#the secret circle season 1

[ecnmatic]

[driverlando]

🗞️ EXTRA EXTRA !! charles leclerc has a secret wife of five years and a 1 year old son, rumor has it they got married after 5 months of knowing each other

Congrats of 2k 💗💗💗

EXTRA EXTRA!! Charles Leclerc’s Secret Life Revealed: A Wife of Five Years and a One-Year-Old Son!

In a surprising twist worthy of a blockbuster film, the Formula 1 world has been shaken by astonishing news: Charles Leclerc, the talented Ferrari driver and Monegasque star, has reportedly been married for five years and is the father of a one-year-old son!

According to a flurry of rumours that have quickly gained traction, Leclerc, known for his composed demeanour on the track and spotless public image, has kept a significant part of his life under wraps. Sources close to the situation claim that Leclerc married his wife in a secret ceremony just five months after they first met.

A Secret Romance

The romance, described as whirlwind, reportedly began in 2018. At the time, Leclerc was emerging as one of Formula 1’s rising stars, having just secured a seat with Sauber. In a classic tale of love at first sight, the couple allegedly met at a mutual friend’s private gathering in Monaco. “It was electric,” an insider close to the couple shared. “They were inseparable from the moment they met. There was just an instant connection that no one could ignore.”

Despite the rapid pace of their relationship, sources say the couple chose to keep their love affair under the radar, a decision likely influenced by Leclerc’s burgeoning career and the intense media scrutiny that comes with it. The pair reportedly tied the knot in a private ceremony, attended only by their closest friends and family, with no hint of the event leaking to the public or the press.

The Hidden Family

For years, the Leclerc family has managed to stay out of the limelight. The couple’s close-knit inner circle respected their wish for privacy, allowing them to raise their child away from the public eye. The existence of their son, who just turned one, has only recently come to light, sending shockwaves through the motorsport community and beyond.

The secrecy surrounding their family life raises questions about how they managed to keep such significant personal milestones hidden from the media. Speculation abounds that the couple may have used their connections and resources to maintain their privacy. “It’s a classic case of the rich and famous living by their own rules,” one gossip columnist quipped.

A Perfect Storm

The timing of this revelation couldn’t be more dramatic, coming just as Leclerc is battling for a strong finish in the current Formula 1 season. The news of his secret wife and child adds a fascinating layer to his already intriguing narrative. Fans and media alike are now buzzing with questions: Who is this mystery woman? How did they manage to keep their relationship so secret? And, perhaps most intriguingly, why?

Some speculate that Leclerc’s desire for privacy might stem from a wish to protect his loved ones from the pressures of fame. “Charles has always been very private about his personal life,” a source close to the driver revealed. “He wanted to ensure that his family could live as normal a life as possible, without the constant scrutiny and intrusion that comes with being in the public eye.”

The Rumour Mill

As the world eagerly awaits more details, rumours and theories are flying thick and fast. Some suggest that the secretive nature of Leclerc’s personal life could be part of a broader strategy to maintain focus and control over his public image. Others believe it’s simply a case of a man wanting to keep his private life separate from his professional achievements.

While the identity of Leclerc’s wife remains a closely guarded secret, there are whispers of her being a non-celebrity, which could explain the lack of public interest in her identity until now. “She’s not someone from the limelight,” another source added. “They have been careful to avoid places and events where they might be spotted together.”

What’s Next?

As this story continues to unfold, one thing is certain: Charles Leclerc’s secret family revelation has set the gossip columns alight. The world will be watching closely to see how this revelation impacts his career and public persona. Will Leclerc finally open up about his personal life, or will he continue to keep the world at arm’s length?

For now, the Ferrari driver remains tight-lipped, with no official statement from his camp. However, fans and commentators can’t help but wonder how this will affect his future both on and off the track. Will this revelation prove to be a distraction, or will it humanise the driver, making him even more relatable to his fans?

Stay tuned as we delve deeper into the mystery surrounding Charles Leclerc’s secret life. The racing season just got a whole lot more interesting, and this is one story that promises to keep the paddock buzzing for a long time to come!

