical ponytail. he should not think like this about you- he knows it. you both are set up at natural odds because of the case- but somehow, that makes him more interested in you. and seungcheol would not have it any other way. he looks forward to each trial of an otherwise boring case just to see you- the passion on your face whenever you're arguing your case, the way your mouth opens in shock whenever seungcheol casually dismisses a piece of information you've clearly worked hard on, the way you stare in exasperation at the witnesses when they speak against your stance, the hunger in your eyes whenever you're questioning his client, and the fire in you that burns you to work harder before each trial. seungcheol hasn't seen a lawyer as passionate as you in many years- most would have given up even before starting just due to his formidable reputation, but you're not even intimidated by his on-brand dead stare that works on everyone.

"i was told i'm here to meet clients of my firm. i didn't know you hired our firm for your personal needs," you cock an eyebrow as you stand in front of him, and seungcheol smirks. that attitude does nothing to filter his thoughts.

"would you have come if i'd invited you personally?"

you open your mouth to say something but he beats you to it. "have a seat, please. let's enjoy lunch."

you do so immediately. submissive. "but i still don't understand why i'm here." bratty.

he places a finger on his lips as the food he's pre-ordered arrives. the smell of the delicious food breaks your frigid attitude, it obviously helps that seungcheol's ordered your self-proclaimed favourite dish on your public instagram account. "i'm sure you must be hungry." seungcheol digs in himself, his eyes on yours as he carefully licks the spoon clean. your eyes flicker to his lips instantly before you're staring back into his eyes, defiance laced in your gaze. you pick up the spoon and start eating as well. seungcheol smiles.

i'm a dad to two daughters. i know how to tame brats.

after a few minutes, he finally speaks. "do you know the first step to winning a battle, rookie?"

you look up and tilt your head slightly in question.

"knowing your opponent."

"i already know you."

"that's what you think. that's why you're not going to win."

your eyes flash with anger. "are you just going to rub that into my face? is that why i'm here?"

"so what? you don't want to win? isn't the most loved story of human history the tale of the underdog?"

"frankly, my opponent isn't even you. it's your client, who isn't even here. so i don't understand the point of this meeting."

"so much can be learnt merely through observation, rookie. you can't know someone by looking at their annual reports and how much money they pay their employees."

"i don't need to know anything more than that! unlike you, i don't wish to meddle in people's personal lives to win cases. i don't need your brain games."

seungcheol chuckles. "the courtroom is nothing but brain games, rookie. think how far facts can take you, and then think how much further imagination can take you."

you gasp, pinching your nose. "i'm sorry, what? imagination? i'll win on evidence and evidence only. i used to admire you as an icon of law. but now, when i see you defend an obvious criminal with such blatant stubbornness, i'm having second thoughts."

"obvious criminal? are you telling me you've obtained the evidence you need to prove my client guilty in court?"

"and what if i do?"

seungcheol sits back, squaring his shoulders to his full stature. "you shouldn't tell me about it then, rookie."

"when you'd walked into my law school five years ago for a seminar, this wasn't the choi seungcheol i'd grown to love as an icon."

fuck. five years ago? just how young were you?

"i'd advise you not to get emotional about the case. the courtroom is no place for admiration or lov- or any other emotions."

"and yet, you have no desire to live up to the expectations of hundreds of law students like me who look up to you? you don't care about the youth you're letting down with this attitude?"

"why should i? i'm surviving just fine, aren't i?"

by this point, seungcheol can see the way your nails dig into your own palms in frustration. it's so amusing, how emotionally you're dealing with this. in a world of black and white, seeing you behave gray in every scenario makes seungcheol think he's lived thirty-six years of his life incorrectly.

finally when you cannot come up with any rebuttal, you stand up, dragging your chair on purpose to make noise. "there's absolutely nothing more for me to talk to you about. i hope you've learnt about me today, choi seungcheol. i've certainly learnt a lot too." and you walk away before he has the opportunity to say anything.

_

lunch with seungcheol leaves you shaken and stuttering. even as you open the door of the cab outside and ask the driver to take you to the office without a second thought, you spend the entire journey lost in your own thoughts. every little moment of the meeting lingers in your mind, unsettling your confidence. from the way he calls you rookie to his quiet arrogance and confidence, everything about him is so frustrating and yet... he draws you in. your perception about him has definitely changed after today, but even with the added understanding of just how selfish choi seungcheol can be, you can't ignore the sheer attraction you feel towards him.

it stays on your mind through the next three days. and on the morning of the third trial, you're stuck with two different thoughts plaguing your mind.

the first: a genuine concern about how the third trial is going to pan out. it's likely to be your last chance to even bring the judge's opinion to your side, because if you can't present good enough evidence today, there's no way to sway the jury to your side.

the second: choi seungcheol is a man who annoys you but you also have this innate craving to impress him. your respect for him hasn't changed, but your conversation with him has revealed to you just how cutthroat the world of law really is. and his suave attitude, the confidence with which he's so sure he's going to win, and his infinitely superior experience to you makes some part of you so desperate to seek his attention and impress him. show him that you can do well too. show him that you're not going to make beginner's mistakes. show him that you're more than a mere rookie.

but when you walk into the courtroom, seola next to you, your sunglasses perched on your head, you stare at the empty bench behind you. it was supposed to be full with the four witnesses you'd invited today and were relying on to sail through the the third trial. frantically, you ask your colleague who's assisting you in the trial, "where are the witnesses? are they running late? can you ple-"

"they're not going to come today, y/n."

seungcheol's icy voice cuts through the chaos and reaches you sharply. you spin around to find him dressed immaculately in a midnight blue turtleneck that shows off the stubble growing down his jaw.

"sorry, what?"

"you heard me the first time. none of them are going to come today."

"and how do you know?"

seungcheol smirks as he shrugs and takes a step closer towards you. "i have my ways, rookie."

you're fuming at this point, but you really can't speak your mind because seola breaks down in tears right next to you and you can't help but shift away your focus from seungcheol's dangerous eyes and take care of her.

it's honestly a miracle that after the complete sweep that seungcheol presents in the third trial, with no new evidence nor substantial evidence from your end, you still get another chance at a fourth trial, scheduled two weeks from now, in a pitiful announcement from the judge, imploring you to use this final chance to collect as much as evidence as you can.

_

when the trial ends, you ask seola to go home, and you lock yourself up in a bathroom stall in the court building, trying to come to terms with everything that's come to pass today. it's been an overwhelming morning and you're still shaken badly by it all. every moment you spend in this world with seungcheol, he seems to make it his personal mission to show you that there's no place for softness or emotions in this cut-throat world.

when you exit the washroom, you find seungcheol standing outside, an unlit cigarette between his lips.

"did you bribe them?"

he turns to look at you, his eyes clearly wide in surprise. "what are you saying?"

you take a step closer to him, your entire body shaking with fury. "did you bribe the fucking witnesses?"

"we're in public, woman, control your tongue."

"i'm not ashamed of anything i'm saying though, are you?"

seungcheol's lips twist in distaste and he drags you away from the public place to a quieter spot secluded near the parking lot. "i understand you're frustrated because of that no-show today, but you're speaking nonsense-"

"i'm speaking perfect sense, seungcheol! only you knew that i was going to bring in witnesses today."

"only me?"

"except two people at my firm, one of who is my best friend, and the other is a colleague who's assisting me in the case."

"who knows? maybe your friend's the snitch-"

you step closer to him, seething in anger. "don't you fucking make false allegations, choi seungcheol!"

"you're the one making false allegations here, really."

"you'll have to admit it, seungcheol. someday. if all your fame and reputation has been through such cheap tricks and under-the-table dirty business, you'll have to pay for it-"

"or what?" seungcheol puts back the cigarette between his lips, and lights it with a lighter. he takes in a big puff, and exhales right into your face. "or what, y/n? maybe you should take my advice instead. and stop making rookie mistakes."

as he walks away from you, you shout behind him, "i'm going to expose you, seungcheol!"

"empty threats, la la la." his voice trails back, sending shivers down your spine, as you're left alone in the dark parking lot, wallowing in your own pathetic helplessness.

_

your search for further evidence has led you to a complete dead-end. the most important thing that you need, the one that will clinch the case for you absolutely, is any - even one- document directly coming from KNT to seola's husband. unfortunately, you've gone through his emails and fax multiple times, but found nothing. nothing on his laptop, no hard drives, no soft drives, no external devices, nothing on his mobile phone or other such devices either. today you're searching all his belongings again and again, but it's still the dead-end. you realise that there's no point looking for more witnesses because seungcheol's just going to drive them away by whatever tricks he's using. and you're confident that seungcheol's thinking a step ahead of you- so any new evidence sources that you might come up with now might have already been dismissed by seungcheol through some back-up plan of his.

"seola, i need you to think once more, please. did he use any other device apart from the one at his office and the one at home? any laptop or any other mobile phone?"

"no... i can't remember anything else, really. we couldn't afford anything more too..."

you grimace. "i hope you don't get offended, but i'm sure he received quite a bit of money from whatever services he was providing KNT. enough to motivate him to keep quiet and hold on for so long. otherwise an honest man like him wouldn't want to get into this mess, would he?"

seola doesn't reply immediately, tears silently dropping down his cheeks.

you sigh and place a hand on her shoulders, rubbing softly as she breaks down into more tears. in the last few weeks, you've become surprisingly quite close. you've comforted her through her worst moments, feeling compassionate both as a woman and as a lawyer. and she, in turn, has helped you without any qualms, in not just the case but also lent a patient ear to you whenever you've wanted to rant, made ramen for you whenever you've worked till late, and let you stay over at her place whenever the rain outside's become too torrential for you to take the bus back home.

after a few long moments, seola is finally able to gain back her composure. "y/n.... he did mention something about an outstation office... towards the outskirts of the city. he used to go there twice a month. he told me it was for sending out packages to the other branches of the company... but maybe you could see there once?" your eyes light up with excitement as you hear seola's words. is this finally the breakthrough you'd been looking for through high and low? is this finally going to be your trump card to win the case? your rational side tells you to not become overjoyed immediately, but something in you is desperate to see that cockiness wiped off seungcheol's face, and bring him down to earth from whatever higher place his arrogance has placed himself at.

"seola, can you give me any tentative location for it? i'm going to go check it now."

"now? but the forecast is showing there's going to be thunderstorms tonight! there's so much thunder grumbling out there-"

"it doesn't matter, seola. i can't afford to lose any more time."

_

seungcheol's been stuck in traffic for almost an hour now, and the windshield wiper is absolutely useless in preventing the rain from cascading on his front window. the rain is relentless- just like the thoughts tormenting his heart. the reason he's returning home so late is because there had been a dinner party at the workplace cafeteria, hosted by his colleagues and closest friends, jeonghan, joshua, wonwoo and minghao. they're all lawyers with their own reputations, and the only friends they all have now. the point of the dinner? celebrating seungcheol's (upcoming) win in the KNT vs mrs hwang case. (and also to get seungcheol's mind off y/n, who's distracted him from his work all week, ever since their encounter at the parking lot of the courthouse.)

it'd been a mistake to stay out for so long. a sheer lapse of judgement, and seungcheol has not choice but to curse at himself right now. his daughters have called him already, their voices sleepy as they stay up for their father to return home to eat ice cream with them, before they fall into bed.

"and yet, you have no desire to live up to the expectations of hundreds of law students like me who look up to you? you don't care about the youth you're letting down with this attitude?"

y/n's words ring in his mind.

as the rain pours down cruelly, seungcheol's heart lets out silent cries.

he's a failure.

he's failed his family. thirteen years ago, when his parents had cast him out of their house after he'd failed to get a job at a good law firm.

that attitude's gonna get you nowhere, kid! stop running your mouth and focus on your work!

he's failed his first love. nine years ago, four years before he'd finally made his mark in the country's law scene, his wife had divorced him and left their children with him, because he'd not been able to earn enough for her.

stop being such a social activist, seungcheol! the world isn't soft like you. stop being so stuck up and emotional!

and now he's failing his daughters. day after day, they'd stay up late, waiting to spend some quality time with their father. night after night, they'd end up sleeping alone because seungcheol's insomnia didn't let him sleep with them. month after month, he'd promise to take them to their long-due vacation, but he was always too busy to take leave for two weeks at once. year after year, they'd wait for him to come to sports' day but seungcheol could never make it.

appa, if you can't take us to jeju... can we go for the school trip this year to jeju? all our friends are going to go for it...

all these painful thoughts triggered simply by one person- you. you're an unprecedented variable in his life, someone he couldn't even imagine to be a part of his life even a month ago. and yet, you've made him feel so many emotions, that had become dormant for years, in such a short span of time.

he's disappointing you too.

he doesn't know why it hurts what you think of him. seungcheol had thought that at thirty-six, he's finally ascended from these petty thoughts. but somehow your judgemental gaze, your innocent words and your fresh perspectives have shaken him to the core.

or perhaps he does know why, and he doesn't want to acknowledge it.

you remind him of himself.

but you're far better than he was. he'd been a coward, a loser, too quick to give up, and too hasty to drown in his own pity party. you're a fighter, a challenger, not accepting the cruelties of status quo, and too passionate to give up your sense of justice just to fit in with the cut-throat dirty reality.

you're 10 times the lawyer than he could ever be, and something about that makes him so inexplicably drawn to you.

because you're the person he's always wanted to idolised.

no wonder that when you'd told him that you'd looked up to him as an idol, he'd laughed at himself.

the traffic jam disperses slowly, and seungcheol breaks out of his daze. the clock shows 10.30 pm, and the rain shows no sign of stopping. thankfully, the traffic is now moving smoothly.

_

after almost half an hour of standing at the bus stop, waiting for something to pass by, there's finally a car with a very bright beam slowing down in front of you. it's a private car, but you hope it can give you a l-

"what are you doing here?!" the words escape your mouth as soon as you notice who's in the driver as the car window rolls down.

"get in, rookie."

you consider hesitating, but seungcheol's car looks warm... and safe. so you do get in, hating how there's water everywhere you're touching, spoiling the clearly expensive leather of the seats. but seungcheol doesn't say anything even as you shuffle in and finally settle on the passenger seat.

he thankfully doesn't ask you anything as he lets you take a breath and get warm enough. so about five minutes pass before he asks you, "what were you thinking, standing out there in this rain?" his voice is low, almost cracked, but laced with serious concern. you notice that he's still dressed in his typical suits. is he returning from work so late?

"i had work here," you say carefully avoiding the connection about the case.

"so late at night?"

"it was important."

"that it couldn't wait till the morning?"

"no."

you're aware by the way his jaw is clenched that he's getting annoyed by your short answers. but you have no option except to be as vague as possible- his mind works too fast for you.

"where's your home?"

you tell him the locality, and he sighs. "that's on the opposite side of town."

"i know, just... maybe you can drop me at a more crowded bus stop? the one where i was waiting was a bit remote, but a more crowded one will definitely have more frequent buses-"

"you're out of your mind."

"huh?"

"just because you're irresponsible doesn't mean i will be too. i cannot and will not leave you in the middle of the road in this rain so late at night."

"seungcheol, i don't want to barge-"

"you're not barging into anything. you'll come home with me, change into drier clothes and sleep in for the night so that you don't fall sick."

"y-your home?"

"yes. do you have a better idea?"

you gulp, his gaze stern. you don't have a better idea, in fact getting to change into warm clothes and get into someone's house sounds divine right now. the only problem is that it's.... seungcheol's home. if you can't handle him in his everyday suits, you wonder what thoughts seungcheol in his natural abode will spark in you.

"i'll always be grateful to you."

seungcheol nods, and the rest of the journey is silent.

_

seungcheol doesn't know yet if it's a good or a bad idea. he did it as an impulse- perhaps some part of him hopes he's still redeemable in your eyes, so he wants to do the right thing for once. but he won't know if it's the right think for everyone until he reaches home.

when he parks the car and takes you up to his flat, he can hear the television blaring harry potter from outside the flat, and he can see the way your eyebrows furrow at the sound. so he slowly unlocks the door, to reveal his two daughters sitting on the couch, undoubtedly watching their favourite harry potter movies again, wearing identical pyjamas specially designed for the identical twins.

he can hear you gasp as you step into the house, and the girls come into your view.

there's an awkward moment of silence and staring, before sol comes running to him and wraps herself around his waist. "appa! we're right at the last scene of prisoner of azkaban, your favourite part!"

seungcheol almost tears up. how can they welcome him so warmly every night even though he's come home so late?

he clears his throat. "sounds like you've been having fun, girls. but first, say hello to y/n unnie-"

"imo," you whisper next to him, your figure shrunk with the cold.

"no unnie," he whispers back. "this is choi sol, our maknae, and that's choi byul, my eldest." the girls wave and shyly say hello, their dimpled smiles flashing politely as they bow. you bow back, "hi sol and byul! sorry you're meeting unnie in this state~"

"are you also a lawyer?"

"did you get caught in the rain?"

"do you work with appa in his office?"

"do you want fresh clothes?"

you giggle at the contrasting questions from the two girls, their starkly different personalities evident. "yes, yes, no, and yes please, if you could be so kind," you smile back, your dainty lips curving into a pretty bow that takes his breath away. sollie shifts from where she'd been wrapped around seungcheol to take your hand gently. "do you think my clothes will fit you? i think byul's clothes will. she has a very warm nightdress..." and she drags you away to her room, welcoming you in without even a single moment's hesitation. byul is more reserved in her welcome, but still warm. she follows the two of you shortly, and seungcheol is left at his doorstep alone, but filled with such a flurry of emotions in his heart that leaves his soul warmed unlike he's felt in years.

about twenty minutes later, he comes out of his bathroom after a refreshing warm shower, his hair soft after the shampoo. he can hear voices from the kitchen, loud-pitched voices of his daughters and the softer, lower voice that he recognises as you.

"unnie, do you want to have ramen?" byul's voice rings out. "we were going to have ice cream but you might feel too cold for that." sol adds, "did you eat dinner, unnie? didn't appa eat dinner with you?" "no, w- we- he picked me on the way when he saw me stranded in the rain. we didn't have dinner... together."

seungcheol's heart breaks and heals a little at the same time. he's taken the right step for now... but seeing his little girls like this have generated images and thoughts in his mind that he had shelved away forever.

the idea of a family.

the idea of giving them a new mother figure.

as he walks towards the kitchen, he can see the way sol and byul cling to you although they've met you barely half an hour ago. perhaps it's because they don't have any cousins and you feel like a sister? perhaps it's because they like bossing over adults, especially since they boss over him so much? perhaps it's because they've already been charmed by your magnetic appeal- your softness and your innocence, mingled with an intelligence that lets you befriend everyone.

"are y'all annoying y/n already?" byul immediately faux pouts, and he can see your eyes light up. "seungcheol, she looks exactly like you," your voice whispers with the revelation. "yes, she's my daughter. kinda expected, don't you think?" he laughs. it's sarcastic of course, because sol and byul actually resemble him more than any other father-daughter pair he's seen in his life. it's almost like they haven't gotten any of their mother's genes. and seungcheol doesn't really regret it. it's been nine years, he's gotten over that pain. his only regret is to not be able to provide a second parent to his children, who'd grown up in spite of being cut off completely by their mother. and his busy life has left him with no space to date or even think of marriage...

except right now.

right now, when he sees you wearing byul's nightdress that barely reaches your knees, cooking ramen with sol sitting on the kitchen counter next to you, chatting away about harry potter, and byul carefully carving out ice cream into bowls for the four of them, seungcheol thinks maybe it's time.

maybe he's found the one.

and maybe, he's already fallen beyond scope to return.

_

you didn't get much chance to talk to seungcheol last night, but when you wake up on the guest bed the next morning, you can see him as soon as you open the door. he's sitting in the balcony, sipping a cup of tea, reading a newspaper, his glasses sitting prettily on his nose.

"morning," your voice is still raspy in spite of your sleep being perfectly fulfilling.

he turns to look at you, his gaze uncharacteristically soft, much different from how he sees you at court.

"hi. tea?"

you nod, and wobble over to sit next to him. the tea clears your throat a lot, and you can finally open your eyes wide enough to see the glorious view from his balcony. so you soak in the nature for some time, while seungcheol buries his nose into the newspaper again.

"i didn't know you were a father."

seungcheol hums. "did you like them? my girls? they liked you a lot."

"can't help but not like them. they balance each other so perfectly- as if they're your twin personas."

"that's deep."

"but it's true."

seungcheol chuckles and goes back to his newspaper. the morning air hits your face and you feel so much more alive than you'd normally do on a thursday morning. "when do you have to get to work?" he asks you.

"i still have about an hour and half left."

"will you go home and then-"

"yeah. the office is really close to my place, like a minute's walk. so i'll leave soon, don't worry-"

"you'll stay for breakfast." seungcheol says firmly. "the girls will want to see you before you leave."

and you can't turn that down. so you simply nod in agreement, carefully taking a look at the man sitting across you. seungcheol at home is so unimaginably different from seungcheol at court. if he's fire in the courtroom, then he's water at home. he's cold and practical in the real world, but with his daughters, he's the most gentle person you've met. something about the soft smile he gives when he indulges his girls. something about the way his eyes light up whenever they talk to him about anything, even if it's trivial. something about the way he's taken care of you since last night, not just giving you a shelter during a terrible night but also giving you so much warmth from his personal life. it's all made you see a completely different side to seungcheol than you'd met at the courtroom, and it's changed the way you've grown to see him completely.

now you know that seungcheol was not harsh to you that day at lunch, he was simply being realistic. his cockiness and arrogance is just self-confidence, it doesn't define who he is as a person. and he's still a man you can look up to and admit, without shame, to yourself that this is the ideal man in your eyes.

your phone pings right then, and you open it to see the mail that's arrived.

the cup of tea almost slips and falls from your hands as you jump up in your seat in joy. seungcheol looks up at you in alarm, "what happened?" your smile is bright, just like the sun this morning. "i have an emergency at work, i'll have to leave now! please say goodbye to sol and byul from my side!" and you rush into your room to change into your clothes from last night, still damp but at least cleaner, and you literally run out of the house, waving and thanking seungcheol again and again, leaving him very very confused indeed.

_

seungcheol feels incredibly at peace the next day when he walks into the courtroom. even though you'd disappeared suddenly like that without any explanation, he's quite sure that he's back in your good books. not that it matters much- because what really counts is how he's feeling about himself. and after many years, he's feeling good. the usual guilt that engulfs him as a whole every day as he wakes up to face a new morning, isn't bothering him. he feels like he's achieved something, he's done something right, and he's going to get better from now on.

but as soon as he pushes open the doors of the courtroom, he feels like he's missing something out. everyone on his side of the bench seems flustered as hell, papers rumpled and expressions distraught. but he doesn't get an opportunity to ask what's going on because you catch his attention first.

"seungcheol, can we talk for a second?"

"not right now, i have to talk to my team-"

"this is urgent. you'll want to hear this, i promise."

seungcheol lets out a long sigh as he takes in your words. there's a crisp confidence in your words today that intrigue him. "okay go ahead," he finally replies.

"in private, if you please." he follows you wordlessly out of the room, and you lead him out towards a small isolated office in the corner of the building, that's totally deserted. seungcheol leans back against the closed door, completely silent as he waits for you to settle your papers and finally look up at him.

"so what's this about? you wanna kiss me or someth-"

"you're going to lose the case today. i've found enough evidence to prove the absolute guilt of KNT, and the ceo will go to jail by the end of the court session today."

"you're bluffing me."

"i can show you the evidence, but i'd rather you'd see it in court."