For more breaking news and exclusive gossip, keep your eyes on our feed. You never know what high-speed secret might come to light next!

[nayziiz]

Comfort Person | LN4

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader (she/her)

Author's note: I'm trying something a little bit different with shorter form fics, so please send through any requests or feedback. These one shots will likely not have a second part unless it really speaks to me to continue with it. Thank you!

Masterlist

Attending the McLaren gala marked a significant step forward in their relationship. For a whole year, they had carefully cultivated their love away from the prying eyes of the public, choosing to keep their affection shielded from the spotlight. Their social media presence, though scant, hinted at a deeper connection, evident through the occasional birthday mentions and celebratory nods to his triumphs on the racetrack.

But this gala was different. It was a statement, a declaration of their commitment, and a subtle unveiling of their love to the world. While their relationship had been an open secret among close friends and those within the inner circle of the Formula 1 world, this event would bring it to a broader audience.

For her, agreeing to attend the gala was both exciting and nerve-wracking. Stepping into the glamorous world of Formula 1, filled with its high-profile personalities and dazzling events, was a departure from her usual realm. She had only dipped her toes into this world on three occasions, each time experiencing the thrill of the races in Monaco, Belgium, and Silverstone. Yet, despite her limited exposure to the paddock, she found herself drawn to the adrenaline-fueled atmosphere and the magnetic pull of his passion for the sport.

Her demanding career imposed limitations on her ability to accompany him to every race and event, forcing her to carefully select which ones she could attend. Despite the constraints of her professional obligations, she was determined to be there for him in whatever capacity she could manage.

For him, her unwavering support transcended physical presence. Knowing that she would wake up in the early hours of the morning or stay up late into the night to watch his races brought him immense comfort and strength. Her dedication, even from afar, served as a source of motivation during the most gruelling moments on the track.

In the midst of the frenetic pace of the Formula 1 season, her steadfast encouragement provided him with a sense of grounding and reassurance. Whether she was cheering him on from the stands or sending him words of encouragement through late-night texts, her presence loomed large in his heart and mind.

Their relationship was built on a foundation of understanding and compromise, with each of them making sacrifices to support the other's dreams and aspirations. While her absence at certain events weighed heavily on her, she took solace in the knowledge that her love and support transcended geographical boundaries.

The day was a canvas of intimacy, each moment painted with tenderness and shared anticipation. As they lingered in her apartment, the world outside faded into insignificance, leaving only the two of them enveloped in a cocoon of affection.

Showering together was a dance of intimacy, the warm water cascading over their bodies like a gentle caress. He tenderly washed her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp with care and devotion. In that shared moment of vulnerability, their connection deepened, each touch speaking volumes of their love for one another.

As she dried her hair, she watched him with a soft smile as he meticulously shaved away the stray stubble, his concentration mirrored in the steady strokes of his razor. Even the simplest of tasks became moments to be savoured in each other's presence, the ordinary transformed into something extraordinary by the power of their love.

For him, the mundane rituals of getting ready took on new significance with her by his side. Every glance exchanged, every shared laugh, was a reminder of the profound joy he felt in having her as his partner. Her presence infused even the simplest moments with an electric energy, sparking excitement in his heart and a smile on his lips.

As he stood poised with the razor in hand, ready to rid himself of the faint traces of stubble that adorned his face, she intervened, her voice soft but determined.

“No, leave it. It looks hot, my love,” she said, her gaze lingering on him with an intensity that sent a shiver down his spine. He paused, caught off guard by her unexpected request.

“But I thought you hated facial hair,” he replied, a hint of confusion tingling his words. A playful smile curved her lips as she stepped closer, her fingers tracing the outline of his jaw. 

“I've grown to love it because it's on you,” she confessed, her eyes sparkling with affection. He couldn't help but chuckle at her response, his heart swelling with warmth at her words.

“You're special, you know that,” he murmured, his voice laced with genuine admiration.

“Uh, huh. That's why you keep me around,” A mischievous glint danced in her eyes as she teased him. He pulled her into his arms, unable to resist the urge to shower her with kisses. 