"then why are you telling me this now? to pity me?" seungcheol's mouth fills with bile as a dread settles over him. the tables are turned- now he feels as rattled as he had seen you feel that day at lunch. what if you're being serious right now? what if you've actually found incriminating evidence? but he's gone through all potential sources of evidence with his client, left no stone unturned to hide all tracks-

"so that maybe you can step off the case in time. do you really want your daughters to find out you've been defending your client for so long knowing you're defending a criminal?"

seungcheol's heart skips a beat.

"do not bring them into this."

"i'm not bringing anyone into anything. this is just me being nice to you because i know what it feels like to be disappointed by someone you look up to."

"do you hear what you're saying, y/n?" he takes two steps closer to you. "this is borderline blackmail. i don't even know if you're bluffing or not, and you're already blackmailing me using my daughters. have you fallen to the same crude level i'm in? are you going to disappoint me like this?"

his words have the expected effect on you. he can see your cheeks flush pink. "seu-seungcheol, don't twist my words." you take a step back, your back straightening as he sees confidence seep back into your face.

"and maybe you should stop worrying about my morals and worry more about how badly you're going to lose the case. from next time, don't make rookie mistakes." your finals words, before you leave the room, ring in his ears and cause goosebumps to erupt all over his skin.

as soon as you're gone, seungcheol slams the desk in front of him, his brain running at a hundred miles an hour. what might have slipped from his sight? what might he have missed? he immediately calls the ceo of KNT enterprises.

"what have you been hiding from me?"

"oh? mr choi, what happened to greetings? good morning to yo-"

"nothing's good about today morning, mr kim. what have you been hiding from me? i'm not going to ask you again."

"nothing! i've bared my entire soul to you for the case."

"mr kim, there's a fresh piece of incriminating evidence that's been found, and i cannot do anything to stop mrs hwang's lawyer from submitting it to the court unless you tell me what it is exactly."

"mr choi, you're mistaken, there's nothing left to be wiped-"

"the first rule of a client and lawyer relationship," his voice is seething and snarky, volume rising with each word, "is that you should never lie to your lawyer." seungcheol knows if mr kim was in front of him right now, he'd be quaking in his shoes. he can imagine a similar situation on the other side of the phone too. he knows he's intimidating enough when he wants to be.

"i didn't think it would be important-"

"you're not the person to judge what's important and what's not, mr kim."

there's a sigh and the voice becomes shaky.

"there's an outstation branch..."

_

the case ends unceremoniously. there are no paparazzi waiting for you outside the courtroom, ready to capture your life's first win. there are no cameras flashing on you, no historic moments being documented, no crowds gathering to celebrate this win for the masses.

there's just seola's happy tears and a wildly beautiful feeling of victory in your heart as realisation ultimately sinks in for you. it's a clean win- the evidence showing unmatched proof of orders coming from KNT to mr hwang, detailing all sorts of illegal activities and even records of payments being made to mr hwang. it's really crazy how it's not been eradicated cleanly already by seungcheol. clearly, either he or his client had underestimated you.

but you'd proven them wrong.

yoona's the only who comes to see you outside the courtroom after the win. there's a bright smile on her face as she hugs you and congratulates you. seola promises that she's going to take you out on a treat right now. other colleagues from your workplace call you to congratulate you on the win.

and yet you feel empty.

seungcheol's gone. he hadn't come for the trial. he'd not been in the courtroom for the final statements, his aide quoting something about a family emergency. he'd run with his tail between his legs, ashamed of his failure and finally realising his stupidity. this thought should be giving you satisfaction, but surprisingly, it doesn't. it leaves you feeling empty, still wanting something even though you've won the case just now.

but there's no way to reach out to him. you don't even have his number for god's sake, and it would be awfully awkward to go to his house. and what would you say? that you missed seeing his sad face in court when the verdict was announced? that you wanted to see if he'd be proud of you for winning the case? that you wanted to impress him by beating him in the case cleanly without any dirty tricks? so you go to eat out with yoona and seola, and decide to stop thinking about seungcheol any further.

_

it's about seven in the evening when you make it back to your tiny flat in a shabby part of town, the house dark as you'd left it in the morning after rushing home from seungcheol's place. you smile to yourself when you unlock your home using the password on the door, thinking of how you'd been with seungcheol's adorable daughters last night, and how much fun you'd had with them.

your bag falls from your hand as you open the door.

"seungcheol?!" your voice is a shaky whisper, shocked to see him inside your house. "how the fuck did you get in?"

he's still wearing the suit he'd worn in the morning, and yet he looks divine in the dim reflection of lights from the world outside the window.

"your password's your birthday. got it on my first try."

"and how do you know my birthday?"

he takes a step closer, his body towering over yours. "shhh. it's called knowing your opponent."

there's something so oddly intimate about seeing him in your flat, in the shadows of your home. the street light illuminates one side of his face, and you can't breathe because of how gorgeous he looks.

"why do you know my birthday, seungcheol? really it's not going to help you in any way-"

"it did help me get into your house."

you lightly pick up the bag from on the floor next to you, and you walk past him. "which brings me back to the first question. why are you here?"

you're purposely avoiding his gaze, the intensity making you feel things. there's a plethora of emotions in your heart right now- finally the emptiness in your heart dissipates as you can feel yourself surrounded by seungcheol. you're taking off your blazer, untying your hair, walking over to the sink to wash your face... but you can't ignore the way you can feel seungcheol's eyes on your back. his heady scent clouds your senses, and you feel weak in your limbs. first he's intruding your house, and now your heart too?

"i have a question to ask you." he speaks after a long time, when you've finally cleaned up and taken out a cup of strawberry yoghurt from the refridgerator.

"you could've asked me on the phone." you lean back on a wall, putting yourself as far away from seungcheol as possible in your tiny flat. he's in the darkness, you're in the light, but you're still feeling small and vulnerable under his gaze.

"i couldn't. it's serious." he starts walking towards you.

"seungcheol, if this is about me trying to expose your shit, i'm not going t-" seungcheol puts his hand on your lips, pushing you against the wall.

"fuck that. this isn't about that."

you cock your eyebrow, mumbling against his hand, "then what is it about?"

seungcheol doesn't answer at once, his gaze continuing to pin you against the wall, and a hand comes around you to trap you between his bigger body and the wall. "seungcheol?"

"answer me honestly, okay?" his voice is raw, slightly wobbly, and you're getting more and more curious. you nod slowly, encouraging him to say whatever's on his mind. but he doesn't say anything. a few minutes pass just like that- or maybe an hour. his scent makes you dizzy, you can't think of anything but how his big figure is over you totally.

"when you said you looked up to me in college... i know i ruined that image. b- but... can you... fuck. wait. canyoueverforgiveme?"

"what?" you ask, confused at what he just said. he removes the hand from your mouth, standing even closer than before.

"can you ever forgive me? will you let me show you a better side of me? can i ever get in your good books again?"

your breath stops for a second. why does this matter for him? doesn't he already know the state he's left your heart in since last night- ever since he'd brought you into his car, he's already been promoted to your ideal man again.

"show me a better side of you? what do you mean, seungcheol?"

he sighs for a second, before straightening his posture, becoming impossibly even bigger.

"will you ever see me as a man, y/n?"

your knees almost give in. the fuck is his implying? are you dreaming this? is this a fever drea-

seungcheol leans in and kisses your cheek, close enough to your lips, his breath falling on your skin, and making your body tingle. "will you let me show you myself to you like this?" on instinct, you tilt your head away to give him more access, your body shivering with the intimacy. so he kisses your cheek again, closer yet to your lips, and you turn your head slightly to capture his lips, but he moves away.

"y/n, don't leave me hanging please. i know you might find this odd... but i've come to feel things for you that i didn't even know remained in me. you're an extraordinary woman, one of a kind. in all my life, i haven't met anyone like you. not even my ex-wife. you don't know this yet but you're the ideal image of perfection i've always thought of."

then he stops talking for a second, clearly expecting an answer from you. but your mind can't form words, not with the way you have tunnel vision on his face right now, your eyes drifting to his pretty cherry lips, to his long eyelashes, to the beautifully expressive eyes you've fantasised about since your college days.

"y/n, say something please." his voice is desperate, and you break out of your daze.

"you're my ideal man too, seungcheol. you have no idea for how long." there's a blush creeping on your cheeks, but in the dim yellow lighting, you can see an identical blush rise on his cheeks too. so you lean in and finally kiss his elusive lips, feeling the taste of his chapped but pretty lips on yours, feeling the way his body steps even closer to yours, one arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you to him, and your body melts as you feel the warmth from his body. the kisses slowly grow in pace, the momentum rising, as he kisses you more and more hungrily, his tongue entering your mouth too, as he begins to bite your lips and leaves you breathless and moaning just from a few kisses.

"god, rookie. you sure know how to kiss."

"i know how to do a lot of things, seungcheol." you know you're bad at dirty talk, you've never really succeeded at it during your few college experiences of sex. but somehow, seungcheol's eyes roll back at your words and you feel his heartbeat quicken up too. maybe it's working on him?

you try to test your hypothesis by gently wrapping your hands around his neck, slowly untying his tie, slipping it to the floor. once it's off, you rub your hands all over his chest, feeling the pure hard muscle flex under your muscles. his breathing is as hot and heavy as yours, and you slowly untuck his shirt from his pants, unbuttoning it carefully.

"must you torture me like this, y/n?" his eyes are glazed over, but you look up at him innocently. "what, seungcheol?" "fuck it, you're such a tease, princess." princess. he pushes you against the wall and kisses you again, one hand wrapped around your hair as he pulls you in, and another hand helping you unbutton his shirt and get it out of the way. seungcheol doesn't stop kissing you even when he begins to unbutton your own shirt, but his hands wander all over the skin he slowly unravels. it's like his own adventure mission, the gentle but urgent way he touches your skin, almost worshipping.

"you're so perfect, y/n." you whimper when he cups your breasts from over your simple black bra that does nothing to flaunt your tits, but somehow seungcheol's appreciating it all. are you really his perfect woman?

"do you mean it, seungcheol?" your voice is so weak, but it takes seungcheol aback. "what do you mean, y/n? you don't think i find you beautiful? is that why i've been dreaming about you every night these days? is that why you're always on my mind? is that why i died and came back from heaven last night when i saw you with my kids?" your breath hitches as he tilts your face to look at him. "you're the most perfect woman i've ever met, i told you. you've gotta believe me, y/n. or do i have to show you?"

"maybe, yes?"

he groans at your words, and his eyes become darker. "fuck, where's your bedroom, babe?"

_

seungcheol's touch is like moonlight caressing the ripples of a pond at midnight. a soft, gentle touch that lights up every inch of your skin that he touches. as the moonlight kisses the water and makes it ebb and flow with it, seungcheol's movements guide your body too. he's laying you out on a bed, his hands wandering all over your skin. as he takes in your figure, you let him, because he's making you feel so good. he kisses all over your body, your limbs tangling as you can't get enough of each other. seungcheol is all muscle, his hard planes flexing against your supple skin. he pins you against the headpost of your small double size bed, one hand wrapped around your waist, and the other caressing your breasts, making sure there's not even a single inch of your skin that's left untouched.

"did i tell you i think you're perfect?" his words are feverish, and leave you lost for words. so you can't reply to him, hoping he gets the way you feel about him too through your desperate whines and moans, pulling him closer if he puts even a hair's distance between your bodies. something about him being so big and engulfing your smaller stature is so hot, you can feel yourself getting aroused by the minute.

"seungcheol, i w- want to... touch you," you finally whisper out, and he pulls away from where he's been kissing your neck. "but you are?"

you shake your head and shove him lightly until he's on his back, and you're hovering above him. he's still wearing his pants while he's stripped you naked, so you do the honours for him. "what are you doing," his voice is strained. "want to touch you there," you focus on taking his trousers off until he's just in his underwear under you- his bulge quite obvious to you. if you weren't wet enough earlier, seeing the massive wet patch on his grey boxers leaves your own underwear soaked. is he this aroused because of you?

seungcheol seems to read your mind as he brings your face towards his own, whispering with hot breath, "do you see what you do to me, princess? got me wrecked and ruined." his confession is so raw, you lean in to kiss him again. as you do, your hand wraps around his clothed dick, and he groans into your mouth. "fuck fuck fuck," he curses as you begin to rub it softly. "i'm going to cum right now if you do that- babe, p-please!" he finally gets your hand off his dick, eyes large.

and then you giggle. something about seeing seungcheol so desperate triggers something off in you, makes you more determined to ruin him. so you pull off his boxers and take his erect, red cock straight into your mouth. seungcheol's body trembles with surprise, your name leaving his mouth in broken moans as he cannot take the pleasure of your mouth sucking him off in an excruciatingly slow speed. and you don't stop, even when his hand comes around the nape of your neck to keep you in place, even when you feel his entire body tense up with the imminent orgasm. you don't stop until he comes inside your mouth, spewing string after string of his hot seed, and you swallow it all. his breathing is laboured as he watches you lick off the last bits of the orgasm from his dick.

but your self-satisfaction of having the upper hand only lasts for so long. seungcheol's competitive side kicks in soon and he quickly flips over to pin you under him on the bed, his teeth nibbling at your chest, leaving pretty hickeys all over.

"let me return the favour, darling."

you don't know what he means right then by return the favour, but never in your wildest dreams, did you think it would include seungcheol burying his face into your cunt, his nose rubbing against your clit as his tongue laps up your wetness.

"fuck! no- seungcheol- pl-please, cheol!"

"do you want me to stop?" he asks you, his face barely moving up inches from your pussy to look into your eyes.

you hesitate before answering, so he softly kisses your stomach. "tell me, princess."

"i've never done this before..."

"what? sex?"

"no. oral. like no one's ever gone down on me before..."

and seungcheol doesn't waste another minute. he uses his teeth to push aside your panties and inserts his tongue right into your sloppy cunt, and you scream out his name. he doesn't go slow, and you don't want him to go slow. he's showing you all the stars in the sky, so you grab onto his hair to move his head back to a particularly good spot, and he moans incoherently when you tug at his locks. and within minutes, you're reaching your high, your screams getting stuck in your throat as you close your eyes and arch your back off the bed.

thankfully, seungcheol gets his face out of your cunt and hovers over you to take in your writhing figure under the impact of the orgasm.

"so how was your first experience?" he asks you when you finally open your eyes and look at him, his lips smeared with your essence and his body.

"heavenly," you whisper, before pulling him into you, and kissing him again. you can get drunk on his kisses. he's leaving your lips abused and raw, but when he's spitting into your mouth, you wrap your legs around his waist to pull him closer, feeling the toughness of his back muscles shift under your touch. this position ends up making his cock graze against your clit, and you jerk in overstimulation. but you can feel how hard he's getting with the kissing and the way your hands are tugging his hair. the heavy length rests on your stomach, and seungcheol pulls away.

"need to be inside you now, princess." his words have this rawness to them- long gone is the smooth-talker lawyer choi seungcheol. it takes several moments for you to process that you've caused him to descend to this desperation.

"do you have a condom?" he asks you.

"hmm, i do." you point towards the dresser next to your bed, and he casually bends away to take it out from the dresser. you're getting more turned on by his easy flexibility, and as soon as he's got the condom rolled on to his dick, you pull him for kisses again.

"patience, baby," he laughs, as he pulls away again after kissing you, to nudge the tip of his dick on your folds. "nooo, need you now. need your lips." "did my kisses break you?" "i think so," your voice is a whisper and he leans in to kiss you again, a beautiful smile showing off his dimples.

and then he's slowly pushing inside you, making you whine out his name as you feel him stretch you. it's not an easy fit, but his kisses make the pain easier to bear. when a tear escapes your eyes, he asks you, his eyebrows furrowed in concern, "is it very painful?" "not very but it's been a while." he leaves kisses on your hairline. "i'll be gentle, princess."

you grip his locks tighter, pulling his face away to make eye contact.

"you better not dare, choi seungcheol."

something breaks in him. his hips begin to move faster, as he pushes your hands above your head, holding them as if handcuffed, and he's biting hickeys all over your neck. he's thrusting harder now, and your second-hand bed is already making noises. but it seems to arouse you more for some reason. something about him shaking everything around you and moulding you and everything about you to him makes you want him more.

you can't stop moaning his name, as he whispers into your ear, "i can feel how close you are baby. can feel your cunt clenching around me." "pl-please, cheol. need you more, please!" "more? faster?" you nod feverishly, and he pulls away, biting his bottom lip in concentration, one hand gripping the bed, and the other your leg around his waist, as he fucks into you.

you take in his full form, towering over you like adonis. beads of sweat falling down his pecs and his hair falling into his eyes. the sight is so beautiful that you cum right then, even as seungcheol fucks you through the orgasm.

you can feel that he's close, his dick twitching inside you, as he's making your eyes roll back. even after one orgasm, he keeps fucking you. "give me one more, baby. cum with me." and then he shifts one hand to rub your clit, and you moan under the additional touch. the last straw is when you clench around him so hard that he lets out a strangled moan and reaches his climax too. you can feel the condom become warmer, and you tremble all over as you cum again because of that sensation.

when your eyes open again, seungcheol's pulled out from you, but he sneakily lets in a finger in between your folds and licks it clean.

"seungcheol?" your broken whisper makes him look up at you.

he smirks. "you taste like nectar, baby."

_

seungcheol's insomnia doesn't let him get a full night's sleep on most nights. if he's lucky, he'll sleep for four hours at once, dreamless rest that leaves him fully charged for the next day. on other days, he'll stare into the night sky for hours, sleep eluding him. some nights he'll go to his daughters' room, and watch them sleep, his heart filling up with a warmth that's comforting like chicken soup. on other nights, he'll open his laptop, put on his glasses and finish his case files.

everyone wonders how seungcheol is so efficient at his profession. only he knows why.

but ever since you've come into his life, everything's changed.

he can no longer focus on work. he's distracted, making silly typing errors and forgetting details. but he's sleeping the best ever in a long time. he doesn't remember when was the last time he'd slept this well. it must've been before the fights had started with his ex-wife.

today, seungcheol sleeps for eight hours straight.

and he knows why.

it's because he's wrapped around you, your body melting into his under the duvet. your head's resting on his arm, but his arm doesn't hurt at all. your hair shines with the sunlight streaming in through the gaps between the curtains, but you sleep through the slight pouring into your eyes. you look particularly angelic today morning, and he feels his entire being shiver with the new-found affection for you.

you're his.

finally.

well, hopefully.

jeonghan had told him yesterday when he'd told him about his feelings for you, you've not been turned down until you've been turned down. so shoot your shot.

and oh, he had shot his shot. shot it too fast in fact. the clarity of the morning makes him suddenly worry if going straight into your bed last night had been too quick and you'll think poorly of him now. then there's the worry about you going to sleep without eating dinner last night- what if you wake up angry? another worry crops in his head as he realises it's a saturday. he doesn't have to go to work today, but you might have to. what if you get upset at him for not waking you up on time? the warm, glorious light in seungcheol's heart dims slightly as he realises you have so many reasons to turn him down.

so he lightly shakes you, whispering your name in your ear, until he feels you whisper out a soft five minutes. it makes his heart melt again, but he's more worried about you missing a work day.

"wake up, princess, you're going to be late."

as if hearing a magic word, you jolt awake, staring right into his eyes.

"late?! what's the time? fuck, it's nine-thirty!"

"it's saturday though. do you have work today?"

and then you fall back on his arm with a huff.

"saturday! of course i don't have work today. why did you wake me up!" you whine and turn around so that you're now snuggled into seungcheol's bare chest, your hair only slightly tickling him. the warm light in his heart shines bright again as he feels you cling to him.

"i didn't know if you work on saturday or not." seungcheol leaves a kiss in your hair, and you let out a satisfied sigh.

"now you know. never forget, okay? never wake me up on weekends."

never forget.

"i won't." another kiss in your hair. another sigh that makes his chest buzz. another kiss. and then you open one eye to peer at him, and he smiles at your cuteness. so there's another kiss, and then another, and then-

"stop!" you move out of his arms, giggling, your eyes finally open.

"i can't. you're too cute."

"shhhh!" you lean in to kiss him on the mouth, a gentle peck, and seungcheol takes the opportunity to wrap you in his arms again. "don't go far away." he's more serious that his tone implies, but somehow you realise that too. so you snuggle in closer, your head almost on his chest now. "i won't."

after a few long minutes of you being still in his arms, and him smelling your scent through your hair, you finally shuffle and pull him down so that his head is now resting on the pillow and you're resting your head on your palm, perched on the pillow using your elbow as support, looking down at him with clear fondness in your eyes.

"you're very romantic today, mr choi."

"do you not like it?"

"no. on the contrary, i love it."

at your words, he smiles, and you let out a fake gasp. "the rabbit has dimples!" and you attack his face with kisses, leaving him giggly and blushing as you smother him with love.

when you're finally done, he pulls your face in for a kiss and then you go back to your position to look at him from above.

"come lie down next to me."

"no this view is prettier."

seungcheol scoffs, hiding the way his heart is racing with your words. it's been years since anything barely romantic- a few dates here and there. but this is teenage seungcheol again, falling head over heels for a girl with a pretty smile and a cute way of speaking her mind.

"this view is the prettiest," he says and he's rewarded with your pretty smile again. so he spends a minute staring at the view, taking in your beauty.

you've not been turned down until you've been turned down. so shoot your shot. somehow jeonghan's nagging voice comes up in his head again and makes him remember that he's yet to ask you properly.

so he counts to three and says it.

"i like you, y/n. a lot. as i told you last night."

a strawberry latte blush taints your cheeks.

"and as i told you last night, you're pretty much my dream man, seungcheol. i've been crushing on you since my freshman year."

well that was easy.

"that long?" seungcheol feels his confidence cruise back, a smirk on his lips.

"don't laugh at me."

"i'm not. it's just unbelievable that you liked me back then. i wasn't even well off back then."

"who even cares about that! you were confident, manly, intelligent and passionate about your work. and so, so handsome. how could anyone not like you?"

"am i not handsome now?"

"of course you are, silly. that's why i still like you." you roll your eyes, as if it's so obvious. "i couldn't even date guys for a long time because i kept comparing them to you in my mind."

seungcheol's eyes go wide. "wait, really? that's kinda sad."

you laugh. "maybe, but who cares? none of them were nice in the end. that's why i kept going back to crushing on you." you lean in to kiss the mole on his cheek.

"how long has it been since your last relationship?"

"hmmm, about seven months? broke up before i graduated."

"and sex?" he hopes you can't see the way he's holding back his breath as you answer. "about a year."

and then he lets out his breath.

"and you?" you ask him, running your fingers through his hair.

he hesitates before replying. "nine years," his voice is weak.

and then you do what he's been fearing for so long.

you laugh.

"wow. that's like... that is long." but your expression changes into a serious one soon. "but you haven't lost any of your technique yet. so it's a win in my books. i don't even have to be jealous of anyone else. who was your last lucky lady?"

"my ex-wife." seungcheol winces as he mentally prepares himself for all the reasons you might turn him down.

but you don't. your serious expression remains even as you're surprised. "you were married? is she the mother of sol and byul?"

"yeah."

you nod your head slowly, digesting the information. after a second you say, "i can't fathom why anyone would leave you and your two perfect little girls."

seungcheol's smile turns bitter. "she did. but it doesn't matter. she's found a better life now, after moving away to the US with her new husband. and i've found a better life too, moving away from her."

you nod again. "you're very brave, cheol." and you kiss his cheek again, and seungcheol's heart swells at how maturely you've handled this conversation. but there's yet more reasons for you to reject him.

when you pull away to look at him again, you softly ask him, "are your daughters okay with the idea of you dating again?" dating. there are tingles all over seungcheol's body as you finally quash all worries from his mind. "i haven't explicitly discussed this with them," he says with some hesitation. "that being said, i think they like you a lot. you made a very strong first impression. and trust me, for ten year olds as stubborn as mine, a first impression is all that matters."

"they're just like you," you giggle, your hand fondly cupping his cheek. "but seriously. they like me as a friend... as your colleague. what if they don't like me as your... girlfriend?"

girlfriend. seungcheol wants to flip you down on the bed and make love to you all over again, but he resists his urge. he settles for wrapping his hand around your hips and caressing them. "they'll love you, princess. they've longed for a mother figure for long enough." after a pause he says, "i'm worried they'll not see you as a mother figure but as a sister."

you burst out laughing. "what?!"

"i'm much older than you, y/n."

"so?"

"i'm thirty-six, y/n."

"that's not old. i'm twenty-three."

seungcheol chokes on his own words. "exactly. i'm literally old enough to be your father, y/n."

"well, you'd have to become a father really really early then," you say, laughing.

"y/n, be serious."

"i am being serious. i've met men who're twenty but act like they're forty. what really matters is what you've got here-" and you poke at his chest where his heart's supposed to be.

"i'm going to die thirteen years before you!"

"darling, i don't think that's how death works."

darling. seungcheol's heart hammers against his chest as he pulls you in for a deep kiss. and then you pull away from him. "you're a dilf, seungcheol. that's like 80% of why i'm attracted to you. bet i wouldn't be attracted to twenty-three year old you." there's a teasing glint in your eyes, but seungcheol still whines as he feels upset at your teasing words. "babyyyy!" you laugh at his deepening pout, and lean in to kiss his pout in a peck, before getting out of bed.

seungcheol's mouth falls open as he takes in your soft curves which look even more alluring in the daylight. something about the way your ass sways as you walk makes his dick twitch in interest, but seungcheol curses himself. he can't be thirty-six and this hormonal, for fucks' sake.

you open the closet door to pull out a loose t-shirt and shorts, wearing them without any underwear. "do you want to stay for breakfast?"

a lazy grin spreads on seungcheol's face as he stretches his body in bed, relishing the way you ogle his stretching biceps, and he casually pushes the blanket away from his hips to reveal his toned stomach to you too.

"i want to stay for the rest of my life, rookie."

he's left with no doubt of reciprocation of his feeling as he sees the blush on your face as you hide and run from him at his cheesy words.

[yanoverload]

Yandere Serial Killer

Here everyone! Again sorry for the mess with changing the order of release, but it is what it is, anyway *punching yandere serial killer into a pulp cutely*

I love detective x serial killer, but I always wanted to see a defense lawyer x serial killer, you two have the same principle, but took different paths you know? 

Also the hate from one and obsession from the other. Yummy.

Being a defense attorney was a herculean task sometimes.

Accusing people of anything is the easiest part, you thought, but to defend someone you just met a few weeks ago? Exhausting.

But you never got into law school to have an easy job. You made it so far, so you could bring justice to the crooked system.

Your father was accused of a crime he never committed, put on death row when you were still a babe. Never will your family forget the looks of disgust received. It's easy to frame a poor family. Imagine the anguish the rich guy, your dad's boss, the one that actually did the deed, must feel.

As if. He is probably snickering at how his attorney was worth every corrupted dime.

Never should anyone go through the tears your grandparents did when they had to say goodbye to their only son. Never again will your mom be ostracized for being a single mother, the wife of a criminal.

Defending the injusticed was your life goal, to bring the actual monsters to their own consequences was your pride and joy, and damn were you good at your job.

But things got a bit mixed when corpses started to show up.

Before the culprits you helped sentence could pay for their deeds, they would be found dead, put in a twisted artistic display by the freak that did it.

Exhausting.

Thank fuck you had strong alibis and a great reputation amongst the public, because if not, you figured you would be suspect number 0.

Whoever did it, was apparently playing vigilante with your own life. And you hated it.

But people talk. And they were starting to love it.

It's funny how public justice works sometimes. That was never your intent. It started as a form of revenge sure, but it was first and foremost to help the disgraced.

When your dad's old boss was found mushed beyond recognition is when your mind decided enough was enough.

You tell the people closest to you, your police colleagues, other lawyers you respect, the forensic doctors you spent nights with, that you plan to resign.

They tell you not to, that you should keep doing what you love. But you can't handle the guilt anymore. 

Saying goodbye to the police chief after your conversation about the retirement, you find a letter at your doorstep. It smells like fancy perfume. You are certain it is only a family member of one of your clients, but how would they know where you live?

The letter was like those with cut magazine letters, and you feel a shiver down your spine. While you read, you feel like you're being watched.

"Why would you retire? I did for you silly. To see your work, you defend the innocent. You don't understand how we are one in the same.

How would you feel if an innocent was convicted and you did nothing, because you left the law? Because it CAN happen."

You feel your blood rising, and you crumpled the letter full of hate

This motherfucker. They are worse than hell on earth.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ Some more facts about him! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Heo Dae-ho (name is Dae-ho, surname is Heo) is a prodigy law student, he has everything, money, looks, and an influential family. 

His mom is a heart surgeon, his dad a forensic doctor.

His parents are strict but loving. They would do anything for their baby boy.

At first they were worried that Dae-ho would be a bum, since even though at school he was captain of the swimming team, had multiple trophies in whatever you could imagine, he had no passion in his steps.

They knew their child was different. But what else could they do apart from loving him and raising him? They also had an image to maintain.

That was until he mentioned wanting to go to law school. Dad was happy, it wasn't medical school, but it was still a great choice.

Mom thanked the gods her son wouldn't touch those in need of medical care, but she would never say that.

His parents are Korean immigrants. He can speak English and Korean, a bit of French.

Never had any flings at college. He is saving himself for you.

Probably has a fanclub of people that love him at college, and one for his.... Other persona.

Has been in your trials before to "learn".

Height: 181 cm (5'11 feet)

[the-ladyguinevere]

The most important post I ever make.

Please help me with custody of my daughter.

This is a donation post. I don't know what to say that I haven't already said, so I'm going to copy my statements in the GoFundMe. Please signal boost this and donate if you can, every little bit helps.

I am Guinevere, mother of a six year old daughter and survivor of abuse. In late 2021, I left my then partner with intentions to have shared custody of our daughter. At first he allowed me to have her at my new home, but since mid-April 2022 he has only allowed me to see my daughter when he takes her to my grandmother's house for visits. I do not know when she will be there beforehand; I find out the morning of every time my grandmother has her over, and have kept my schedule open in case I may see her, usually on every other Saturday.

I received a letter on Friday, August 9th, asserting that his current wife wishes to adopt my daughter and that they did not need my consent to do this, they are only required to notify me of the filing to adopt. The reasoning given was that I have not had "significant communication" with my daughter since April of 2022. I have thirty days from the time I received the letter to file a dispute. I object greatly, I will not allow him and his wife to take my daughter from me if I can stop it. She is the most important thing in my world.

I am in touch with a lawyer and am building my case. In addition to preventing the adoption, I wish to form a formal custody agreement so that this cannot happen again, and a formal custody arrangement would mean that I am guaranteed time with her. Before I am able to proceed, however, I have to pay my lawyer at least a portion of the retainer fee, which I am unable to pay on my own on such short notice. Without financial assistance, I won't be able to fight this and I will lose my parental rights.

Please help me keep my daughter in my life, and help her keep the mother that has loved and cared for her since the moment she was born. I will see every donation, and every dollar means the world to me. https://gofund.me/858c21e7

Currently Raised: $0 / $3000

[morbidology]

For 25 years, Blanche Monnier remained confined to this room, cut off from the world. Her existence was a living nightmare. The room was described as a "filthy, vermin-infested dungeon," with Blanche lying naked on a straw mattress, emaciated and surrounded by her own waste. The windows were shuttered, preventing any light from entering the room, and Blanche was left to endure her imprisonment in complete darkness.

The Monnier family maintained an outward appearance of normalcy, going about their lives as respected members of the community. Louise Monnier, known for her philanthropy, managed to conceal the dark secret of her daughter's confinement from friends, neighbors, and even the domestic servants.

The reason for the confinement was because Blanche wanted to marry a man her mother didn't approve of. He was a lawyer, and her mother thought of him as "penniless" and not worthy of her socialite daughter.

Blanche's grim ordeal came to an end on May 23, 1901, when the Paris Attorney General's office received an anonymous letter detailing her imprisonment. The police were skeptical at first but decided to investigate. Upon arrival at the Monnier residence, they were confronted by a foul stench emanating from the attic. Breaking down the door, they found Blanche in a state of extreme malnutrition, weighing a mere 55 pounds (25 kg).

The sight that greeted the officers was nothing short of horrific. Blanche, now 52 years old, was covered in filth, her hair matted, and her body skeletal from years of neglect. She was immediately taken to a hospital, where she received medical treatment and began her slow recovery.

The discovery of Blanche Monnier's imprisonment shocked France and the rest of the world. Her mother, Louise Monnier, was arrested but died 15 days later, possibly from a heart attack. Her brother, Marcel Monnier, was tried and initially found guilty, sentenced to 15 months in prison. However, he was later acquitted on appeal, as the court deemed he had been mentally incapacitated by his domineering mother and not fully responsible for his actions.

Blanche Monnier spent the rest of her life in a psychiatric hospital, never fully recovering from the trauma of her confinement.

[gyllenhaalstories]

ALIBI — RUSTY SABICH

summary: rusty seeks comfort in someone from his past to hide from both the present and the future.

warnings: mentions of cheating & the murder, mostly angst, smut (pussy eating, penetration, marking & hickeys, accidental creampie, some elements of noncon). 18+ NO MINORS.

word count: 4075

gif credits: me @/gyllenhaalstories / divider credits: @/firefly-graphics

notes: i was going off the vibes from the trailers but there are spoilers from the first two episodes. this was supposed to be all smut but then i didn't feel like writing smut so it was all angst but then i remembered i'm bad at writing angst so now it's... a mess. sorry? 👓 thank you for reading & REMEMBER TO REBLOG!

The doorbell rang. The noise was so loud that it startled you.

You had been on the edge all day, ever since you received a mysterious letter in your mailbox. The enveloppe was bare, the paper did not look much better. It could have been a bad prank for all you knew, it was not addressed to anyone specifically nor did it have the information required to return it. If it had not been of the familiar penmanship that wrote the words I'll be here at midnight, you would have believed that the letter was completely anonymous.

Rusty stood on the other side of the door, his body completely frozen while his mind and his heart raced faster than ever before. It was a bad idea, one of the worst ideas. He tried to make sure that nobody had followed him, but how could he know? How could he completely be sure there was not a car parked in the darkness of the night?

You ripped the metaphorical bandaid off. "What are you doing here?" You gripped on the door knob tightly, fighting the urge to slam the door back in his face.

He looked down at his feet. "You got my letter."

You were not having any of his misplaced timidity. He reached out, he needed to face the consequences. He needed to face you. So, you stepped out of the way and let him make a decision. Whether he walked away before it was too late, or whether he...

Rusty's shoulder bumped against yours while he made his way into your home. Memories flooded his mind. Memories of the two of you talking, laughing, kissing and...

"What are you doing here?" You repeated, this time with more annoyance in your voice.

He stopped reminiscing the past you shared. "I had nowhere else to go. I have no one else, but..."

"You don't have me either. You made that very clear when you disappeared. It's been so long, I started to believe you forgot I even existed. When was the last time we talked?"

When Carolyn started working. "It's been a long time, I know."

"You know everything, don't you?" You stated and closed the door. Rusty stood there, almost as clueless as you about his presence. You eyed him from head to toes and scoffed.

He flinched, expecting you to go on with another lecture about how he was such a horrible man. You did not, you knew he would like that too much.

You walked towards the living room and crashed on couch, as far as you could be from him. The distance made you feel safer. Only this safety was ephemeral and fragile.

"I, huh... I just," he stuttered and clenched his jaw while trying to compose himself. He pushed his glasses up on his nose. "I needed you."

You scoffed again at the use of past tense. Before you could talk back, he continued.

"I need you."

That confession weighted heavy in the air for several long, agonizing minutes. He came to you. He would have to work hard to get whatever he wanted from you.

Rusty fidgeted with his ring finger. Muscle memory.

You crossed your arms against your chest. You had showed this man more patience than he deserved. "Do you want a hug? Do you want me to tell you everything's gonna be okay?

He glanced in your direction, just long enough for you to notice the glimmer of hope in his eyes.

"I'm not the lawyer who's gonna defend your fake alibi, I'm not the detective who's gonna scrap pieces of evidence for you. I'm not the one who's going to get you out of trouble." You bombarded him with all of these options that he had once considered, crossing them off his list one after the other. "I'm not what you need."

"Yes, you are!" He raised his voice and you lifted a brow at his outburst. He hated being cornered, he hated being on the receiving hand of a tactic he had used one too many times in court. "I need you!" He shouted, he surprised himself.

You blinked and suddenly he was in front of you. He stood, tall but not strong. The louder he yelled, the weaker he felt.

"I need you to help me." You locked eyes with him, daring him to go on. "I need you to help me forget." He did not need to speak her name for you to figure out he was talking about Carolyn.

You laughed at him, as if you were hit with a sudden case of hysteria.

Your reaction made him walk away with his tail between his legs. He sat on the opposite side of the couch.

"You think you're so brave. Huh?" You smiled at him, in complete disbelief. "You were talking shit about how you wanted to leave your wife for me. The worst part is... I believed you." He seemed surprised once again. "Then you left me for another woman who died because of you. And now..." Your smile faded and your arms fell to your sides. "You're crawling back to me because you feel lonely?"

This was a mistake. He thought, he hoped, you would be different. He had enough of people berating him. He sprung to his feet and paced around your living room, planning his next move... His next words.

You chewed on the inside of your cheek while he behaved like an animal in cage. "Rusty..." You sighed, slowly giving in without your own consent. You opened the door of the cage.

"I know you feel lonely too." Rusty clenched his jaw. He stood firm in his word. Suddenly he remembered a conversation he had, not too long ago, about taking responsibility. "And I know I'm asking for a lot." His upper lip curled, his body reacting strangely to this rare case of acknowledgement and awareness. Perhaps it could have been... Guilt.

It was your turn to be surprised. This was uncommon, unnatural. You could not quite decipher if he was genuine or not. The longer you stared at him, studying and scrutinizing him, the harder it became to figure out what was going on inside his head. However, you noticed a shift.

Rusty knew he was getting to you. You no longer had the entire control over this conversation. He reentered your house and your life. While you told him you did not want him back, your body was saying something completely different. You expected him to visit, yet you dressed up so lightly in a shirt that hugged your curves and pants he could easily rip open. You never missed an occasion to drink him in, to appreciate the countless hours he spent at the pool to swim through his thoughts. The tough version of you that opened the door with an anger-filled soul softened up faster than he had imagined.

You eyed him up and down again. "This isn't going to end well." You spoke mostly to yourself. He heard you, but did not acknowledge the bad omen.

Rusty knelt before you. Not once did he break eye contact while he crawled, bringing your words into reality. He leaned back when he reached your legs and waited. He waited for you to tell him no, knowing it would only make him crave it more. Rusty rarely took no for an answer anyway.

You reached your hand to stroke his hair. You waited, too. You waited for him to realize he was taking the wrong decision. You waited to gather enough courage, although you were not too sure what to used that courage for.

He leaned into your hand that slid down to his cheek. You reminded him that the chase of thrills and butterflies could hardly compete with someone who had the magical power of calming him down, of making the whole world disappear.

You leaned forward and reached for his glasses that you gently removed. You took a moment to admire the sight of him: the muscles of his thighs almost bursting through his jeans, his chest heaving as if his hoodie made him so hot that he was melting, his eyes begging for your permission.

He watched you set his glasses away on the couch, safe and sound. He turned his head back to you while you lifted yourself off the couch to take off your sleeping pants. Rusty helped you pull them off, he threw them as far away as he could. He decided for you that there was no turning back. He then placed his hands on your knees, ready to part your legs open.

"I'm gonna regret this." You would, but Rusty would not. You locked eyes with him again and drowned into his darkened gaze. "You better make sure it's worth it."

Rusty faced a dilemma: he was unsure whether he wanted to take his time and savour the moment or dive into it head first. The throb of his cock, confined under his clothes, decided for him.

Your body showed no resistance to his touch, your legs opened easily with the light pressure he applied. His tongue licked a long stripe on your inner thigh while he made his way to your core.

You adjusted your position, sitting more lazily on the couch while he pulled you closer to the edge of the seat. He peppered kisses on your pussy before he used his thumbs to spread it open for him. At the first taste, he was addicted. More so, he was reminded of the addiction that had him sneaking out day and night just to eat you out.

Your back arched, pressing yourself against his mouth when he sucked on your clit. You fought back your moans, but, once again, your body betrayed you.

"Missed you so much," Rusty spoke against your skin. He spat on your pussy and caught the drops that dripped down with his tongue. He made a mess, not that he had to try very hard for it. You were already wet for him, he liked to think it was just a reflex you had failed to break since the day he left. "I missed you so fucking much."

You placed a hand on his head, pulling on his short hair. You refused to believe his words, but they sounded so nice. Almost honest.

Rusty began to lap at your folds, making his nose bump against your clit. He swallowed the juices that leaked from your entrance, but he was still left craving more.

You gasped loudly when his tongue teased your hole. You pressed his face against you, as if he could get even closer than he already was.

Rusty palmed at his rock hard cock, moaning into your pussy as he did that. He touched himself over his clothes while he finally focused on your aching clit, flicking his tongue on it to make you squirm. He tried to fight against the movements of your hips, making sure his mouth never left you.

Your legs started to close around Rusty's face, which did not bother him in the slightest. You struggled to keep your eyes open, to watch him while he brought you closer to the edge. He just looked so beautiful.

The vein on his temple was bulging, almost pulsating to match his heart beat. He let go of his crotch and helped you to put your thighs on his broad shoulders, encourage you to let go, to give in.

You were not ready to satisfy him just yet. You wanted this moment to last, you wanted it to be worth the guilt and regret you would experience the moment he would walk out the door.

That only made him hungrier. He devoured you like it was the last time, he shared the mutual feeling that it could very well be. He pulled away from you just long enough to catch his breath one last time. He was determined to get what he wanted from you.

In a matter of seconds, your vision got blurry and your toes started to curl.

Rusty's moans only made the sensations greater while his tongue worked you over and had your entire body shaking for him.

You did not need to speak, to tell him to keep going, he knew what to do. He knew how to make you feel better than anyone else ever could. That remained one of his biggest problems, he was a heartless cheater but he was just so fucking good at it.

He slowed down until your thighs relaxed around him and he helped to set them down, still wide open for him to admire the mess he made between your thighs. You were dripping of your own wetness and of his spit. He could have kept going all night, but he had a more urgent need to take care of. He scrambled back on his feet and, without a word, he took off the rest of his clothes.

You did the same, not without admiring his body and especially the throbbing and leaking cock that he stroked.

He admired you too: the way your clit throbbed for him, how your forehead was covered with a layer of sweat despite just sitting there and doing nothing besides screaming while you were cumming.

He surprised you with a rough kiss, all tongue and teeth. You did not want to reciprocate, you wanted to pull away and to protect yourself from falling harder for this man. It was simply pointless. You kissed him back with the same passion that left you both gasping for air.

Rusty helped you to change positions so that you turned around and you were kneeling on the couch and you leaned on the back of the furniture. He leaned forward to kiss your shoulder and all the way down your back. He wanted to print the memory of you in his mind.

Neither of you felt brave enough to speak. You let your bodies do the talking with moans and grunts that blended into a melody while Rusty pressed the tip of his cock to your entrance. His tongue failed to prepare you for the delicious stretch of his cock.

He squeezed your ass cheeks open, trying to catch a glimpse of your pussy gripping on him. That was the prettiest thing he had ever seen. He helped you arch your back, taking in the perfect position for him to use your pussy to get off. You felt so fucking good, so tight and wet around him. How could he have waited so long to feel you again? How did he manage to wait all this time?

You bit on your lip so hard that it tasted faintly of blood when he bottomed out. He stopped moving for a few moments, letting you adjust to him.

He pressed his toned chest against your back, cooing at you. When he felt your walls relax around his length, he started moving. The small but deep thrusts made tears pool into your eyes.

You held on the back of the couch for dear life when he fucked you harder, when he let you feel every inch of him nice and deep.

Rusty grunted louder and louder. The noises echoed in your apartment, filling the silence alongside the sound of your skin slapping against his. He was getting closer than he wanted to to admit it, so he stalled again.

You felt his hands on your skin, gliding down your arms. He held your hands in his, making the cushion of the couch cave in under the pressure. You looked down at his left hand, but your eyes closed blissfully before you could notice whether he was wearing his wedding ring or not. Your skin was so hot too, you could not even feel it the metal.

You could not feel anything else than Rusty's cock that was balls deep inside of you or his lips that sucked a few marks on your shoulder.

He kissed his way to your neck, where he nibbled and licked. He was buying time and you could feel it. You could hear it too, with the whimpers that came out of his mouth. He murmured at your ear while he marked you. "I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum."

"Pull out, just, fuck," your voice sounded hoarse from the moans. "Just pull out!"

Rusty cursed under his breath, his thrusts felt more like twitches than anything. His left hand moved down to squeeze on your hip, a rough and bruising grip. "I can’t," his body pressed down on yours. You could barely stay up on your knees. "You feel too fucking good on me."

"No! No, no…" You wanted to get him to move, or even to get off him. Anything really, but your pussy clenched on him with vice-like grip. It was already too late.

Rusty held your hip and your hand tight, giving you no room to escape. He grunted at your ear while he emptied himself in you. Multiple ropes of cum coated your walls and made both yours and his eyes roll to the back of your heads. It felt so good, so wrong yet so right. He should not have done it, he should have pulled out and avoid another situation. He never learned his lessons. This was forbidden. He loved it even more.

"Rusty! That was so fucking stupid." You shouted, there was more shock than anger in your voice. Your poor attempts at squirming out of his embrace failed. Your pussy milked him to his last drop.

The room went painfully silent. No moans, no skin slapping, no couch squeaking. Nothing. There was nothing but erratic breaths and the gears turning silently in your minds. What did he do? He did what he needed to do. He did what he knew you wanted him to do. Even if you told him otherwise, even if you tried to convince yourself of the opposite. "I'm sorry."

It was crystal clear that his apology was empty. As if the lack of conviction in his voice was not enough to prove it, the slow thrusts of his hips sealed the deal.

Languid strokes that made him appreciate the warmth he had craved for so long. "I know, this was wrong." He pressed his clean shaven cheek against yours. Slowly, he picked up the pace until he properly fucked you against the couch. "I'm so fucking sorry." He punctuated each word with a thrust that made you moan louder and louder. He was not going to stop anytime soon. He fucked his cum so deep inside of you until he was ready for a second load.

Only Rusty could fuck you this good. He made sure you learned that lesson, rewarding you with orgasms the more you surrendered to the pleasure he shamelessly gave you.

*~*~*

You felt Rusty's arm slide away from your body, goosebumps spreading on your skin from the sudden lack of warmth. You tried to stay immobile, although your eyes fluttered from struggling to stay closed. You knew he would leave. He always did.

He knew he would leave. He could not stay. He could not stay and drag you down with him once more. Rusty had hurt enough people for the time being, he needed to learn to be careful. To calculate the risks. The risks were too high when they involved you.

A part of you had hoped it would be different this time. Maybe he would stay for breakfast. Maybe he would offer to shower together and go at it again. Maybe he would make another promise he would inevitably break.

Rusty surprised you with a kiss to your cheek, one that lingered and communicated more than words could convey in the moment. He stood up on his tired legs and he stepped over your body to search for his clothes.

You opened your eyes a bit, squinting to catch a glimpse of his naked body roaming around your place. He looked so beautiful, so irresistible. His large back, his muscular legs, his toned ass that he quickly covered with his boxers. You could admire him for days on end. He would never grant you so much time in his presence.

He turned around, guilt and regret stabbed him in the stomach. Unfamiliar feelings. You looked so beautiful, so tempting. The delicate features of your face, the curves of your body, your steady breathing that he'd love to fall asleep to again. He wished he could stay with you and forget about the rest of the world.

You felt his eyes on you. You felt him stare and linger on the marks he left on your body, on the other places he'd love to bruise for his own pleasure.

Before he got riled up and, most importantly, before he failed once more to think with his brain, he finished dressing up in a hurry. If he made it back home before sunrise, no one would know about his escapade.

"Wait." Your mouth spoke despite your mind yelling at you to stay quiet and to pretend to sleep a little longer.

Rusty froze in place. He refused to turn around and look at you. Unless you asked him to.

You sat up, wrapping the blanket around your body that he had seen one too many times; your body that he could not even see in the moment. You used the blanket as a shield. An armour to brace for the upcoming impact. "Is she," you cut yourself off. "Was she special?"

You watched his torso rise and fall from the several deep breaths he took before answering. "Very." He did not need one more interrogation, one more trial.

You nodded slowly. "Am I special?"

You watched him experience a myriad of emotions, just by the change in his breathing and how his body tensed up while he searched for an honest answer. This question was a trap.

"Very." He repeated in a whisper. "The most special."

You snickered. His answer felt like just as much of a trap as the question you asked. If you had been the most special to him, why did he pursue Carolyn? Why did he have this grand affair with her and not with you? Why did he risk everything for her and not for you?

As if he could hear the questions running through your mind, he spoke again. "You're the only person I've tried my hardest to protect." He referred to his children that he hurt and sacrificed, to his wife that he lied to and cheated on... To his mistress who died because of his insatiable lust.

It was only then that you finally accepted to face the truth: nobody knew who you were, in relation to Rozat Sabich. He kept you in the shadows, he locked you in a cage. He protected you in this bubble of stolen kisses and broken promises.

If nobody knew that you two shared a long and complex history, he would never have to involve you in this situation more than he already did the night before. He would not need yet another alibi to cover up the messy trail he left behind.

You held your head in your hands. You hated to see him leave, each time felt like it got closer to being the last time he would walk out of your life for good.

Rusty put on his hoodie and fixed his glasses. He was now facing you, but it was his turn to need an armour so he maintained the distance between the two of you. He stared at you, time felt like it had stopped. His lips parted open to speak, but no sound came out of his mouth.

However, you turned to look at him just in time to catch him mouth the dangerous words I love you. You smiled sadly at him with a tear falling down the same cheek he kissed. It was your way to say I love you too.

And just like that, Rusty opened the door and left without another glance in your direction. The wall between the two of you built itself back up in an instant. That way, he protected you from the world. Most importantly, he protected you from himself. All the history between the two of you would remain a secret.

You were his best kept secret.

[codenamesazanka]

Saw some Spinaraki kid OCs so I decided to try my hand at it too. Though it's less happy family kidfic and more resentfully making Heroes and Deku face consequences post-canon. Sorry.

the Spinaraki lovechild:

Shirakata Masanori | 白方正憲

Age: 15

Appearance: Lizard heteromorph. Black hair, pink eyes, white scales.

Quirk: Adhesion. Decay's spreading effect + Gecko's sticking trait. Anything object Masanori touches and remain in contact with will adhere with anything the object is also touching. If he touches a sidewalk, everyone on it will be stuck and trapped, unable to move their feet.

result of Spinner and Shigaraki getting together post-Deika/pre-surgery. super unexpected.

three months after Shigaraki went in for surgery, Spinner pops out an egg (please go with it)

During Heroes' raid on the PLF Villa, Spinner entrusts egg to ReDestro. Unfortunately, when everyone got arrested, egg gets swept up in custody capture of MLA kids.

With no one to claim the egg, it is placed in orphanage; all contact is then lost.

Egg hatches after war, at end of August.

Spinner was never able to tell Shigaraki about their kid due to the possession.

He decides not to say anything to the Heroes either. Doesn't trust them after Shigaraki got killed, and better that the kid doesn't grow up stigmatized for having terrorists as parents.

But Spinner does leave a letter with his court-appointed lawyer, hoping that one day it will reach the kid, when they come of age.

Spinner dies early due to effects of having multiple quirks; dies ten years after war

The lawyer, deciding to just finish up this assignment cleanly, finds the kid 4 years later and delivers the letter despite the kid not reaching age of majority.

Despite half-assed mild societal change efforts, Masanori grows up an orphan in the system, with the additional stigma of being an PLF raid kid (and therefore very likely the child of dead/arrested Villains/criminals)

Abandoned, unnamed babies in Japan are named by the city/town's mayor. Masanori was named with the kanji "white-direction correct-law" in hopes that he would become a law-abiding citizen (unlike his unknown parents). The Mayor is an asshole.

(Though Shirakata is a real surname, and chosen because kid has white scales)

Early on, Masanori looked out into the world and realized it doesn't want him, made it clear he doesn't belong. So he accepted it.

However, he knows the path of Villainy only leads to doom.

His caretakers drilled that into the PLF raid kids. Quirk counseling emphasized it a lot. So did teachers. Everyone.

He’s (reluctantly) played the ‘Villain’ in enough playground games that ends with the ‘Heroes’ pretending to smash him to pieces or explode him to nothing, because everyone has seen the war footage.

And he’s known too many people who salivate over the satisfaction of proving his blood is irreparably criminal.

So he won't be a Villain.

He just wants to leave - leave the orphanage, leave the city, leave Japan. Maybe travel the world alone forever.

Masanori is: very solitary, utterly disinterested in people, self-reliant, pragmatic, opportunistic, clever enough but can bite off more than he can chew

Masanori doesn't really have any sentimental feelings about his parents; or rather, he feels there's no point to dwell on it

He always knew he was the son of criminals. Discovering that he's the son of the most notorious criminals is somewhat cool, but Spinner and Shigaraki are long dead and gone.

When Masanori first received the letter, there was a satisfaction to finally knowing, nearly a sense of destiny. So he read the League of Villains memoir. He read the manuscript drafts that he inherited from Spinner. He did a lot of research.

(In the letter, Spinner admits that the kid was a surprise, that Shigaraki never knew, and Spinner himself doesn't know anything about the kid and will likely go to his grave not knowing.

They dealt the kid a shit hand.

Saying something cliche like they loved the kid they never knew would be hollow; and besides, Spinner and Shigaraki were twisted and distorted people. Villains. So the truth is, the kid is likely better off without them.

But.

Spinner wishes he and Shigaraki could've known the kid, and he regrets that neither of them were able to stay alive and free.

Spinner also writes that if Shigaraki knew about the kid, he knows Shigaraki would've tried to give them the world.)

But eventually, for Masanori, the end result of all that is realizing that there's nothing to be done with this information. Spinner and Shigaraki don't know him, and he doesn't know them; never will. They were criminals, they were young and stupid, they picked a fight and lost, and they left him behind.

All he has is still just himself.

...and this new knowledge he might be able to use to his advantage.

Which is why Masanori decides to confront the Hero Deku and demand compensation for the death of his parents and other hardships

Age 15, Masanori arrives at Deku's agency, carrying Spinner's letter that is his only proof

But just looking at Masanori convinces Deku. Kid's appearance is basically Tenko in lizard heteromorph form, but even his demeanor reminds Deku of Shigaraki - aloof but intense, determined. (tho he is still younger, less hostile, a bit stiff in nervousness)

Deku is shocked, guilty, suspicious, already wants to help, appalled at the extortion attempt. Ready for a conflict.

At least until he hears Masanori's demands:

Guaranteed admission to UA's General Studies Program, a recommendation letter, as well as a stipend all three years that Masanori is in high school.

And that's it.

Masanori has only an okay school record.

He did not have an enriching school life.

He's been accused of delinquent behavior - mostly suspected small theft and 'incidents' with other students

(They could never actually prove he stole anything; and the incidents he get into are always with the more aggressive classmates. They're not so much fights as pranks, and the bullying usually ceases immediately afterwards.)

High school is not mandatory in Japan, and minors legally can start work at age 15, so Masanori has been "asked"/expected to leave the orphanage after middle school. Jin Scenario

Not a very bright future. But he was ready for it... until he received Spinner's letter.

Suddenly.

If Masanori gets into UA High School, an elite national school, with recommendation from a world-renowned and beloved Hero, it's leaving the orphanage, leaving his hometown, starting a new life.

(General Studies program because he has zero interest in being a Hero.)

Graduate and better prepared to leave everything behind and travel the world alone forever.

Opportunity of a lifetime. He will shamelessly seize it.

Masanori's not blackmailing Deku or anything - nothing to blackmail, since no one cares Deku killed Shigaraki, and admitting he's the son of terrorists is social death. He's relying entirely on Deku's heroism.

Even if his Shigaraki was a Villain that Deku had to kill for the good of the world, that was still his father. Deku will feel compassion and guilt for Masanori.

Because Deku is a hero.

Manipulative? Yes. Is he unqualified for UA? Yes. But Masanori wants a chance at having more to life.

And Deku has to face what he (and All Might, and OFA) never actually did: resolve the continued rejection and ostracization problem in quirk society, and the cycle of Shimura tragedy

Because it's quickly obvious Masanori is just like his parents: given up on the world, given up on people. He's just not dangerous about it.

But his heart is empty. He has never been saved. And he no longer wants to be.

In other words: this time, Deku has to truly save someone that's been failed and rejected by this society he upholds. even if easy mode too because Masanori is not a villain. but is less receptive than a seven-year-old. or someone already having Pro-Hero aspirations

[hauntedhowlett-writes]

the last great american dynasty

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6.8k (whoops)

summary:

Joel Miller has loved the historic Victorian home in his neighborhood since the first time he laid eyes on it. When the elderly owner passes, he thinks he might get his chance to finally buy it and fix it up.

He doesn’t expect to find you, the granddaughter of the previous owner and trustee of her estate, standing in the way of his dream

author's note:

inspo board this work is inspired by taylor swift's song "the last great american dynasty" and is part of the folklore album anthology! if you enjoy, please consider reblogging/commenting and make sure to check out the other works by the amazing collaborators on this project.

tags/warnings:

explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, no physical description of reader, no use of y/n, work contains journal entries as part of the plot, porn with plot, pre-outbreak!joel, grandma is a named OFC, sassy reader, dirty talk, teasing, praise, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, paint as a flirting mechanism, mild enemies to lovers, pet names. let me know if there are any missing!

August 20, 1948

I have arrived in Texas. I am uncertain where to go or what to do. For so long I’ve answered only to George, but now I am my own woman and the world before me has suddenly become much bigger, seemingly overnight.

I just hope it will be good for me.

-R

PRESENT DAY

If there’s one thing you never expected, it’s to inherit a mansion from a grandmother that you’ve never spoken to. As far as you were aware that kind of thing only happened in movies, so receiving a phone call from an estate lawyer that had been trying to locate you for a whole year since this mystery woman’s passing was a complete shock.

Now you find yourself with a car full of your belongings driving cross country to a sleepy suburb of Austin, Texas. The first stop is the lawyer’s office, where a secretary eyes you warily as you sit in the lobby of the lush office suite, fingers toying with a loose thread on the t-shirt you’d been wearing for the last eight-hour leg of your road trip.

A voice calls your name from a door just past the secretary’s desk, an older man with white hair and a deeply wrinkled face smiling kindly at you. You stand, shaking his hand as you pass by him into his office. He gestures to the wingback chairs that face his impressive dark wood desk. You take in the diplomas on the wall and the floor to ceiling bookshelves lined with thick, leather bound tomes. 

“I appreciate you comin’ all the way out here so quickly. You were quite the tough one to find,” the man says with a chuckle. He pulls out a thick envelope, cream colored with swooping, swirling handwriting across the front reading your name. “Your grandmother was a dear friend of mine. She established a trust in your name not long after you were born.”

“I’m sorry, I guess I’m still a little confused. I didn’t even know I had a grandmother,” you admit quietly. He nods solemnly. 

“She never told me all the details, but there had been a falling out between her and her daughter. They kept their distance after that.” When you don’t say anything, mind too busy racing with the questions that you suppose only your mom can answer now, he continues. “Would you like the review the details of the trust?”

“Um, sure. I guess that’s why I’m here, after all.”

He slips a piece of paper from the folder, sliding it across the desk. The same swirling handwriting fills the page.

My Dearest,

You may not know me, but I’ve watched you grow in photographs and letters since you were born. You mean the world to me, even if I could not fit in the world that your mother created for you. I respected that choice, hurt though it may have.  She had her own path to forge, just as I did, and just as you will. I am eternally grateful for the parts of her life she did share after she left.  

In the event of my passing, I leave my estate to you in its entirety. I built my true happiness in those walls, and I hope you can do the same.

-R

You read the letter twice, eyes stinging with tears. A tissue box slides across the desk, and you pluck two sheets out gratefully. 

“In this envelope are the more official documents. The deed transfer that will need your signature, beneficiary statements for her banking and savings accounts, things like that. My office will handle all the paperwork filing,” the man says. A few more forms are laid out on the desk, and you lean forward to read them. 

“Holy shit,” you snap, eyes wide as you swipe the beneficiary statement from the wood. “There must be too many zeroes in this, right? Or a rogue comma? That can’t be the right amount.”

“I assure you that’s the correct amount,” he says with a laugh. “And if you’ll sign down there, it’ll be transferred to your name and designated account.”

Your mouth goes dry as you read through the rest of the documents. In addition to the sizeable amount of money about to hit your bank account, there’s a five-bedroom house being transferred into your name, as well as a safety deposit box. You sign each form where directed, sliding them back over to the lawyer. 

“I believe this is yours,” he says, holding a house key out to you. He drops it into your open palm. “Good luck.”

“I wish they would just put that place up for sale already,” Joel grumbles from the passenger seat of his brother’s truck as they drive by the out-of-place 1920s Victorian home on their way to a job site. 

“You’ve been sayin’ that for the past year since that poor old woman passed,” Tommy says with a laugh. “Give it up, brother. Your dream house is just goin’ to rot away before your eyes.”

“Don’t you say that,” Joel replies. He doesn’t need Tommy speaking his fear into the universe. 

The house has already been showing signs of falling apart in the last ten years Joel has lived in the neighborhood. The roof needs work, the shutters need replacing, the lawn is overgrown, and there’s a sizable hole in the wrap-around porch that seems to get bigger over time.

He’s wanted that house since the first time he saw it while he was house hunting ten years ago, a then three-year-old Sarah on his hip as he toured a nice little house that was available in the neighborhood at the time. While the home he’s built with his daughter through long days of hard work is nothing to scoff at, he’s always dreamed of something with more character and story. 

He just hopes he’ll get his chance.

You stare up at the old house in front of you, shielding your eyes from the late afternoon sun. It’s a beautiful house, though there’s no denying its seen better days – two stories with large bay windows on both floors, white wood siding and chipped red shutters that are clinging to their rusty hardware, a large wrap around porch that has vines encroaching on the banisters, a lawn overgrown with weeds. You tentatively climb the steps of the porch, peeking nervously into the large hole in the wood to the left of the front door.

“That’s private property,” a gruff voice calls out, making you jump. You turn, finding a man standing on the sidewalk with his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You ain’t supposed to be snoopin’ around.”

“Actually—”

“Why don’t you just head home, sweetheart, and I won’t have to call the cops,” the stranger says, cutting you off. You raise your eyebrows at him.

“This is—”

The man huffs, arms dropping as he digs in the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a cell phone. “Seriously, I’ll give you until the count of three. We don’t need trouble around this neighborhood, alright?”

The nerve, you think, narrowing your eyes at the man. Since he clearly doesn’t want to hear what you have to say, you decide to take a different route. You reach into the pocket of your shorts, pulling out the key that the lawyer had given you earlier that day. You take a sideways step closer to the door, keeping your eyes on the man as you pointedly insert the key into the lock and opening the heavy wood door.

His mouth drops open in surprise and you smile at him.

“You were saying?”

Joel had seen the car parked in the driveway of the empty house when Tommy dropped him off after work. He’d quickly checked on Sarah, newly thirteen and fiercely independent, finding her working on her homework at the kitchen table, before making his way across the street. 

He hadn’t expected to find a gorgeous woman snooping around the old house, curves hugged in denim shorts and a tank top that made his mouth water. He also hadn’t expected the woman to produce a key from the pocket of those sinfully tight shorts.

“You were saying?” You ask, lips curved in a smirk and eyebrows raised at him. When Joel doesn’t immediately reply, still too stunned that you have access to the house, you turn and walk through the door, shutting it behind you. 

He finally shakes himself of his shock, bounding up the steps and knocking on the door. You pull it back open.

“I’ll buy it from you,” Joel says immediately.

“Excuse me?” You reply, your hands moving to your hips. “It’s not for sale.”

“Come on, what’s a girl like you need all this space for?” Your mouth drops open, pretty lips stretched wide in surprise and Joel struggles to keep his thoughts from drifting to sinful places. 

“A girl like me? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“You’re young, that’s all. You don’t need a house this big and this much of a project!”

“What makes you think I don’t have a big ol’ family I’m moving in here? Four kids and a loving husband?!”

Joel blinks. “You got four kids and a lovin’ husband?”

“No, but that’s besides the point.” You roll your eyes, jabbing a finger at his chest. “It’s not for sale. Now get off my porch before I call the cops on you.”

With that final word, the door shuts in Joel’s face again, the sound of your retreating footsteps signaling the end of the discussion.

November 12, 1948

There’s a gentleman who comes into the diner every Tuesday. He always sits in one of my booths, with his perfect hair and suit and handsome face distracting me until he leaves. Some of the other waitresses try talking to him but he doesn’t pay them any mind. They’ve whispered to me before that he comes from money - oil, or something, not that it matters. 

His name is William, and I think he’s trying to steal my heart.

-R

“So, let me get this straight. First, you threatened to call the police on this woman. Then, rather than introducin’ yourself or welcomin’ her to the neighborhood or even apologizin’, you just go straight to tellin’ her she doesn’t need a house that big and that you wanna buy it from her. Did I hear that right?” Tommy says, watching Joel as he throws together dinner the following evening. 

“Yeah, that sums it up,” Sarah says. Joel huffs.

“Well, when you put it like that.” He sips his beer as his daughter and brother share a look. “What’s that look for?”

“Nothin’,” they say in tandem. Joel narrows his eyes as Sarah breaks out in giggles. Tommy stands, heading to Joel’s pantry and rifling through the shelves until he finds an unopened bottle of whiskey buried in the back.

“What are you doin’ with that?” Joel asks. 

“Welcomin’ your new neighbor like the gentleman I am. Sarah, watch the pasta while I show your dad how it’s done,” Tommy replies, heading for the front door, Joel trailing behind him. 

Tommy crosses the street with quick steps, eyeing the porch dubiously as he knocks on the door. Joel stands beside him, hands shoved in his pockets as he curses under his breath about his brother’s stupid antics.

You open the door, dressed this time in a pretty sundress that makes Joel’s mouth go dry. Tommy flashes you a grin and Joel can’t help the annoyance he feels when his brother’s eyes trail over your body.

“Hey there! I’m Tommy Miller, you may have met my dumbass brother over here the other day. I’m certain he didn’t make the best impression, so I just wanted to come over and welcome you to the neighborhood,” he says, holding the whiskey out to you. 

You introduce yourself, ignoring Joel. “Thank you so much, Tommy. Would you like to come in?”

“Sure thing,” his traitorous brother replies, stepping over the threshold. When Joel makes a move to follow, you give him a pointed look before shutting the door in his face. 

“You want a beer, Tommy?” You ask the handsome man in your kitchen. You can’t help but be impressed by the genetics of the Miller family, both men tall and tan and handsome as hell. Sure, one of them could use a lesson on manners, but you’ll admit that since your confrontation your mind has drifted to thoughts of brown eyes and soft dark hair that belong to the brother you left on the porch out of spite.

“Yes, please,” Tommy says politely. You open the dated refrigerator and grab two beer bottles, popping the caps against the countertop and handing one to him. “This sure is a nice place.”

“Thanks. I just inherited it from my grandma,” you explain. “It’s a little…dated.”

He chuckles. “We call it ‘character’ in contractin’.”

“That what you guys do, then? Contracting?”

“Sure is. Miller Brothers Contracting and Construction.” Tommy scratches at the label on the bottle before saying, “Look, I know my brother can come off the wrong way. He didn’t get the social genes. But he’s a good guy, and he’s loved this house since the first time he saw it. Always wanted to buy it, fix it up, raise his little girl here. Maybe add to his family one day.”

You look around the rundown kitchen. You’ve only been here a day and you know you’ve got your work cut out for you. The electrical and plumbing are all outdated, the appliances need replacing, the floors need to be refurbished, and that’s just the first floor. You could use some help with it all, and maybe the grumpy contractor next door who cares about the house could help you with it all.

“I appreciate that he loves the house but…I never met my grandma. Never even knew who she was or that she was even alive, and it’s the only connection I have to her. I don’t know if this is going to be my forever but…I want to at least give it a shot.”

Tommy smiles. “We could help with that.”

It feels like ages before Tommy’s stepping back out onto the porch, a beer in his hand that makes Joel frown.

“Y’all were havin’ drinks while I sat out here like an ass?” He asks incredulously. Tommy throws an arm around his brother’s shoulders.

“Yes, and if you don’t quit your whinin’ I’m not goin’ to tell you about our lovely conversation,” the younger man says as he walks with Joel back to his house.

In the kitchen, Sarah is pouring the pasta sauce and ground beef over the noodles. Joel takes over and waves her away, mumbling his thanks as he mixes the ingredients together. He sets up two plates, setting one in front of his daughter and sitting down with the other. Tommy makes an affronted sound before fixing his own plate.

“So?” Joel asks. Tommy slurps at his food.

“Was the lady nice?” Sarah asks.

“No,” Joel replies at the same time Tommy says, “Yes.” 

Joel glares at Tommy. “You gonna tell me what she said or what?”

“She ain’t sellin’,” Tommy finally says. “But, she wants to fix the place up. Offered our services so you could get your grubby fuckin’ hands in there.”

“Language,” Joel says, eyes flicking to Sarah. The girl rolls her eyes. “Really?”

“Yep. Better start callin’ the guys. From what I saw we’re dealin’ with electrical from the 50s, plumbing from who knows when, not to mention the HVAC and roof will need to be upgraded, too.” He wipes his mouth with a napkin before grinning at Joel. “You up for the challenge?”

“Hell yeah.”

August 23, 1949

William and I have just been married.

I know, I know. I can’t believe it either. But he is truly the light of my life.

The wedding was charming, if a little gauche. I’m still not abreast of all these new societal expectations that surround a man like William, but I’m willing to try. Today he will be taking me around to view houses in the more opulent neighborhoods, the type of homes I used to gawk at but one of them will be mine.

I must be dreaming.

-R

Joel and Tommy start working on the house right away. Every day there’s a line of pick-up trucks parked on the curb and the sounds of construction start early in the morning and continue into the late evening. The electrician and plumber come through first, updating the wiring and pipes through the whole house. The roofers and HVAC come through next, replacing the crumbling shingles and dated central unit with a split system for each level of the house.

It’s not until the big projects are done that you get to have fun with the place, which is how you found yourself methodically painting the front door a muted lime green early one morning. 

“What do you think you’re doin’?” 

You sigh. Despite Tommy’s assurances that Joel is a great guy beneath the grumpy control freak exterior, you’ve continued to only get the side of the man that grates your nerves.

“What’s it look like I’m doing? I’m painting the door.”

“You can’t paint the door that color,” Joel says, heavy footsteps stomping up your newly repaired porch. 

“Says who?” You retort. You smear another stroke of paint over the sanded wood.

“Me, for one. The historical society, for two.” He pulls the brush from your hand and holds it above his head and out of your reach. The movement drags his shirt up, exposing a strip of tan belly with a trail of dark hair that disappears into the waistband of his jeans.  “Why are you bein’ a pain in the ass?”

“I was put on this earth simply to make your life more difficult, Joel Miller. Isn’t that obvious?” You reply sarcastically. He mumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like you got that right. “What are you even doing over here? It’s Saturday.”

“We’re goin’ to the store. You gotta start pickin’ stuff out for the bathrooms and kitchen,” he says, tossing the paint brush into the tray. “And then we’re gettin’ a new color to cover this up.”

Joel leaves the porch and you follow behind him to the black pick-up truck idling by the sidewalk. He opens the passenger door for you and you raise your eyebrow at the gesture but climb inside.

January 3, 1950

Our New Year’s party is the talk of the town. There were so many people in the house I began to lose count. William had so much champagne ordered I swear we could fill an entire swimming pool with it all. 

The ladies at the club have already begun to ask when we would host our next event. I can’t wait to plan another.

-R

“Can you please focus?” Joel begs, pinching the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He’s laid out three tile combinations, one for each bathroom in the home, and he needs you to look at them but you keep getting distracted.

“You’re no fun,” you huff. You examine the tiles, pointing to a turquoise blue one he’s picked for the shower in the master. “I love that.”

He looks at you in surprise. “Well, I’ll be damned. She can be reasoned with.”

You giggle and Joel can’t help the smile it prompts from him, the sound of your laugh so sweet compared to your sharp tongue. 

“I like the white and blue combinations for upstairs, but in that powder room I want a pink theme,” you tell him. Your eyes search the displays, landing on a blush pink glass subway tile option. “Like this!”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” Joel replies without thinking, taking the sample from you and comparing it next to the floor tile he’d chosen for that bathroom. When he glances at you, you’re giving him a confused look. “What?”

“Nothing,” you reply, shaking your head. “What about the kitchen?”

“What were you thinking for in there?”

“Green cabinets. White and black backsplash, the kind with the little hexagons that look like flowers. I gotta pick out appliances now that the electrical can sustain newer ones, too.” You pause. “And how do you feel about wallpaper?”

“It’s the devil,” Joel replies.

Your grin is downright mischievous. “Excellent.”

February 2, 1956

William had a heart attack. It scared me so badly that I haven’t let him out of my sight since. The doctor said he’s been working too hard, drinking too much, and not sleeping enough. Maybe the parties have started to be too much for him. 

I’ve been feeling unlike myself. Tired, nauseated. Hopefully my heart isn’t troubled, too.

-R

Joel places a hefty order for all the items you’ve picked out today from nearly every aisle of the store - tile for the bathrooms and kitchen, vanities and plumbing fixtures, countertops, lighting, and appliances. While he’s preoccupied with calculations and measurements and pricing things out, you pick out paint and wallpaper for the projects you’ll be able to do on your own.

He finds you a while later, a cart full of paint buckets and supplies. To your surprise, he grins. 

“More paint, huh? You pick a new one for the door?” He asks. You smile back at him, butterflies erupting in your tummy. 

“Yep. Does navy blue suffice, your highness? I thought we could paint the trim the same color.”

Joel nods. “Good choice. Look, I’ve kept you here so long for all the orderin’. You wanna get lunch?”

“Careful, Joel. I’m like a stray cat - once you start feeding me, I might never leave,” you reply with a laugh. You push your heavy cart of paint towards the exit.

You miss the soft smile he gives to your retreating figure.

September 23, 1956

Our daughter is here. She’s the sweetest little thing, though she can screech like a banshee when she sees fit. William is so besotted, he keeps looking between the two of us with stars in his eyes like he can’t believe how lucky he is.

I love them both with my whole heart and soul.

-R

Joel takes you to a retro family diner with black-and-white checkerboard flooring and red vinyl accents with a vintage jukebox in the corner. You’re delighted by the themed menu, eyes immediately zeroing in on the classic malt shakes and french fries. 

Over lunch, Joel actually opens up to you. He tells you about going into construction right out of high school and dragging Tommy into it when he’d gotten back from serving his tour with the Army. He talks about his daughter, Sarah, and you can’t help the smile that stretches your lips as you watch his eyes light up while he talks about his little girl. She’s at a sleepover this weekend, which gave him the extra time to visit the home improvement store this morning.

In turn, you tell him about getting the call from the lawyer one afternoon that changed your life forever. How you’d packed up everything you owned and driven across the country to find out that you had a grandmother that your mother never told you about that left you her entire estate. 

“Wow. That’s…wow,” Joel says when you’ve paused to take a sip of your chocolate shake. 

“Excuse me?” A voice asks. You both look up at the elderly woman dressed in a  t-shirt with the restaurant’s logo and pressed slacks. She smiles. “I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation and ever since you sat down I’ve been wrackin’ my brain tryin’ to place your face and it’s just hit me.”

She holds out a framed black and white photo of six waitresses standing beneath the same sign that’s still out front, all of them grinning at the camera. There’s one face, however, that looks familiar despite you never having seen her.

“Her name was Rebecca. We used to work together. That’s me, right there,” she says, pointing to the girl standing to the woman’s left. “Rolled up to town at eighteen, fresh off a divorce and hardly a penny to her name. My daddy, god rest his soul, he owned the restaurant and gave her a job when she’d come through lookin’ for work.”

“Wow,” you murmur. “This is insane. Do you have any other pictures?”

She gives you a sympathetic smile. “‘Fraid not, darlin’. Just the one. But I know she kept a lot of journals. Was always scribblin’ in one and spent what little extra cash she had makin’ sure she had a new notebook ready. Maybe they’re still around?”

July 16, 1958

William…

William is gone. My light, my love, my world. The doctor said his heart just…stopped. In his sleep, right beside me. 

I have to continue to live with a hole in my own heart, the piece that William stole years ago gone with him. 

But I have to be strong for our daughter. Our brave girl, my little bird.

-R

When Joel brings you back to the house, you stare up at the facade, wondering if the journals the woman had spoken about could still be inside. Lost in thought, your eyes land on the little window that sits above the bay windows on the second floor, where the master bedroom is. You’ve been sleeping in that room for months now and you know there’s no window there that you can see from the inside. 

“Hey, Joel?” You call out, eyes still fixed on the little window like it might disappear if you look away. “This place is only two stories. How come there’s a window there?”

He looks up at the roof. “Huh. Might be decorative?”

“Or it might be a secret room,” you tell him.

“Okay, Sherlock. Let’s go see.”

You lead him upstairs to the master bedroom, most of your grandma’s furniture still present save for the bed that you replaced upon arriving. You stare up at the ceiling, but it’s smooth - no trap doors to be found.

“If I were a secret door, where would I hide?” You ask.

Joel, who’d been poking his head into the walk-in closet, replies, “Probably the closet.”

There’s a creak of old hinges as Joel reaches up high and tugs the brass pull handle fixed in the ceiling. A descending ladder falls to the ground and you both stare at each other in surprise.

“I’ll go grab a flashlight,” Joel offers, sprinting from the room. You stare up at the hole in the ceiling, anticipation thrumming in your veins.

He returns quickly. “I’ll go up first.”

“Ever the gentleman,” you tease, watching as he ascends the ladder, your eyes shamelessly fixed to his ass as he climbs. You hear the click of the flashlight and see the sweep of the beam through the opening in the ceiling. “Anything?”

“Lots of suitcases. Hang on, let me grab one of the small ones,” he calls down. There’s the sound of something being dragged across the floor before he’s slowly lowering a leather suitcase into your hands. 

It’s surprisingly heavy and you drag it by the handle to the bedroom, kneeling on the ground to pop the latches and open the dusty lid. Inside are stacks of leather bound notebooks, edges of the pages yellow with age. 

“I’ll be damned,” Joel says, wiping his palms against his jeans. “We found the journals.”

Joel drags the suitcase downstairs, setting it in the living room for you while you order pizza and open a bottle of wine for the occasion. You sit beside each other on the couch and he hands you a journal that you carefully open. 

May 17, 1974

We had another argument last night. She claims that I’ve been too overbearing, too protective, too stifling, but what else is a mother meant to do? 

-R

May 18, 1974

Her bed was cold and empty this morning. Her piggy bank smashed to bits on the floor and her drawers cleared. Despite my tight grip, my little bird has flown away.

It appears that history does repeat itself. Imagine that.

-R

“Holy shit,” you say, sitting back on the couch with your glass of wine in one hand and one of your grandma’s journals in the other. “She ran away.”

“Who did?” Joel asks, biting into a slice of pizza. 

“My mom. She just…packed up and disappeared.” You glance at him. “Guess that’s why I never knew about her.”

“Maybe you should stop uncoverin’ dark family secrets for the night,” Joel suggests. “You know, the dining room could stand to be painted.”

You glance over to the room in question. Joel must have set down the drop cloth on the floor while you’d been engrossed in your discovery.

“Sure. Why not,” you acquiesce. 

October 29, 1976

I’ve received an envelope of photographs in the mail, pictures of my daughter holding a little baby. She’s written notes on the back of each one. I’m a grandmother.

My daughter looks happy. Healthy. That’s all I can ask. She didn’t provide a return address. 

As for the baby…I love her so much. She takes my breath away. I keep one of the photos on me at all times.

-R

Joel turns on the radio while he works, humming along to the classic rock station selections. He’s been working on painting the wall near the wood molding while he left you with a paint roller to cover the middle of the wall. He looks up at you occasionally, admiring the way your muscles work as you wash the wall with color. 

You must sense that he’s watching, turning your head over your shoulder and looking at him curiously. “What?”

“Nothin’,” he says. You smile at him, setting the roller in the tray. He can’t help but look at your ass in your tight leggings as you bend over.

You straighten up, walking over to him. There’s a glint in your eye that has Joel on high alert.

“You got a little something on your face,” you tell him. 

“No, I don’t,” he counters. He’s a master at painting. He knows damn well he doesn’t have a drop on him.

“Yeah, you do,” you argue. You reach out, and your fingers smooth across his forehead. “Right there!”

Joel’s mouth drops open in surprise and he lets out a bark of laughter, bringing his fingers up to his forehead. When he pulls his hand away, they’re stained blue and you’re grinning at him like a mad woman.

“Yeah? Well, you got some right—“ He smears his paintbrush across your chest and you try to step back, but it’s too late. “—there,” he finishes.

You rush back to the paint tray and dip your hands in the liquid, brandishing your palms like weapons. He starts to advance on you, smirking as you back up.

“Stay back,” you command. Joel laughs, dodging your swinging arms as he charges, dropping low to press a shoulder into your belly, dragging you down to the ground in a heap of limbs.

He presses his body to yours as he reaches an arm out to the paint tray, covering his own hand in paint. Your eyes go wide and you squirm beneath him, your paint covered palms reaching up under his shirt to press the cold liquid to his ribs. He flinches away, giving you enough room to scramble out from under him.

Joel grabs your arm, paint smearing on your skin as he tugs you back down. You wrestle together, paint getting everywhere as he lets you straddle his waist. His hands grip your hips, fingers pressing tightly as he stares up into your face.

“You win,” he murmurs, voice low. Your lashes flutter, hips canting over the obvious bulge in his jeans. He groans, hands urging you to do it again.

“What’s my prize?” 

Joel slips his fingers beneath the hem of your tank top, dragging the paint stained material up and over your head and tossing it aside. His gaze burns across your newly exposed skin.

“You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, you know that?” He says, a hand sliding up your belly to palm one of your breasts. Your head drops back as you moan. 

“You’re not so bad yourself,” you reply. He chuckles, a deep rumble in his chest as his eyes grow darker, his gaze more heated. “Come on, Miller. What’s my prize?”

With a growl Joel sits up, wrapping an arm around your low back and twisting your bodies until you’re on your back, staring up at him as his lips stretch in a devious smirk. His fingers curl into the waistband of your leggings, sliding the fabric down your legs. His touch paints your skin blue as he does.

His hands press your thighs apart, opening you up. Your cheeks heat as he stares down at you like he’s trying to commit every curve of you to his memory. Finally, he leans in and you can feel his breath ghosting over your heated flesh.

Joel’s tongue traces through your slick folds, a broad stroke that has you gasping and arching your back. He hums against your sensitive flesh as he repeats the languid motion, his stubble catching on the soft skin of your inner thighs.

You reach your hands down to tangle in his hair, paint catching on the strands as you tug and pull. He groans against you, tongue moving faster as he circles your clit before pulling it between his lips. A hand leaves your thigh, the one not coated in paint, and two thick fingers press to your entrance, sliding inside of you as you gasp out Joel’s name.

“Christ,” he groans as he presses in deep before withdrawing slowly, curling his digits against your front wall, “you’re so fuckin’ wet, pretty girl. That for me?”

“Uh huh,” you reply, breathless as you work your hips to the rhythm of his fingers. Joel watches you, his lips and chin shiny from his efforts. “Joel, please!”

“Please what?” His hand moves faster, fingers pressing harder as his lips spread in a lascivious grin that makes your toes curl. “Come on, baby, ask me real nice and I’ll give you anythin’. Ain’t that right? You know damn well you’ve had me wrapped around your sassy little finger since the moment we met, don’t you?”

You whine, nodding your head quickly. “Knew you were a glutton for punishment.”

“Could say that again,” he says, chuckling as he lands a smash to the outside of your thigh with his free hand. “Now, come on, baby. Follow directions. Tell me what you want.”

“Wanna cum, Joel. Please!”

“Good girl,” he growls, lowering his lips to your pussy to lick at your clit. He hums as he lavishes the sensitive bud with attention and it’s the final push you need over the razor's edge you’d been teetering on since he started. You press your thighs against his head as your nerves light up and your muscles go tight with pleasure, his movements slowing as he works you through your release.

Your muscles go limp, head dropping back to the floor with a thunk. Joel sits up, crawling up your body and trailing kisses across your tummy and chest in the patches of skin not covered by paint. He grips your chin, holding you steady as his lips press to yours in a kiss so deep you worry you’re at risk of drowning.

Your hands fumble with his belt, pulling the leather free of the loops in a frenzy. He stands quickly, freeing himself of his jeans and boxers in one motion before reaching behind his head to tug his shirt off while you admire his labor-toned body.

Joel drops to his knees, pressing his hips to yours and dragging the thick head of his cock through your sensitive pussy, bumping your clit and making you both groan in tandem. His forearms rest on the floor beside your head as he teases you like this, slow drags of his length through your wetness, the tantalizing catch of him at your aching hole. You tilt your hips slightly, hoping he gets the hint, and he chuckles.

“You know the drill, baby,” he says, breathless with his own desire. “Just say the word.”

“Fuck me, Joel, please.”

His cock slips inside of you with little resistance, the stretch of him making you gasp. His eyes remain fixed to yours as he bottoms out and you smile up at him, reaching up to wrap your arms around his shoulders.

Joel gives a small, experimental thrust that makes your eyes roll back with pleasure. He does it again, a sharper snap of his hips making you cry out and dig your nails into his shoulder. He builds his own rhythm, one that has your hips chasing his on every pull from your body, one that has you chanting his name and staring up at him like he’s a god and you’re simply a sacrifice on his altar. 

He sits back on his heels, the angle changing as your hips get lifted onto his lap. His hands wrap around your waist, fingertips pressing tightly to your ribs as he uses your body for his pleasure, pounding into you roughly.

“Cum for me again,” he demands, bringing a thumb to your clit in quick circles. “Come on, sweetheart, want you to cum on my cock. Was so pretty on my fingers.”

Tears prick at the corners of your eyes at the near overstimulation but you nod, wanting to give this man whatever he wants if it means he’ll keep touching you, holding you, looking at you. 

You cum again with a shout of his name and he groans, deep and visceral as he presses in deep, holding your hips to his as his cock pulses inside of you with his release.

Joel slowly lowers your hips to the ground, withdrawing from your body as he does. He flops gracelessly to the floor beside you, sweat damp chest heaving with exertion. His head turns to yours, grin wide and eyes bright.

“You’re covered in paint,” he comments, reaching out to run his hand across a streak on your collarbone.

“So are you,” you reply, mimicking the gesture against his ribs. 

“What do you say to a shower?”

You smirk at him before jumping up and racing to the doorway. 

“I’d say last one there doesn’t get the hot water!”

You can hear his curse as you rush up the stairs, making it halfway before a strong arm wraps around you and stops you in your tracks, your laughter echoing through the house.

June 27, 1993

The neighborhood has changed so vastly. Much of the older homes have been torn down and replaced with less handsome architecture. The residents grow younger while I continue to age. Just last week a handsome young man and his darling daughter moved in down the street. He looks exhausted. I remember those days.

Not all the neighbors are lovely. Harold next door has an annoying dog that barks at all hours. He prances her around like a show pony, when she’s just a yappy little creature.

-R

ONE YEAR LATER

The house is finally finished. All the tile has been laid, everything has been painted, appliances delivered, holes repaired, fixtures installed, and wallpaper glued. You go downstairs for coffee in the morning, you take it to the parlor room you’ve made into a study. Floor to ceiling bookshelves display every journal you’d unearthed from the hiding place in the attic, each one read through cover to cover. 

When you finally told your mom about what you’d been up to, her surprise and hurt could be felt even through the phone. You mailed one of her mother’s journals to her.

“I’m sorry,” she said the next time you spoke. “So much time had passed and I didn’t know how to fix what I’d broken.”

You don’t begrudge her decisions. Your grandma left you her story, and through that you’ve been able to know her.

Heavy footsteps on the stairs precede Joel’s appearance in the study, his hair messy from sleep and his eyes half shut. He drops beside you on the couch, grabbing your coffee from your hands and taking a sip of it.

“Is it everything you’ve always wanted?” You ask him, tilting your head to his shoulder. You still remember the way he’d been desperate to buy the house from you and you laugh at how the world works, given that he now wakes up in bed beside you and is tasked with the lawn maintenance every weekend. He presses a kiss to your head. 

“It’s even better.”

June 29, 1993

I don’t think the dog will be bothering the neighborhood again anytime soon.

Turns out he doesn’t hold as much pride for the dog when she’s been dyed lime green.

Imagine that.

-R

Want more Joel Miller? Check out my masterlist!

[constellationguy]

Imagine

A little treat to listen to while you read~

-Just imagine being extremely close to the Todoroki family growing up and becoming best friends with the eldest, Touya.

-You guys stick together through thick and thin, even when he eventually disappears in your early teen years you get these letters that are clearly from Touya but can’t be tracked back to him.

-His family is devastated with his “death” and cling to you as you are the closest thing to their lost son.

-As you grow up, you and Touya start dating and you are both thrilled. His family is also so proud that you “got over him” and are dating this mystery guy you refuse to talk about.

-When Touya joins LOV with the one condition to talk to a lawyer about “getting away from his old life”.

-Touya brings you to meet the lawyer and within the first few minutes a marriage contract is placed in front of you two and you are married seconds later.

-Touya also informs you he made a will, should he die on a mission with the LOV or something similar, all his assets will go to you as his wife and beneficiary.

-When you marry “Dabi” you are characterized as sort of faceless mob wife, no one knows who you are and Dabi will keep it that way.

-Touya tries to keep you away from the other villains and the danger of it all but if you are harassed by literally anyone, villain or drunk citizen, heros will quickly find a man burnt to a crisp with a letter stapled to his forehead that reads “harassed a married woman”.

-Since you technically legally changed your name through marriage you now have to hide your mail from the Todoroki family or lie and say you found someone with the same last name.

-You keep your maiden name or go by your first name in business and social settings so no rumor of you marrying into the Todoroki family gets out.

-So now you are married your best friend and love of your life, you move into his apartment and you have a sweet domestic life with him.

-Since you are still close to the Todoroki’s it doesn’t take long for one of the siblings to notice the ring on your finger.

-They practically harass you to meet the man you married, they obviously can’t and when they keep being pushy about it you have to lie that your husband is away on work most of the year and that you don’t like him anyway.

-Touya doesn’t mind that you say this, he knows you love him dearly and in fact finds it funny. He even gives you more lies to tell his family.

-Imagine being stuck in the middle of having a dreamy yet terrifying married life with Touya Todoroki and not being able to tell his family who you’re married to and that their eldest son is still alive, and a villain on top of it.

—————————————————————————

I am getting so much Dabi content on my fyp rn and it’s pretty great. Probably won’t post much MHA content unless this is received well, if it it I can and MHA to the list if shows I write for. ❤️

[trlvsn]

phoenix wright making apollo justice present forged evidence is, as rightfully rage-inducing as it is, also perfectly understandable and even justifiable to an extent. in this essay i will not cut my introduction off with an old-fashioned tumblr punchline and will actually elaborate on why i think so and what i think about phoenix wright in general.

the first few paragraphs will be rather surface-level, but bear with me: i'm writing this in one breath. it has already been established that the change in phoenix's character was so big and shocking that the fandom is still actively discussing it and making theories. i have seen people compare his sprites with mia and diego, kristoph and miles, yanni yogi and many others, and every single on of them is, in in my opinion, correct: there are actual similarities between them, intentional or not. i believe it can all be explained with two simple statements. one: phoenix is a sponge of a man. even before aa4, we frequently see him adopt mannerisms and figures of speech from the people he encounters. he learns, he absorbs, he changes, but only for a short while, as he stays true to his motivations, passions and drive. two: the seven years of being watched by kristoph and collecting data made him turn to that mimicking quality of his and use it as a weapon. phoenix wright could not afford to reveal his true motivations, therefore, he could not reveal what he was in general. it's a simple metaphor, really.

did he get lost in the deceptions somewhere along the way? absolutely. "what tangled webs we weave when we practice to deceive", a line said by him about kristoph, can easily be applied to phoenix. this is where the bloody ace comes in. incidentally, he is given the idea by zak: he is the one who says one can't win unless there's a ace up their sleeve, and, no matter how much of an influence that particular phrase had on wright, he follows the principle. here is phoenix's first motive for forging the ace: insurance. without concrete, dooming evidence, a trial could not end in his favor at the time. phoenix wright, post-disbarment, is no longer a man who relies on bluffs and "just believing in the client", he is strongly dissapointed in the system, outraged, offended, hurt, wounded, and he does not trust it at all, hence the dirty tricks. you can't just play fair against something unfair and win.

what i find far more interesting however, are his other motives. if the only thing that drive him to forgery was distrust and carefulness, he would have shared the plan with apollo or, perhaps, done something similar to the turnabout succession trial, where the letter is shown to the culprit, but never submitted as evidence and quickly admitted as a fake. really, i believe he is smart enough to find other ways. however, he doesn't. he gives the ace to apollo in a very specific way: through trucy wright, not a word of proper explanation. why is that? he is teaching apollo a lesson.

clearly, something about apollo reminds phoenix of himself. a young, bright, nervous mind, fighting for the truth and justice, full of belief, a little naive. phoenix knows what that naivety cost him, and he destroys it right away, because then it will hurt less, he thinks. the forged ace is a vaccine of sorts: you will experience some minor symptoms, but no actual serious consequences, and it will hurt for a moment, but for the rest of your life, you will never catch that sickness again. phoenix is already planning the jurist system reform and has already planned how this trial will go: the environment is controlled and safe for apollo, he will not get disbarred. if the truth is revealed later, under the new system, surely apollo won't be receiving the same harsh punishment wright did. so here you go, kid, learn your lesson, punch a lawyer or two in the face, and never ever, ever trust anyone like that ever again.

but wait, if the truth does get revealed, who will be receiving the punishment for it? of course, the man who forged the evidence, phoenix wright. here comes the third reason: punishment.

remember the class trial? young phoenix wright, blamed for a crime he didn't commit, overwhelmed and crying. what does the abandoned child do when the whole class accuses him of stealing? he stands up slowly and comes up to the kid with the grey hair to apologize for the money he stole but did not steal. he admits it. it doesn't matter what the truth is anymore, because if everyone thinks you did it, you might as well have.

you might as well do it again, for real this time, and maybe a weight will fall off your shoulders, because what you see in yourself will finally match the image the whole world has of you.

phoenix wright is working on the jurist system. phoenix wright is a father and phoenix wright is someone who will do his best to put kristoph gavin to jail. that doesn't mean phoenix wright sees any other use or future for himself. it simply does not matter. well, by the end of the first case, anyway.

he gathers more evidence. he thinks, a lot. he gives apollo advice on the cases, inevitability reminiscing. the new system is a success. in a new, better world, maybe he will take some piano lessons: he has grown tired of pretending he can play. he has grown tired of pretending in general. hell, maybe he will even take the bar exam again.

[metalmonki]

Objection! Part 5

Rafael Barba x fem!Carisi!reader

2.1k word count

Summary All you wanted was to be a lawyer like your big brother Sonny. So what happens when you get a job working under the famous ADA Rafael Barba

slow-burn, colleague to friends to lovers

Previous Chapter / Next Chapter

For months the days where just as busy as that first day. Some days were filled with paperwork, some days were spent entirely at the courthouse. More and more I was working independently of Rafael only crossing paths briefly to hand off files or to discuss a case. Rafael had even organised me my own office. As much as I enjoyed the newfound freedom within the DA’s office, I was also missing being so close to Rafael. We still had a little meetings, casual lunches and nights out with the SVU team, but it became less of us and more the whole team.

Finally, a case came up that allowed me to work closely with Rafael again. What started as a runaway with no connection to SVU and turned into a possible stranger abduction had become a massive manhunt for a yet unknown person who was enjoying taunting Rafael in the form of letters with clues which to places with more clues that lead to dead ends. 2 months and hundreds of mans hours had been put into finding this person and we were still no closer. No name, no witnesses, no evidence and 7 missing teenagers. We had rearranged the entire SVU pull pen pushing all tables to the sides and filling the middle of the room with drawing boards. I was currently sat staring at the clues we had been sent. The first ever letter we received from this guy told us that we would find the missing teen just by following his clues. Yet all the clues had led to dead ends. Something wasn’t adding up, something didn’t make sense.

“Y/n we have to go update the mayor” Rafael said coming to a stop next to me.

“Yeah, yeah coming”

“You’ve been staring at these notes for ages” Rafael sliding his hands into his pockets.

“Somethings bothering me about them. I feel like we’ve missed something” I say eyes not leaving the boards in front of me.

“You’ve been working for almost 40 hours, lets update the mayor then you can go home and get some sleep.” Rafael held out a hand to help me up.

I took Rafael’s hand and stood, though my eyes lingered on the boards a second longer. The sketches, cryptic letters, and scribbled coordinates seemed to mock me, each taunt from our unknown suspect ringing louder in my mind. But he was right—I needed a clear head if I was going to see whatever was lurking in the details.

As we made our way to the mayor's office, I replayed the clues in my mind, hoping a fresh perspective or a conversation might help connect the dots. This case had turned into something personal for everyone involved, especially for Rafael, whose frustration was mounting with each letter that slipped through our fingers and led to nothing.

In the elevator, he broke the silence. “You know, we’re close. I can feel it.”

I glanced at him, seeing the exhaustion mirrored in his expression. But there was something else too—a simmering determination that made me feel as if we were on the brink of a breakthrough.

“You think he’s messing with us on purpose?” I asked, voicing a theory that had been nagging me.

“Absolutely. He’s got a plan,” Rafael said, his jaw tight. “And he wants us chasing our tails.”

The elevator doors opened to reveal the marble hall leading to the mayor’s office, but before we could step out, Rafael's phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and his face darkened.

“It’s another message.”

A chill ran down my spine as he opened the new text. Another cryptic line: "When you reach the end of the labyrinth, the prize will be in plain sight. If you just open your eyes." It was as if the perpetrator could sense our frustration, even knew that we were about to speak with the mayor.

“Another clue,” I whispered, looking over Rafael’s shoulder. But something was different this time. The tone—it wasn’t taunting. It was almost... instructional.

Rafael took a deep breath, as if steadying himself. “Looks like we’re not going home anytime soon.”

“No,” I said, a spark of determination reigniting. “But I think we’re finally starting to understand his game.”

As we turned back toward the precinct, abandoning the meeting with the mayor, my exhaustion melted into resolve. I’d follow every hint, trace every step. This time, I was determined to beat him at his own game.

…

The precinct was quiet, nearly deserted, with only the faint hum of overhead lights filling the silence. Midnight was approaching, and most of the team had taken off for a quick break. Olivia and Rafael had left to grab food for everyone, Amanda was somewhere in the break room nursing yet another coffee, and Sonny was curled up in the bunk room, catching some much-needed rest. Finn had gone out hours ago to chase down a lead.

I sat in front of the board, staring at the latest clue we’d pinned up: "When you reach the end of the labyrinth, the prize will be in plain sight. If you just open your eyes."

A familiar presence broke the silence beside me as Nick ambled over, arms crossed, eyes scanning the chaotic tangle of clues, locations, and scrawled notes we’d collected over the past two months. He’d been watching me closely for a while, occasionally throwing out theories, but mostly letting me sift through my own thoughts.

“Still chewing on that one?” he asked, tilting his head toward the new clue.

I nodded, barely looking at him. “Yeah. This one’s different. It’s… almost like he’s taunting us less, like he’s trying to lead us to something.”

Nick furrowed his brow, clearly considering it. “Or maybe he’s getting cocky, slipping up a little.”

I tapped my pen against my notebook, scanning the list of locations we’d already searched, the cryptic clues leading us from one dead-end to another. I was exhausted, but something kept gnawing at me, like an itch I couldn’t quite scratch. We’d been to all these places, followed every lead, yet somehow, I felt like I’d been staring right at the answer without seeing it.

My mind flashed back to the first letter—the one he’d sent that started this whole twisted game. "You'll find them if you look beyond the obvious."

A realization hit me, cold and electric. “Nick,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “What if we’ve been overthinking this? Maybe the answer isn’t at the end of some long, winding path—it’s been right in front of us all along.”

Nick leaned in, interest sparking in his eyes. “You think he’s hidden something we’ve overlooked?”

“Yes. Or maybe he’s been hiding in plain sight, knowing we’d miss it because we were too focused on finding something complex.” I scanned the board again, every location we’d been to flickering through my mind. Parks, subway stations, alleys, all public spaces with no clear connection other than being… central.

My eyes widened. “Nick, what if he’s been using these places to form a pattern, like a… map?”

Nick straightened, a gleam of understanding lighting his face. “So you think he’s been leading us in circles—maybe around somewhere specific?”

“Exactly.” I felt my pulse quicken. “I think he’s been taunting us by leading us right around his hiding spot, and he’s getting a thrill out of knowing we haven’t found it. But I need to check, and I can’t explain why just yet.”

I turned to Nick, urgency thickening in my voice. “Come with me. We have to go now, but don’t tell anyone. Not until we’re sure.”

He looked at me, searching my face, his jaw tightening as he weighed my request. Then, without another word, he grabbed his jacket off the back of a nearby chair. “Alright, I’m with you.”

We slipped out of the precinct, moving quickly and quietly down the stairwell and out the back exit. The chill of the night air hit me as we stepped onto the empty street, adrenaline sparking through my veins.

“You have any idea where we’re headed?” he asked as we walked.

I gave him a small smile, my confidence growing. “I do. I just hope I’m right.”

And as we headed toward our destination, a strange sense of clarity washed over me. The missing piece was within reach; I could feel it. This time, we weren’t going to let him slip through our fingers.

The streets were empty as Nick and I navigated our way through the quiet alleys, following my hunch toward one of the oldest and most forgotten parts of New York’s sewer system. With each step, the city above felt more distant, the buildings looming like silent witnesses to our descent. We slipped through an unmarked, rusted gate, making our way down a narrow, crumbling stairwell that reeked of mold and decay. Somewhere ahead of us was an answer—a clue, maybe even one of the missing teens—but right now, every instinct was screaming that this was a mistake.

“Are you sure about this?” Nick murmured as we approached a door at the end of the passage, barely visible in the dim light of my flashlight.

“Positive,” I whispered back, my voice tight with anticipation and dread. The door was dented and corroded, with a single piece of paper pinned to it. I lifted my flashlight, illuminating a simple, handwritten message: Welcome, Rafael Barba.

A shiver ran down my spine as I stared at the name, the ink bold and deliberate. “He was expecting Rafael,” I whispered, pulling the note down with a trembling hand.

Nick glanced around, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. “Looks like he planned something special.”

I crumpled the note, stuffing it in my pocket. “We’re here now. Let’s see what he had in mind.”

I pushed the door open, and we stepped inside, the smell of damp concrete and rust thickening in the air. Before I could react, the door slammed shut behind us with a heavy clang, echoing through the tunnel as it locked into place. Nick spun around, yanking on the handle, but it didn’t budge.

“It’s locked,” he muttered, frustration flashing in his eyes.

I felt my stomach twist as an unsettling silence settled over us, thick and foreboding. And then, a crackle overhead—a faint hum of static that made my heart pound. Somewhere in the darkness, an intercom system buzzed to life, and a voice filled the room, low and edged with disappointment.

“Well, well,” the voice drawled, with an eerie calmness that sent chills down my spine. “I was expecting Rafael Barba. But instead, he sends his… assistant.” A pause, as if he were savoring the surprise. “Not what I had hoped for. But I suppose you’ll do.”

I clenched my fists, anger simmering beneath my fear. “If you wanted Barba, maybe you should’ve faced him directly, instead of hiding behind your little clues.”

The voice chuckled, a cold, amused sound. “You misunderstand, my dear. This was never about facing Barba—it was about creating something he couldn’t ignore. A labyrinth, an elaborate little puzzle designed just for him. I wanted to watch him sweat, watch him chase his own tail. Just like I had to do when I begged him to take my sisters case” He paused, his tone turning playful. “But now, it seems I’ll get to see you and your friend test your wits instead.”

Nick tightened his grip on his flashlight, his jaw clenched. “We’re not playing your game.”

“Oh, but you already are,” the voice purred. “In fact, you’re at the very heart of it.”

I scanned the room, my pulse racing. The walls were lined with passages, each one barely visible in the dim light, twisting and disappearing into darkness. The intercom crackled again, the voice practically dripping with satisfaction.

“I’ve left you a series of clues,” he continued, “if you can find them, that is. Each path you choose will lead you deeper into the labyrinth. Or… to a dead end.” He laughed softly, the sound echoing around us. “And who knows? Maybe you’ll even get out alive.”

Nick shot me a look, his expression deadly serious. “What’s the plan, then?”

I took a deep breath, steadying myself. “We play along. For now. But we stay sharp and look for a way to turn this back on him. He thinks he’s got us trapped, but that’s his first mistake.”

The intercom crackled again. “Tick-tock, Y/N. Time is running out. I’ll be watching—don’t disappoint me.”

The line went silent, leaving us in darkness, with only the soft, persistent drip of water echoing through the tunnels. I gritted my teeth, the weight of the situation sinking in. He wanted a game? We’d give him one he wouldn’t forget.

Tag List!

@geeksareunique @pinkladydevotee

[bestjeanistmonster]

about ur dc au, who is alfred? or is there an alfred

Alfred is Vanilla! She’s been serving the Wayne family since she was 15, taking over her mother’s position

She wasn’t particularly close with the family at first on an emotional level, her job to mostly being to take care if matters and essentially be a part of the furniture but she did manage to bond a bit with lil knuckles.

She was actually planning on quitting to find a less tiring job but then his parents died in crime alley when he was 6.

She had to pick the little guy up from the station and she hugged him as he cried in her arms

For the next 2 years she took care of him, cheered him up, took him to school, fed him, and tried her best to give him a childhood he would enjoy, to be that comforting presence in his life to help him heal from his loss and incredible trauma (his late father hadn’t rlly approved of letting his son goof off and had him focus on his studies and physical training). They both grew terribly close to each other in that time.

But then when Knuckles turned 8, Vanilla informed that Knuckles was to be moved someplace else as the request of his father in his will.

Knuckles didn’t want to leave and Vanilla didn’t want to let him go but she knew she didn’t have a say, so she assured him that she’ll still be here, attending to the manor until he returned. She was not allowed to know where he would be taken so she had to hope that he’d be alright, any letters she sent had to sent through a third party for Knuckles to receive them.

During those 7 years Vanilla ended up having a daughter but due to a city wide accident they were separated and the police couldn’t find her, Vanilla was devastated

When Knuckles returned at age 15 after receiving a letter from his dad’s lawyers that he can now return and receive his inheritance, Vanilla was 24 years old. She could hardly believe the young master had grown so much but she was very horrified to learn that his father had asked for his son to be dropped in the middle of the woods a few cities away so he can have ‘experience in the real world and put what he’d learnt to good use’

Vanilla thinks Knuckles’s father is a piece of shit. (This lady is the best and i love her sm)

[mariacallous]

Since Russia started military operations against Ukraine in 2014, it has abducted or detained at least 60 Ukrainian reporters and media workers – some of whom have vanished without trace.

The father of Ukrainian journalist Viktoriia Roshchyna, who went missing in the summer of 2023 and was detained in Russia, received a letter last month from the Russian Ministry of Defence.

It informed him that Roshchyna had died in custody and that they intended to repatriate her body as part of an exchange of war dead with Ukraine.

More than a month has passed since then, but despite the assurances, Russia has not yet returned his daughter’s body for burial.

The Ukrainian organisation Media Initiative for Human Rights, MIHR, said Roshchyna had been working as a freelance journalist when she was taken. She had worked for various Ukrainian and international media outlets and disappeared during a field trip to the Russian-occupied part of Ukraine’s southeastern Zaporizhzhia region in August 2023.

Roshchyna had been gathering material for publication about the occupiers holding elections for the Russian parliament, the destruction of the Kakhovka hydroelectric power station and the situation at the Zaporizhzhia nuclear power plant in Eherhodar.

Russia kept her incommunicado for more than a year, the MIHR said, officially recognising her detention only in May 2024, but without clarifying the legal processes against her or allowing her to see a lawyer.

“There was an extremely limited amount of information, and no responses to official requests made by the family. For a long time, the family has been in a state of such uncertainty that it can be considered torture, as the uncertainty about the fate of their family member has affected their psycho-emotional state,” said Yevheniia Kapalkina, from the human rights organisation Ukrainian Legal Advisory Group, which is representing the family.

The Ukrainian media rights organisation, the Institute of Mass Information, IMI, says that 30 journalists are currently illegally imprisoned by Russian forces in Ukrainian-occupied territory, including in Crimea.

The chair of the IMI, Oksana Romaniuk, said Russia and its proxies have detained 60 media workers, citizen journalists and bloggers since 2014. Some of them, she added, were arbitrarily detained without any charges or procedural status.

According to Kapalkina, the Russian Ministry of Defence only relays partial information about detainees held by Russia to their families through the International Committee of the Red Cross, ICRC.

Information is not provided in all cases, and when it is, often it is not enough for the families to understand the current situation in which their loved ones are being held because they receive the news late and all correspondence is censored.

According to a Facebook post by Tetiana Katrychenko, director of the MIHR, Roshchyna was held in at least two penal colonies, in Russian-occupied Berdiansk and in Taganrog, in the Rostov region of Russia.

“Since the first months of the full-scale invasion, Russians have been using both places to detain Ukrainian military and civilians, including women,” Katrychenko wrote.

“Taganrog (and Berdiansk where torture with electric shocks was documented) is known as one of the most brutal places of detention for Ukrainians in the Russian Federation. Former prisoners call it hell on earth,” she added.

Journalists seen as ‘the enemy’

IMI chairperson Oksana Romaniuk said that Russia has repeatedly sought to portray captive Ukrainian civilians as prisoners of war.

“An example is Dmytro Khyliuk [a correspondent for Ukraine’s UNIAN news agency]. From time to time, we see him mentioned in various Russian Telegram channels and captioned as some kind of military man. But he absolutely had nothing to do with the army. This way the Russians are trying to argue why they are illegally detaining a civilian,” Romaniuk said.

According to the IMI, almost all those who have been released from arbitrary imprisonment report torture, ill-treatment and refusal to provide medical assistance to prisoners in detention.

“Russia considers journalists to be enemies,” Romaniuk said. “We see this not only in the way they take journalists hostage. We also see this when Russian snipers shoot at people marked as the press,” she said.

She cited the case of Bohdan Bitik, a Ukrainian working for the Italian newspaper La Repubblica who was killed in a Russian attack in Kherson in April 2023.

“He was shot by a sniper, although he was wearing this blue ‘Press’ vest and had a camera in his hands,” she explained.

According to the IMI, since the full-scale invasion began, Russia has killed 12 journalists in Ukraine, both local and foreign, while they were carrying out their professional duties.

The head of the criminal legal policy department at the Ukrainian prosecutor general’s office, Oleksiy Bonyuk, has stated that by November 2024, the office was investigating 107 war crimes committed against journalists.

According to Bonyuk, there have so far been four indictments charging nine people in cases related to crimes against journalists, three of whom have already been found guilty.

Abductions are ‘systematic’, say activists

Ukrainian human rights activists allege that there is a systematic Russian practice of abducting journalists in the occupied areas, holding them incommunicado and ill-treating them, and that there has been a lack of international pressure to stop such crimes.

Before Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine on February 2022, Anastasiia Hlukhovska, a journalist from Melitopol, in the Zaporizhzhia region, worked for local outlet RIA Melitopol, specialising in social issues, said her sister, Diana.

“In the very first days of the invasion, Melitopol was occupied by Russian forces. We all realised that Anastasiia had to stop doing journalism because journalists are at risk. It’s not that they are just risking their careers or anything like that, they are risking their lives,” said Diana Hlukhovska.

“After that, Anastasiia didn’t do any journalistic work, just ran the household. She was at home almost all the time in Melitopol and we talked regularly. Everything was relatively good, but she was constantly afraid that something would happen, even though she had cut off all ties with the profession,” she continued.

On August 20, 2023, Anastasiia Hlukhovska stopped responding to calls. As her sister later found out, the Russian military had abducted her from her home and searched her apartment. “She was supposed to meet our mother that day,” she said.

According to her sister, Anastasiia has not been in touch since. Their mother went to the occupying commander’s headquarters in Melitopol and tried to find out where her daughter was being held. But everywhere she went, she received the response that her daughter was not there.

“We made inquiries. The FSB [Russian intelligence service] said they knew nothing. Well, of course. But the Russian prosecutor’s office confirmed to us that Anastasiia was taken into custody,” Diana Hlukhovska said.

About a year ago, she saw a video on Telegram in which she recognised Anastasiia with several other people being detained.

At dawn on the same day that Anastasiia was seized, Russian forces also seized three administrators of Melitopol-based Telegram channels that distribute local news, Heorgiy Levchenko, Yana Suvorova and Vladyslav Hershon. According to Reporters Without Borders, at the end of September this year, they were possibly being held in the Russian-occupied city of Mariupol in the Donetsk region.

For more than a year, Anastasiia Hlukhovska’s family has had almost no news about her. Her relatives collect any references they see to her in the media or get from released Ukrainian prisoners of war who are often held by Russia together with arbitrarily imprisoned civilians.

“We know she was in Melitopol last August, when she was captured. And recently we found out that she was in Taganrog [in Russia],” Diana Hlukhovska said. “The family is in a state of such uncertainty that it’s like a form of torture.”

Geneva Conventions not observed

Some Ukrainian journalists have been illegally detained in Russia for almost the entire period of Russia’s full-scale invasion, such as UNIAN news agency correspondent Dmytro Khilyuk.

Khyliuk and his father were abducted by the Russian military in March 2022 during their occupation of the Kyiv region, seized from their home village of Kozarovychi. Eight days later, his father was released.

The Russian military first kept Khyliuk in a warehouse in Kozarovychi and in the neighbouring village of Dymer in Kyiv region, and later took him with them as they retreated.

For a long time, there was no information about Khyliuk’s whereabouts. But from interviews with released Ukrainian prisoners of war, his relatives and Ukrainian human rights groups found out that he had been transferred to Pakino, a village in Russia’s Vladimir region, east of Moscow.

Oksana Mykhalevych, a lawyer for his family, said that this spring, Khilyuk’s parents received a message from the Russian Ministry of Defence confirming that their son was being held in Russia. Since then, they have not heard anything.

According to Mykhalevych, the Russian letter refers to international conventions on treatment of prisoners of war and says information about him and his prisoner card have been transferred to the ICRC.

Khilyuk’s family then tried to write to him.

“When some prisoners who had contact with Dmytro while they were in captivity finally got released, they said that Dmytro had not received any letters from his family,” Mykhalevych said.

“So this mechanism provided for by the Geneva Conventions, to which the Russian Ministry of Defence referred in the letter, does not work. They wrote that you can apply through the ICRC and send correspondence and parcels, and they will be handed over. But nothing of the kind happens,” Mykhalevych added.

In July 2024, Reporters Without Borders published the testimony of a Ukrainian prisoner of war who had been released from captivity. He said that he had spent almost a year in the same cell with Khilyuk. According to the freed prisoner, Khilyuk “weighed no more than 45 kilograms” in their time together and did not look much like the photos shown to him for identification.

In a report on Ukrainian civilians arbitrarily detained by Russia, published in spring this year, international experts from the OSCE’s Moscow Mechanism said journalists and human rights defenders have been specifically targeted for enforced disappearances and arbitrary detention in Russia along with local authorities and other public figures who the Russians consider local opinion leaders.

The executive director of the MIHR, Tetiana Katrychenko, said that Russia has been tracing people who have been trying to report on what is happening in the occupation since 2014. She claimed that not only professional journalists are being attacked, but also people who have decided to take over the job of reporting in places where professional Ukrainian journalists have been forced to leave for security reasons.

“It’s not so much [reporting] about the movement of military forces and equipment, but also about trivial things like curfews, the fact that a certain area was actually hit by artillery or drones,” Katrychenko explained.

“We know that a group of people in Russian-occupied Donetsk are being held in penal colonies now, and in pre-trial detention centres before, who were preparing tweets about events in the city. And they were detained for this, and the occupying authorities called them ‘Twitterists’ in their publications. So it’s definitely an attempt by Russia to close down channels that transmit information to the public,” she said.

The Russian Ministry of Defence and penitentiary service did not answer questions about forcibly disappeared Ukrainian journalists by the time of publication.

Kateryna Dyachuk, head of the freedom of speech monitoring department at the Institute of Mass Information, said that since 2014, when Russia began to seize Ukrainian territory, the IMI has recorded 634 alleged crimes against the media, including murders, cyberattacks and attacks on media infrastructure, such as the shelling of Ukrainian TV towers.

“Russia is doing everything it can to wipe out the information that journalists collect and report to the world,” Dyachuk said. “Russia is doing everything to shut them up.”

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova's Notes - North and South - Chapter 3

Last time we saw our heroine Margaret, she had just received word that Henry Lennox had come to call on her. Let's see how it goes!

So, she is excited to see Henry, as she has just been thinking about him and his promise. Margaret is a little surprised though, since he's supposed to be off with Edith and his brother on their honeymoon.

*record scratch* Hold up, he was accompanying them on their honeymoon??? I know right! And not just him, but his uncle as well? What kind of monster is he?

Well, five seconds ago, I would've agreed with you, but I was able to find this article that points to this being a fairly common practice in order to ease the woman into the marriage (not exactly an academic source, but the first one I found). So, he's not intruding or third-wheeling, but instead helping grow the marriage. What a nice guy, right? Well...avid readers of this will know I'm not Henry's biggest fan, and in the first few sentences he -- again -- says something that raises my hackles a bit.

“'Oh!' said he, more lightly, 'our young couple were playing such foolish pranks, running all sorts of risks, climbing this mountain, sailing on that lake, that I really thought they needed a Mentor to take care of them. And indeed they did: they were quite beyond my uncle’s management, and kept the old gentleman in a panic for sixteen hours out of the twenty-four. Indeed, when I once saw how unfit they were to be trusted alone, I thought it my duty not to leave them till I had seen them safely embarked at Plymouth.'”

Oh no, our couple has done the horrible problem of -- *checks notes* -- having fun on their honeymoon...? If their version of a "prank" is ditching their relatives to get some alone time -- uh, yeah, I would too!!! I mean, I guess I can see where he's coming from on some of these points if they truly are taking dangerous risks, but it honestly sounds like they're trying to sneak in some alone time here and doing fun couple activities together. It's not good that the uncle is panicking, but his brother is in the army. Surely he's prepared for things like mountain climbing and saying they're "unfit to be alone" is quite ridiculous. If he's worried about them doing...other kinds of activities while alone...I hate to tell him, but they're already married so that ship has sailed (literally). If he's truly worried about "danger," how is he -- a lawyer -- more prepared to face it than his brother who's in the army? (Not that lawyers can't face danger, considering Jonathan from Dracula is a lawyer and he just climbed a castle wall not too long ago, but that's a different book/genre lol). Also presenting himself as a "Mentor" (capital M) is HILARIOUS to me considering a) he's younger than at least one of them and b) mentor to what? Being married??? Henry???? He probably means climbing or sailing, but my version is funnier -- just saying.

I guess he might also be kidding about some of this, which is something I should have considered but didn't because I don't pick up well on social cues (I'm like Margaret in that way: we'll get there :D). So if he is kidding, sorry about that, but if I'm to take what he's saying at face value here, he just sounds like a nuisance to the couple. He says he's now "relieved of many responsibilities" but it just sounds like he put those responsibilities on himself.

He then gives her a note from Edith and she doesn't want to read it in front of him because she "half wish[ed] to read it alone and unwatched". I find this interesting that she has to make up an excuse to get away from him here, just to do so! Is it because Margaret doesn't feel comfortable reading letters in front of people in general, or because Henry specifically causes the discomfort? Gaskell doesn't elaborate, but I'll keep an eye out for if she feels comfortable enough to read a letter in front of anyone else in a future chapter, because either could be valid.

Henry begins to look around the room in "his scrutinizing way" and notices how "poor" the place looks, even when the light is hitting it, which should make it looks its best. Then he says this (with a sigh):

"'The living is evidently as small as she said. It seems strange, for the Beresfords belong to a good family.'”

Oh, no! You've just activated a red flag!!! This whole reply is a red flag, but I want to highlight the main problem area (in my opinion) -- the "as she said". What's the problem with this?

To me, this indicates he didn't listen to her when she told him how small her living was the first time around. He assumed she was downplaying it and would come back to find something more like Harley Street. I suppose that was the fashion back then -- to act of more humble means than you were -- but here's the thing: Margaret isn't like that. She says thing as they are and if he knew her as well as he thinks, he would've taken her words at face value. I know that just from three chapters of reading about her!! If he doesn't believe this one thing she says now, how is that going to work later if they foster a relationship (again, we're getting there)? I also just don't like that Henry is pulling a surprised Pikachu face here!!! And while I know good family = wealthy in this time period, still not a great thing to say. Like, hmm her family is poor that's weird :/. He's acting like he didn't get what he wanted for Christmas or something. Definitely not the reaction I would want from a potential partner.

Margaret, meanwhile, is dealing with a problemTM. Namely, her mother. Apparently she gets into moods where everything is an Issue and Henry is considered an Issue -- so, she refuses to see him. This is a dilemma, because Margaret had told Henry that her mamma would LOVE to meet him and will meet with him shortly. I may not know much about etiquette, but I know this is a snub if she refuses to meet with him now. Plus, her dad can't help because he was already in a bad mood (seems like something we'll unravel later) and Mrs. Hale made it worse by commenting *once again* on moving, which caused him to ask her to please stop speaking against the place. So yeah, this isn't going well!

Margaret "listen[s] patiently", but she has to figure things out somehow, so she pulls a problem-solving move. She proposes that after a quick meetup with Henry and her mom (as for it not to look weird), she and Henry can go out sketching, which will mean less interaction for her mother to worry about. Then, even though they only have cold meat for lunch, they can still make that work for the meal, since light food was usually expected at the midday meal (from what I could find -- correct me if I'm wrong) and Henry will expect it that way. That's when Mr. Hale will join them, having had enough time between 10:30 and 2:00 to compose himself.

I love seeing this side of her! We've already seen glimpses, but I think it's the first time we've truly seen her go into what I would call a "problem-solving mode". I would definitely add that to her list of qualities!

"He evidently expected to be asked to spend the day, and accepted the invitation with a glad readiness that made Mrs. Hale wish she could add something to the cold beef. He was pleased with everything; delighted with Margaret’s idea of going out sketching together; would not have Mr. Hale disturbed for the world, with the prospect of so soon meeting him at dinner."

I wonder if it's apparent to everyone involved Henry wants to be asked to stay the whole day, or if it's just Mrs. Hale? It makes sense that he wants to since he said he would be checking up on what Margaret does all day. I don't know much about calling hours or social etiquette in the Victorian era, but from what I could find, he's making a "morning call". Usually a man in this situation should leave after 20 minutes. However, he's family, so I believe this allots for staying a few hours, including dinner (again, correct me if I'm wrong -- I tried to find sources for this, but there wasn't much available for a morning call from family). Does it seem interesting how eager it is how "pleased" he is by everything just after he thought about how poor the family is? Yep! But we don't have time to unpack all of that just yet.

"'Now, please, just stop here for a minute or two,' said Margaret. 'These are the cottages that haunted me so during the rainy fortnight, reproaching me for not having sketched them.' 'Before they tumbled down and were no more seen. Truly, if they are to be sketched—and they are very picturesque—we had better not put it off till next year. But where shall we sit?' 'Oh! You might have come straight from chambers in the Temple, instead of having been two months in the Highlands! Look at this beautiful trunk of a tree, which the woodcutters have left just in the right place for the light. I will put my plaid over it, and it will be a regular forest throne.' 'With your feet in that puddle for a regal footstool! Stay, I will move, and then you can come nearer this way. Who lives in these cottages?'”

I feel like this conversation parallels their awkward interaction from chapter one, though now the shoe is on the other foot. And by "shoe", I mean the whole "shutting down the conversation" thing. To be fair, this is probably Henry joking and being lighthearted, but again -- I'm having trouble reading it that way. She's trying to sketch two cottages that she thinks are pretty, but he's kind of mocking them for how decrepit they look. Fair, I guess, but the fact that she chooses to mock him by saying he's "come staight from chambers in the Temple" (which I believe is a reference to the Temple in Jerusalem and to me, signals she's mocking his loftiness) says she's not entirely happy with this either. Plus, yeah, he just spent time in the Highlands, shouldn't he be used to forest by now? And when she wants to make a "throne" out of a tree stump, he comments on the puddle on the ground. Chivalrous to ask her to get out of the way, but he's not playing along with her game of pretend like he seemed to want her to in chapter 1. I wonder what's up with that? Or maybe I'm reading this all wrong and they're both enjoying this banter -- I don't know, it's really hard for me to tell!! Keep in mind, I'm biased and don't really like Henry, so everything he says annoys me. It's a problem I'll try to work on 😂😂

She goes to talk to one of the men at the cottages, and Henry quickly takes his opportunity to add her to his sketch. Afterwards, she notices and comments on it. He replies:

“'It was irresistible. You can’t know how strong a temptation it was. I hardly dare tell you how much I shall like this sketch.' He was not quite sure whether she heard this latter sentence before she went to the brook to wash her palette. She came back rather flushed, but looking perfectly innocent and unconscious. He was glad of it, for the speech had slipped from him unawares—a rare thing in the case of a man who premeditated his actions so much as Henry Lennox."

I will admit, this is rather cute: him taking the opportunity to sketch her and then saying something without thought! It's a sweet moment and I think I would like the two of them together if they had more moments like this.

When they return back, both Mr. and Mrs. Hale are in much better spirits. Margaret sees her father and while she stresses that he's put aside his worries (they're not taken care of), she can't hide her pride at seeing him because he's always able to impress other people! What a sweetheart, love her for that.

Mr. Hale sees their sketches and when Mr. Hale sees the one Henry drew, Henry comments this:

“'I should say that a likeness you very much wish to take you would always succeed in,' said Mr. Lennox. 'I have great faith in the power of will. I think myself I have succeeded pretty well in yours.'”

I may not read social cues well, but this one I do get: I like you and want to draw you well. However, I know that because I've picked up on it after seeing Henry's inner thoughts. I'm not so surprised she doesn't get it because, as we'll see later in the chapter, she doesn't see him that way. So this compliment -- while nice -- wouldn't mean to her what he's trying to communicate. Why is this important for me to emphasize? Well, listen to what this guy says next:

“"A regular London girl would understand the implied meaning of that speech,' thought Mr. Lennox. 'She would be up to looking through every speech that a young man made her for the arrière-pensée of a compliment. But I don’t believe Margaret,'"

Lol, lmao even. HENRY, buddy, we've been over this -- you should know her better than this by now. I'm not trying to pull a "she's not like other girls" thing, but you started it. She doesn't have the same communication style as the "regular London girl[s]" you're thinking of! If you want to communicate something, you're going to have to be more blunt.

Also, if we continue with my thread of Margaret being neurodivergent-coded (and Henry being neurotypical-coded), this comment is something a lot of NTs often get frustrated by: that NDs don't pick up on the nuances of their interactions. This comment right here really cements this dynamic for me.

To me, it’s understandable she wouldn't pick up on this being flirting because it's subtle to begin with and ND people often have trouble picking up on social cues like this. I do find it interesting how he also expects her to be picking apart his speeches for compliments. Also "arrière-pensée" means "a concealed thought" or "ulterior motive", by the way!

Quick note: the quote is cut off deliberately like that for a reason, he doesn't finish his thought.

Luckily (or unluckily, depending on your view), he decides to try a different tactic. She has been gathering roses to "adorn her morning gown for dinner" and he takes this opportunity to help her with some she can't reach (relatable!) and puts a couple in his button-hole. While this isn't exactly a declaration of love, I do think this is another sweet moment. This could almost be a better show of affection than words for some.

Dinner is a very nice affair, with everyone talking very agreeably, enough so to make Henry forget his feeling of "disappointment" of Margaret's living being so small. Like she had told him. Ugh.

However, there comes a bit of a hitch when dessert comes around. Mr. Hale becomes fixated on the idea of dessert -- which must be pears from the garden. However, they already have dessert served behind him: biscuits with marmalade. Mrs. Hale worries that this pear idea will make their life seem "impromptu" and dessert "unusual" (which will not shine a good light on their living situation, I imagine).

Henry actually steps up with a solution this time: they should eat pears in the garden in order to give them the full experience. Though Mrs. Hale doesn't quite like this idea (she wants to end dinner the ceremonious way), Mr. Hale doesn't give her time to argue: he simply gets up. This shows me that Mr. Hale is probably still not in the best of moods, and likely put out with her as well for what she said in the morning. Either that, or he's so absorbed by his own worries that he isn't thinking of hers. Eep, not good.

So Mr. Hale, Henry and Margaret go out into the garden to enjoy some pears. While Mr. Hale grabs the ripest pear (to get over his anxieties -- relatable), Henry makes eyes at Margaret 👁️👁️. He then takes her to stroll while Mr. Hale sits on the garden bench. Oh no! What can this mean? Well, for Margaret, she just thinks this is a friendly chat. Hmm....

He immediately starts by idealizing her country life and scorning his "city life" (comparing himself to a Cockney), ending with insinuating he would want to live here as his "reward" for all of his hard lawyer work.

She replies by shutting down the fantasy (lol), that the beauty he sees isn't always there and besides, didn't he mock her village before and call it out of a tale? Once she makes it clear she saw it as disrespectful, he "warmly" states he'll never do it again.

I do like that she's comfortable enough with him to feel able to tell him she felt disrespected by his words: that's a good sign, at least. And while he doesn't exactly apologize, he does back down once he realizes this was genuinely negative to her. Gotta take our wins where we can!

""I could almost wish, Margaret——' he stopped and hesitated. It was so unusual for the fluent lawyer to hesitate that Margaret looked up at him, in a little state of questioning wonder; but in an instant—from what about him she could not tell—she wished herself back with her mother—her father—anywhere away from him, for she was sure he was going to say something to which she should not know what to reply. In another moment the strong pride that was in her came to conquer her sudden agitation, which she hoped he had not perceived. Of course she could answer, and answer the right thing; and it was poor and despicable of her to shrink from hearing any speech, as if she had not power to put an end to it with her high maidenly dignity."

I love this passage for so many reasons. For one thing, it has that relatable feeling one gets when you have that one guy friend who hits you with the "I have to tell you something..." and even when you don't know what they're going to say, you also know what's happening...

But I love that she has that scared moment and then she's like -- wait a minute? This is me -- Margaret Hale -- we're talking about and I will say what I want and it will be right because I make it so. I will not shrink from any speech coming my way and if I have to, will put an end to it with my high 👏 maidenly 👏 dignity 👏 . What an ABSOLUTE QUEEN FOR THAT!!!!! I aspire to be like her; why wasn't I told what an absolute girl boss of a role model this fictional character was? And I don't just mean like before I read this (I was given some notice), I mean like why isn't she given more love in pop culture just for this passage alone? (I could speculate why, but I don't want to get sad about that lol). If I didn't already love her, this right here would've made me love her. This passage is definitely something I will be remembering when I feel anxious about difficult conversations! Just, WOW, chef's kiss.

Forgive me, it's going to be a lot of passages from here on out, but I really want to analyze the exact wording here.

"'Margaret,' said he, taking her by surprise, and getting sudden possession of her hand, so that she was forced to stand still and listen, despising herself for the fluttering at her heart all the time; 'Margaret, I wish you did not like Helstone so much—did not seem so perfectly calm and happy here. I have been hoping for these three months past to find you regretting London—and London friends, a little—enough to make you listen more kindly' (for she was quietly, but firmly, striving to extricate her hand from his grasp) 'to one who has not much to offer, it is true—nothing but prospects in the future—but who does love you, Margaret, almost in spite of himself. Margaret, have I startled you too much? Speak!' For he saw her lips quivering almost as if she were going to cry."

Okaaaaaay, that escalated VERY quickly -- Margaret didn't even get time to put a stop to it!!! I can't blame her, he's not giving her the chance to speak. So, the fact that he grabs her hand so she's "forced to stand still and listen"? Yikes. Her heart is "fluttering" and she hates herself for it? Also yikes because I doubt it's fluttering from liking him. I could be wrong, but I'm like 99.9% sure her heart is like that out of nerves.

Not to mention his speech: Henry starts off by being upset she likes Helstone and seems happy there -- you know, the place where her parents are??? Her hometown???? The place he just yapped on and on about being the best place ever and seemed like a reward to him? What happened to that? Swift 180 turn to me. Oh, and let's not forget he doesn't like seeing her calm and happy -- uhhhh...ok?

Now I know what he's trying to say here: he doesn't like seeing her happy here in Helstone because he wants her to be so miserable that she'll want to come back to London (and be with him). If she's miserable, it'll show she cares for him. Here's the problems I have with that logic:

Who's to say she doesn't miss her friends and she's just hiding it? Some people are better at hiding their grief than others.

Margaret is a very "live in the present" type of person; it's not that she doesn't miss Harley Street, but tends to just kind of live in the moment. Him not realizing that -- or wanting her to be miserable despite knowing that -- shows that he probably doesn't know her or care for her as much as he says he does a couple of sentences later.

She hasn't lived with her parents for years and spent most of her childhood without them being a large part of her life (I'm assuming from the limited text we have). Why doesn't she have the right to be calm and happy while living with them? It's pretty understandable she would be more happy with them because if anything *they're* the ones she was probably "more miserable" without. I'm sure she was fine at Harley Street, but she really seems to love her parents and her first night at Harley Street as a child seemed difficult: I'm not surprised she's happy at Helstone! This guy has some audacity to be like "aren't you miserable without me though 🥺" when like -- SHE'S VISITING HER PARENTS???!!?!?! It's been three months, calm down dude.

Let's imagine a world where Henry's completely right (a world I'm glad we don't live in, personally) and she's totally miserable because -- oh, Henry's not at Helstone 🥺💔. Even so, when you visit your friends/crush/whatever that you've missed and you haven't seen for a while, do you act miserable and talk constantly about how much you miss them? I mean, I don't! I usually try to keep up appearances if I am sad, but I actually almost always brighten up around the person I'm with because they make my day better. I get excited and in my element; to the outside person, you'd never know I'd be totally upset when they left because that's how happy I am! Of course, I'd say I miss them or whatever, but I wouldn't make a scene like he seems to want her to.

Going off of that, if you truly cared for someone, wouldn't you want them to be happy? Like he tells her he loves her but starts off his whole speech before he gets to that point with "I wish you were less happy and more miserable because that means you'd miss me and give me a chance" and that's...I don't even know what to say to that. I didn't think you could get worse than Mr. Collins or Mr. Darcy's failed proposals, but I think that beats it. In Mr. Collins's case, at least he starts off with compliments (though they're backhanded and he doesn't really mean them, lol) and at least with Mr. Darcy, he starts off with "I love you" and lists the reasons before he starts insulting her family!!! I guess it's a "pick your poison" thing, but seriously, what a way to start off a love confession speech/proposal.

Then -- and this is what really gets me here -- he notices her trying to get him to release her arm: another sign she's not enjoying this. Now, she's doing this in a quiet but firm way, not wanting to make a scene -- but not backing down, either. Instead of doing the decent person thing and letting her hand go, he keeps his grip and tells her to listen more "kindly". He takes this as yet another sign she didn't "miss him enough" and WOW. Um...I don't have much to say to this; I think it speaks for itself. I will say, everytime I read it I'm filled with an immeasurable amount of rage, if that tells you anything.

He also ends his very touching and heartfelt speech (/s) with saying that he loves her "almost in spite of himself". Aaaaand we're back to Mr. Darcy with his whole "yeah your family is below me and an insult to the human race and I actually wish I could stop thinking about you but in spite of all of that I love you whoops". I think he means this in more of a "I'm not a feelings person, so for me to be in love with you is a big deal" (we'll get to that speech of his soon), but it still comes across wrong to me. If you're going to say that, please clarify what you mean!!!

And THEN -- as if that's not bad enough -- he sees her lips quivering as if she's going to cry and after asking if she's startled (not the emotion I'd be asking after, but ok), he commands her to speak. As someone who gets overwhelmed easily, I would actually hate someone doing that to me!

And if we continue the thread of Margaret being ND, what if she's not able to speak because she's too overstimulated from whatever the heck that just was? I know she just hyped herself up -- and that's amazing, don't get me wrong -- but it could very well be difficult for her to communicate using spoken language and the fact that he wants her to speak right now is a bit reminiscent of how NTs will often force NDs to "act neurotypical" in difficult situations (e.g. "make eye contact, speak on this" etc.) and it's heartbreaking to read using this lens.

Even if we don't read it in that vein, who sees someone about to cry and goes "Speak!"? Get a grip, man.

"She made a strong effort to be calm; she would not speak till she had succeeded in mastering her voice, and then she said: 'I was startled. I did not know that you cared for me in that way. I have always thought of you as a friend; and, please, I would rather go on thinking of you so. I don’t like to be spoken to as you have been doing. I cannot answer you as you want me to do, and yet I should feel so sorry if I vexed you.'”

I feel for her here: I’m glad she takes a moment to be calm, but I imagine it must cost a lot of emotional effort to do so. If I were in her shoes, I don’t even know if I could manage it!

Also, her speech itself is a masteclass in kind — but firm — rejection, in my opinion. Notice how she answers his last question first: that yes, she was startled. That is easiest to answer, so she focuses on it. Then, she expounds on it by letting him know she wasn’t aware of his deep feelings, which caused her to be startled.

That’s when the boundary-setting starts! She sets two of them: in order to “keep thinking of him as a friend”, he will need to discontinue his advances and then she states she doesn’t like the way he has been speaking to her — aka, all of the ways he just offended her in that last paragraph? Stop it immediately.

She ends it by affirming that she cannot give him the answers he desires, but does not want to “vex” him. Just to be sure I was reading her meaning correctly, I looked up the meaning of vexed:

“to bring trouble, distress, or agitation to”

So, she’s worried about troubling him. Yes, distress is in there too, but I think it’s interesting she uses that word to describe how he will take her not returning his feelings. Historically, women do have to worry about how men will react to them not returning feelings -- sometimes to an extreme degree -- and it can feel as if it’s more of a case of them being troubled/agitated rather than distressed. I can’t speak for everyone of course, but it sucks that women have to feel so responsible for men’s happiness to the point of saying “sorry for the trouble” if the feelings aren’t returned! (And yes, I know this issue can happen regardless of gender, but I’m focusing on this dynamic since that’s how it appears here.)

So, how does Henry react? Does he reassure her that he isn’t entitled to her feelings? Asks for space to deal with his own emotions, perhaps? Nope!

“‘Margaret,’ said he, looking into her eyes, which met his with their open, straight look, expressive of the utmost good faith and reluctance to give pain, ‘Do you’—he was going to say—‘love any one else?’ But it seemed as if this question would be an insult to the pure serenity of those eyes. ‘Forgive me! I have been too abrupt. I am punished. Only let me hope. Give me the poor comfort of telling me you have never seen any one whom you could——‘ Again a pause. He could not end his sentence. Margaret reproached herself acutely as the cause of his distress.’”

It’s interesting to me that Henry decides not to ask if she loves anyone else because he doesn’t want to insult “pure serenity” of her eyes. Some may call this nice, I call this asking for a punch in the face. It rides a bit too close to the “purity culture” line for me and I don’t like it. It seems as if Henry thinks she has too much good faith to ever be “unfaithful” to him by even entertaining the thought of someone else. Perhaps I’m wrong, but this is how it reads to me.

Then he asks for forgiveness and says he’s been too abrupt (ok, good start) but says he’s punished. Punished how? Punished for what? If you mean she’s punishing you for speaking to her a certain way by not returning feelings — just NO. That’s not what’s happening here!!!! She doesn’t return your feelings because she doesn’t like you, just accept it.

That’s when Henry really drops the hammer of “can you give me hope and return my feelings one day 🥺” which — oh, boy. On one hand, I can feel for him here, but it’s strange to me that he also wants her to promise that she’s never seen anyone that has caught her fancy. It’s a very “if I can’t have you, no one can” mentality. It even causes Margaret to get mad at herself for “causing” him to be so upset — which, again, he is not entitled to her feelings and she is not responsible for his happiness.

“‘Ah! if you had but never got this fancy into your head! It was such a pleasure to think of you as a friend.’

‘But I may hope, may I not, Margaret, that some time you will think of me as a lover? Not yet, I see—there is no hurry—but some time——‘

She was silent for a minute or two, trying to discover the truth as it was in her own heart, before replying, then she said:

‘I have never thought of—you, but as a friend. I like to think of you so; but I am sure I could never think of you as anything else. Pray let us both forget that all this” (“disagreeable,” she was going to say, but stopped short) ‘conversation has taken place.’”

Ok, so I’m going to take Henry’s side for just a second on this — hear me out. I think it’s a little mean for her to call his feelings just a “fancy” as if he thought of it one day and, on a lark, decided to confess his feelings. I don’t think that’s fair of her to say to him. You can’t help your feelings and it’s not entirely fair of her to expect him to keep it bottled up inside. While his confession speech has been pretty abysmal (sorry it’s true), I don’t blame him for having those feelings, just the way they’re expressed.

On the other hand, I’ve been in Margaret's exact same situation and have almost wanted to say the exact same thing! Like “we had such a good thing going and this came out of nowhere; what’s up with that?” I didn’t though, because I realize that’s kind of invalidating to hear. I also think that’s her being blunt and not filtering her thoughts, which is understandable given the heightened emotions (and even more so, if we read it in the lens of her being ND).

Henry insists on the point of her being able to love him romantically sometime in the future, to which she has to think about. I’m glad she actually takes the time to examine her own feelings before answering. She already knows the answer, but it’s good to be sure and honestly give it some thought.

That’s when she drops a hammer of her own: she has only thought of him as a friend, does so now, and is certain she can only do so in the future. She also wants to set this conversation behind them — almost calling it disagreeable in the process. She stops herself short, but I believe she makes a face or something in her demeanor registers it as such, because Henry picks up on it. Again, she’s being blunt, but this time she’s able to catch herself and spare his feelings a little.

“He paused before he replied. Then, in his habitual coldness of tone, he answered:

‘Of course, as your feelings are so decided, and as this conversation has been so evidently unpleasant to you, it had better not be remembered. That is all very fine in theory, that plan of forgetting whatever is painful, but it will be somewhat difficult for me, at least, to carry it into execution.’”

It’s telling that he becomes cold once he realizes she’s serious about staying friends forever. It’s sad that this 180 degree turn from Henry is still so relatable in today’s age! He does agree to her wishes, albeit reluctantly due to it being difficult for him. This I can understand; once you confess your feelings for someone and are subsequently rejected, it's a bit hard to just "forget" the entire conversation and go back to normal. Unfortunately, that's the consequence you have to face if you're going to confess to your friend like that; I think he was just so confident she'd return his feelings, he assumed this wouldn't happen.

“'You are vexed,' said she, sadly; “yet how can I help it?' She looked so truly grieved as she said this, that he struggled for a moment with his real disappointment, and then answered more cheerfully, but still with a little hardness in his tone: 'You should make allowances for the mortification, not only of a lover, Margaret, but of a man not given to romance in general—prudent, worldly, as some people call me—who has been carried out of his usual habits by the force of a passion—well, we will say no more of that; but in the one outlet which he has formed for the deeper and better feelings of his nature, he meets with rejection and repulse. I shall have to console myself with scorning my own folly. A struggling barrister to think of matrimony!'”

Her grief does cause him to realize that he needs to stop making her feel bad about this -- or, at least, broadcast a facade of good cheer -- if they're going to have any hope of keeping the friendship. After all, they're still in Helstone's garden with Margaret's dad not too far off!!!

However, he's not able to cover up his "disappointment" entirely and it shows as "hardness in his tone". He doesn't apologize for giving her grief, but instead asks her to make "allowances" for him. I don't like this for a lot of reasons (why does she have to make allowances for you when you don't seem to give the same respect back?), but what's even worse is that he says one of those allowances should be "for the mortification...of a lover..." UM??? If I’m reading this right, he wants her to allow for him feeling like he was her lover and now having to deal with her rejection of romance. Henry, let me break it down for you: you were never her lover -- ever. If you felt like her lover, that is your issue, not hers, to deal with. The fact that you're admitting that aloud is appalling and the fact you want her to allow for that problem is even worse. It’s almost like he kept up a pretense of friendship and all the while imagining they were lovers. That’s so weird!!! And again, remains relatable (unfortunately).

The other allowance, which I mentioned earlier, is that he’s not a big “feelings” person and since he got carried away by his passions, she should understand why he feels crushed that the one time he’s swept off his feet by romance, the feelings are not returned. I hate to tell you, Henry, but just because you’re more “worldly” than the rest of us doesn’t mean you’re going to get a girlfriend faster: just a pro tip!

Both of these allowances are quite silly, in my opinion. Yeah, so you have a crush for the first time and you thought of her as your girlfriend and the feelings weren’t mutual. What is she supposed to do, give you a cookie? I’m being facetious, of course, I know what he’s actually hoping is for her to change her mind and be like “I had no idea I was your first crush 🥺 wow, since I’m so special to you, of course I’ll court you!!! 😍❤️” which — ugh. I want to say he doesn’t understand how women work, but I’m hard-pressed to see how this would work on anyone!! Maybe in his head it would work on one of those “regular London girls” (which I’m beginning to think is just a made up notion in his head of women anyway), but I’ve said that Margaret is not one of those women (if they do exist) and never will be. The fact that he thinks he can make her be one or she will become one in time is concerning: what would he be like if they did court? Would she be expected to change for him? Or even if he does like her as is, would she be expected to “act differently” in front of his friends and other relatives? Again, reading this in a NT/ND lens really adds another layer of meaning to how this would affect Margaret’s mental health in the long term.

He ends this by saying he’ll have to “console himself by scorning his own folly” and scoffing at the idea of a struggling man in his job thinking of marriage. First of all, she has literally said nothing about your profession — you brought that up briefly before in your confession (I didn’t mention it because I didn’t have anything to say on it) — but she never said “I’m not going to court you because you’re a lawyer struggling to make ends meet”. Of course, you’re going to think that because it’s easier to think of her as shallow (only after men for their current money) and the “problem” as something you can fix (he can fix a money issue, can’t fix her thoughts of him being a friend), but really: how in denial can you be?

Secondly, this is the first time he’s brought up marriage. Of course, in the Victorian age that’s where courtships were supposed to lead, but still. It’s interesting that he waited until now to drop that last bit in; it almost seems like a last-ditch lament to be like “woe is me! How could I think anyone would ever marry me 🥺💔” which would pull at the heartstrings. Of course, I’m likely reading too much into this because I’m reading it in the tone of him doing anything to try to get her to court/marry him, even using manipulation and guilt tactics to do so. Is it likely he’s just upset and saying whatever comes to mind? Sure. But some people will do anything to get their way and so far he hasn’t shown himself to be very graceful in dealing with rejection.

“Margaret could not answer this. The whole tone of it annoyed her. It seemed to touch on and call out all the points of difference which had often repelled her in him; while yet he was the pleasantest man, the most sympathising friend, the person of all others who understood her best in Harley Street. She felt a tinge of contempt mingle itself with her pain at having refused him. Her beautiful lip curled in a slight disdain.”

I suppose I’m not the only one getting bad vibes from this last speech. Margaret sees the worst parts of him — the little things that had always bothered her about him — and while she still feels bad about hurting him, she can’t help but visibly show “disdain” for the way he’s talking to her now.

Suddenly, they come upon Mr. Hale and Margaret feels as if she's had an out-of-body experience, comparing it to an Eastern tale of a king who went through an experience of a lifetime just by dipping his head in a magical basin of water. In other words, she is not the same as she was when she last saw her father!

Of course, due to the amount of emotions with everything that has just taken place, she is quite unable to speak and lets Henry and her father do most of the talking. Henry notices her quiet and morose look and:

“"I am not so indifferent to her as she believes,' thought he to himself. 'I do not give up hope."”

Oh...oh no. Henry, literally just accept the no. She told you no -- JUST ACCEPT THE -- ok, I need to calm down. This man is fictional. The problem is there are men -- nay, people -- who think like this. Who will hear a "no" and then see the person's face and have such a cognitive dissonance IN THEIR BRAIN that they're like "nah, they actually totally want me, THEY just can't see the truth yet." As if they know better.

It's really hilarious Henry thinks he knows Margaret's thoughts and feelings better than *she* does considering he doesn't even know how to talk to her without her shutting him down because he accidentally disrespected her small town (rhyme not intended but a pleasant surprise). How does he think a relationship with a foundation like that? I realize they are good friends and get along in other ways, but it is sooooo telling to me that the *second* he flirts, she either becomes uncomfortable or straight up doesn't get it (or pretends not to, depending on how you read it). How could they be married like that??

So yeah, unfortunately, Margaret is not even allowed to look sad without Henry jumping on the chance that she'll want him someday. I'm almost 100% sure this would've happened regardless of the facial expression she had. Happy (from trying to keep up a cheerful facade)? "Oh, she's actually super happy I confessed my feelings and will love me soon, just watch." Mad? "She's actually mad at herself for refusing me." Confused? "She doesn't know what she wants, she'll choose me eventually." That's just the kind of person we're dealing with here.

"Before a quarter of an hour was over, he had fallen into a way of conversing with quiet sarcasm; speaking of life in London and life in the country, as if he were conscious of his second mocking self, and afraid of his own satire."

Ok, so this passage is really hard to decipher for me and I might need some help figuring ot out! From what I'm able to gather, he's mainly mocking both the country and London, but maybe in also a self-depricating way as well (this is the main part I'm stuck on)? What I do understand is why he's doing this; Henry is a man who's default is to mock and be sarcastic. It's his coping mechanism for when things get too "real". We haven't seen him be as such yet because he hasn't needed to be around Margaret. However, now that he's been thrown off by her rejection, his way of dealing with it is to slip back into empty sarcasm.

Mr. Hale notices this change and is quite put off by it, even being relieved when he has to leave. He notes the change from the "lighter, clever, more worldly man" he saw earlier and at the wedding breakfast. It's interesting how a lot of people tend to use sarcasm to seem more clever and worldy, but Gaskell sees through this and contrasts them as opposites in this chapter! What a callout! She's so real for that.

At the last moment, Henry Lennox’s real self broke through the crust. “Margaret, don’t despise me; I have a heart, notwithstanding all this good-for-nothing way of talking. As a proof of it, I believe I love you more than ever—if I do not hate you—for the disdain with which you have listened to me during this last half-hour. Good-bye, Margaret—Margaret!”

First of all, describing the weird sarcasm thing he was doing as a "crust" is funny and interesting to me -- I didn't know that could mean "harsh" or "surly": the more you know! Secondly, love that he calls out his own coping mechanism while still having done it -- progress, I guess? And third -- best of all -- Henry, my guy, my dude, why on earth would you tell her you love her while also saying you might hate her because she hasn't been happy with you for the past 30 minutes???? I am truly baffled. Has this man ever wooed a woman in his life? For the sake of the female population, I truly hope not because if THIS is how he does it -- YIKES!!!! Luckily, he probably hasn't considering his whole "i'M a lAwYeR wHo dOeSnT hAvE bIg rOmAnCe fEeLiNgS" speech.

And that's the way the chapter ends, so I'll end with a couple of points I want to make clear.

I know I've been super hard on Henry and -- to be fair -- I think he's deserved some of it. But I don't think he's a bad person. So far, Gaskell has written all of her characters with a complexity and depth that shows you're supposed to root for these characters (more or less), while also understanding their flaws. There were times I pointed out when Margaret wasn't at her best either; while she isn't entitled to return Henry's feelings, she was sort of trivializing them and I wouldn't like that either. I think the problem with Henry is that he's used to getting what he wants and when he doesn't get it, he gets upset and lashes out the way he did with Margaret. I do honestly think he needs to work on himself and not think of romance right now because it sounds like he has deeper problems going on; if Margaret's rejection causes him to act like this, it's not just her rejection that's bothering him. I noticed that he talked about how he's currently struggling in his job and I think that can also account for him getting upset -- perhaps he had hoped for this to be a "good thing" to focus on instead of his work that isn't going well. I'm glad Margaret didn't return his feelings in that case because having one person the sole source of your happiness is never healthy and running away from your problems won't fix them! So yes, while I'm hard on him I do still think he has good moments and can be better: we're just seeing him at his worst. Still, that doesn't excuse his behavior, just explains it.

I also want to clarify for those who think I'm being too harsh on Henry and am doing so because I "don't understand what it's like to be rejected romantically". As a quick personal aside: I've been on his side of a romantic confession and was also rejected by someone who was my friend. And it hurt -- badly. Especially because there were many "signs" I read too much into as romantic (flirting, holding hands, etc.) so said rejection was not what I saw coming, much like Henry. However, when I realized that this person only saw me as a friend and wanted to keep it that way, I immediately told them "ok, I understand" and then took some time to myself to sort through my feelings. These were mainly embarrasment, shame, sorrow, and anger -- not at the person, but at myself for potentially ruining the friendship over this.

My main problem with Henry is that he reacts to Margaret's rejection with disappointment, anger, frustration, and hurt. These don't seem like the kind of emotions that come with an unselfish love, I hate to say it. I know there is likely more feelings bubbling beneath the surface, but if he's going to react that way and realizes he's hurting her in the process (which he does), he should ask for space while he sorts himself out. I get that wasn't "the thing" back then so I guess it's a bit harder for me to say "oh, Henry should've just left!" when no, he can't just abruptly leave like that and "oh, Henry should just work on his mental health" when that was very much not talked of. I'm just trying to think of ways he could've better handled this situation; he can't help his feelings, but he can help how he acts on those feelings. And it's not fair to Margaret to continually pressure her into a relationship she so obviously does not want. Additionally, the way he makes his confession/proposal frustrates me too because he mainly makes it about himself and his feelings. He wishes she wasn't happy at Helstone, he loves her, he's not a romantic person so it's a big deal for him. I mean, he doesn't even talk about her good qualities or what he likes about her: even Mr. "and what excellent boiled potatoes" Collins did that!!!!!

As a final note, if you're reading Dracula Daily at the same time as North and South Weekly, you may have noticed a few parallels between this failed proposal and Jack Seward's failed proposal. I want to dive into them and why I respect Seward's more than Lennox's, but I don't want to do it here because this post might be my longest to date and I'd rather make it a separate post anyway!

So yeah, another great chapter, excited to see what happens next week!

[sagaschan]

What happened on Sep 16th: a compilation

If I could clarify some things. Lots happened on twitter within a short timeframe, and I've seen a fair number of people misled, so here goes. The Project Moon User Association(PMUA) had received the reply to their demand letter(can only be received by the recipient, and can't be refused) a week ago, but waited to make their statement because they still believed there was a chance PM could apologize, and because the Youth Union(YU) requested it. PMUA uploaded PM's reply and their statement today.

PM's reply, written by a lawyer, said essentially: You are lying and it affected our sales so I will sue you. The termination was legal because Vellmori said first that she wanted to resign(we have a recording). We wrote the agreement with Vellmori and her lawyer later. In order to protect her and the other employees we did nothing(if that sounds illogical to you, it is). Disappear immediately or we will sue you for defamation.

There are many things wrong with the reply, as covered by the PMUA's statement, but I'll get to that later. Alright let's go for it, says the PMUA.

Then PM tweets two threads. The first thread says: We were only laying low to protect our employees, y'all are lying, if you attack our employees we will sue you. The second one says: The YU tried to use us for political gains, since we were going to announce legal action against employee harrassment anyway but they tried to take the credit for it. Look at this image of a document where YU says they were wrong, and apologizes. This PMUA might be under the YU's control, isn't it suspicious? And political?

PM, though technically it's KJH, keeps insinuating that those such as PMUA and the YU are attacking the employees, when it's only KJH himself who's been criticized since 7.25, when he tweeted that they had 'terminated the contract' with Vellmori for violating company rules. The fans knew that was illegal. The paper that interviewed Vellmori the day after, the various news media that reached out to PM, the unions that spoke out on the matter knew it was illegal. We weren't going to let him get away with it if we could help it.

The YU rep Lee Jongchan(@JCLEE0333 on twitter) provided a more accurate picture. The YU, having just learned of the agreement between Vellmori and PM from PM's reply, had asked the PMUA to delay their statement, contacted PM behind the scenes. The PMUA and the unions they were working with had been trying to solve the situation amicably if possible, if PM would just come to the table and learn how to fix the situation. A legal fight would be the absolute last resort, since they wanted the company to do better.

This is where the supposed statement from the YU that PM included in their second thread comes in. A crude screencap of a word doc with typos and 'draft' in the title. It says: We recognize there was no illegal firing and that you've taken precautions to protect employees. We're sorry and we retract our protest. We welcome that you've stated ideology hunts and cyberbullying against your employees will be dealt with stern legal action. Basically, the YU didn't want Vellmori to be bothered anymore so they'd take a bit of a L.

The thing is, during the negotiations KJH refused to include that PM would take legal action to protect employees from ideology hunts and cyberbullying in the future in PM's statement. Apparently that wasn't something he could agree with. Negotiations fell out(around 8 pm, according to KJH), and the next day PMUA went ahead with their statement.

That's the bare facts of it. But I'd like to elaborate a little on where PM is contradicting itself, though the PMUA has already covered some of it.

1. It's laughable that KJH is using the excuse of 'protecting employees' to explain PM's past actions and future motivations, when he can't even put it on paper.

2. He most definitely did not protect his employees. The initial lack of action against DCinside incels' camping out of their office, how he treated contractors like Mimi(author of Wonderlab) and Monggeu(artist for Leviathan comics), the overwork and harrassment Eng translator Watson experienced, the HHPP manager he used as a scapegoat, the LoR Chinese localization team that still hasn't been paid... the list keeps growing.

3. KJH's words are all over the place. In the very first notice he says Vellmori's contract has been terminated because she violated company rules. You know, just as DC had asked for. In the second one, on 8.3, he says they did not fire her, and that it had nothing to do with ideologies. And that he would sue anyone calling it an illegal dismissal. (Also when news media reached out to ask if that meant she was still employed, said he wouldn't answer.) And in the most recent letter, he claims that during the phone call on 7.25 Vellmori said first she would resign.

Nobody believes that, not in the least because the Hankyoreh interviewed Vellmori the very next day about the unjustness of it. Any 'recording' of the call that he posits as evidence will likely reflect that, and work against him in court, so I'd love to see that actually. KJH apparently doesn't remember that.

4. Can you believe he's fudging his words to make it seem like the PMUA and those associated were the ones attacking employees? Not a single mention of DC anywhere. Now in court, if he's required to provide evidence as to just why Vellmori wanted to resign, well... DC did that. That's undeniable. All this started with wetsuit Ishmael, if anyone's forgotten. And if he admits DC was the reason a perfectly innocent illustrator was left jobless overnight, well, he can do away with his insistence that he was protecting her in any way.

5. And even if he twists legalese to claim Vellmori left of her own volition, it's nothing that hasn't been said by employers in the country a million times over. Advisory resignation this, political controversy that. It's still an unfair dismissal, and an especially rampant problem in the game industry that has been a long time coming to be dealt with.

6. Remember when KJH threatened Mimi and Monggeu with the mention of NDA, when they came out with stories of how they were horrifically mistreated by PM? Hypocritical, just revealing private correspondence with the YU without their permission. As well as the ridiculousness of treating the remnants of a negotiation that fell through like fact. He thinks people can't read, I suppose. It's more ammunition for the unions.

7. The inherent idiocy of evilmongering about 'politics' all thread long. What does KJH think unions Do? He's been fueling the fire regarding a labor rights case for near two months now, but doesn't seem to have learned much other than to dig deeper holes. What he means to do by repeatedly insinuating the PMUA and YU are secretly in cahoots when the PMUA has been open about working with the YU from the start I will never know.

8. Refusing to translate The Notice for 53 days was the first and biggest hint, I think. The radio silence, purposefully leaving international fans in the dark, threatening the contractors, the staunch refusal to name the incels for a single offense. During that time we learned Monggeu had been fired just as quickly as Vellmori, after being made to follow an unrealistic schedule to the point she had suicidal ideation. The workplace reviews in the wake of the incident saying KJH was prone to emotional outbursts. All the translators worked to the bone and abandoned, HHPP's manager announcing an apology with his name for decisions he couldn't have made. Those aren't the actions of someone who has his employees in mind.

The PMUA was created in response to PM's announcement to sue fans back in August. They'd held out hope that KJH would be someone who could see reason. But you'd have to be beyond naive to believe that now. So with all evidence piled up during these two months pointing to KJH being a nasty little guy who has only ever had himself and DC's best interests at heart, I sincerely hope KJH fucks himself over, and for all fans who are eternally confused about what PM has done wrong to be someday in need of a union.

[unicornsaures]

Post-war redcoat trio lore....

tw // death, overdose(sorry guys)

This is mainly William & Henry focused. I fear theyre more tragic than Charles.

Starting with Charles(the least depressing one I fear) he goes back to Pennsylvania to live with his wife, Charlotte, by 1781. He goes to law school late, but eventually becomes a lawyer, which out of the three, means he stays in touch with Hamilton the easiest. He stays a loyalist despite the wars end, but he doesnt hold it against the colonies or anything. He stays in contact with Henry and William the best he can, but the letter-sending is a hassle and he rarely receives response.(Whether that be because letters are lost or the two are just plain ignoring him who knows.) He eventually has two kids; Charles Gray II and Marceline Gray ^_^! Overall his life post-war is fine and he lives a fulfilling life, which brings us to 1825 when he dies at the age of 72 due to scarlet fever. He was happy overall and he loved life idk what to say, yay charles!

Onto William! He moves to South Carolina with Henry around the same time Charles leaves to go with his wife. They own a small plantation which in truth is closer to a farm if anything; by no means are they rich but theyre not struggling or anything. He attempted to court some women the first couple years back but ultimately gave up and decided it was too much of a hassle and that either way Henry is better company than any women could possibly be. William keeps in contact with Charles the best he can, Hamilton not so much. Though, during the war he'd been shot numerous times, most wounds being left untreated so hes stuck with chronic pain and a weakened immune system. This means for post-war William, his health is kind of shitty and he gets sick more often, leaving him bed ridden for days to weeks at a time. William mostly keeps to himself if he ever has to go out and leaves Henry to do most of the talking because god knows that even if hes "crude," Henry isnt nervous to talk. By late-1794, William catches influenza. His immune system is already awful, but not awful enough he dies quickly. Henry tries his best to care for him but its not enough, and by 1995, at the age of 40, he ends up passing from the illness.

Yeah okay, Henry! This is where the TW comes in. So, I mentioned a lot of his post-war situation in williams paragraph. They move in together, they have a plantation, theyre happy yeah! Woo! Okay, now he does get in a few relationships - the longest being two years from 1785 to 1787 - but none of them last longer. He falls in and out of depression with his constant worrying over Williams health, but its hidden well enough. Speaking of, he becomes rather talented medically-wise with how often hes tasked with caring for the other. He keeps in touch with Hamilton better than William, and he also still speaks with Charles, as is customary. Im just gonna jump to 1794, when williams health starts declining. Obviously, its a stressful period for Henry and he does his hardest to help him but clearly, it doesnt work. He has near run-ins with death for months after Williams death, hes being overall impulsive and acting erratically(as is expected, I suppose.) He drinks, does dumb shit, etc. Eventually, 6 months after William, he dies from an opium overdose at 38 in which is never confirmed if it was suicide or simply an accident. Neither Charles or Hamilton hear of either deaths until months later, when Henrys dad reaches out.