Lando couldn't help but chuckle as he left her in the bathroom to put the finishing touches on her makeup. With a playful grin, he made his way to the kitchen to retrieve some snacks before the event.

After a few minutes, he heard the soft tapping of her heels against the hardwood floors, signalling her emergence from the bedroom. He turned, almost instinctively, his curiosity piqued by the sound of her approach.

His breath caught in his throat as she sauntered past him, the fabric of her dark orange dress flowing around her like molten lava, casting a mesmerising glow in the dim light of the apartment. She looked radiant, her beauty captivating him in a way that never failed to leave him breathless.

As she disappeared into the kitchen, he couldn't tear his gaze away, his jaw dropping slightly in awe. She was stunning, more breathtaking than he had ever seen her before.

When she finally turned to face him, their eyes locked in an unspoken exchange of admiration and affection. In that moment, words seemed unnecessary as the intensity of their connection spoke volumes, filling the space between them with an electric energy that crackled with anticipation.

“Are you just going to sit there and gawk at me?” She asked, her tone light but teasing.

“Yes,” he replied without missing a beat, his gaze lingering on her with unapologetic admiration. A mock scowl crossed her features as she shook her head, a hint of laughter dancing in her eyes.

“Well, stop it. You look stupid. Go put on your suit before we're late,” she instructed, her voice tinged with playful admonishment.

After dutifully adhering to her request and donning his suit, Lando returned to the kitchen to find her engrossed in replying to a few messages. With a tender smile, he approached her from behind, his footsteps silent against the floor.

Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pressed a gentle kiss to her neck, the warmth of his lips sending a shiver down her spine. She leaned back into his embrace, a contented sigh escaping her lips as she tilted her head to the side, allowing him better access.

In that moment, the world outside faded away, leaving only the two of them cocooned in a bubble of affection. His touch was a soothing balm against the chaos of the day, grounding her in the present and reminding her of the love they shared. As he lingered against her, his arms holding her close, she felt a sense of peace wash over her. In his embrace, she found solace and reassurance

“I can't wait to do this with you for the rest of my life,” Lando whispered, his voice filled with sincerity as he gazed into her eyes. A soft smile graced her lips as she met his gaze, her heart swelling with love for him.

“Me too,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper but resounding with a depth of emotion that echoed his own.

In that fleeting moment, the weight of their words hung in the air, binding them together in a promise of forever. It was a declaration of their love, a pledge to stand by each other through every twist and turn that life may bring.

[bizarrelovesquare]

Dan posted this video that gave us a HUGE peek into Martin's notes about episodes they're working on...

Screenshots (with about 90% ID of what's visible, bless his handwriting) under the cut! Fair warning, it's long, but there's a lot going on here, and it's so much to think about!

picture 1: ????? chicken head funnier

picture 2: (first page) Reactionator

? Speakers all over town People's phones Therapist Doof & Candace

Therapist thinks she is crazy but is tactful

The shrink is delusional ? ? exercise that is the catalyst for Cand. being delusional

Candace "It's A Wonderful Life" -- After actual bust C sees everyone doing much worse she feels sad

Family - I think you discuss it Cruise Ship - P&F Van/Doof Last chance to Candace A / Perry back

(second page) Doof's DEI W/A C's Therapist

Doof same therapist

Ferb is next a speech therapist

Doof trauma-dumping on therapist

Therapist "The real self-destruct button is in your head"

Therapist does ex(?)nemesis - therapist

Therapist sees - "WAIT, I GET IT, what Candace is doing gets taken away by what HE'S DOING--"

(note going down side of page) GUEST ON DOOFENPUSS

Doof ? regular ? ? - but she can't ? this because of C ? Confidential ALL DANVILLE Doof and Vanessa on cruise ALL CHARACTERS ? Reactionator blackmail secret I ever tell you w/Lindana whose solved mysteries

picture 3: (script on the table) (our first potential season 6 title?) PHINEAS AND FERB

"VANESSAY"

Written by Martin Olson & Olivia Olson

picture 4: Vanessay

Change tennis to playground

Roger & slushy guy not zapped

Rog. - reflects ray w/ his teeth - set up teeth first Doof: strong jaw -

Agent T thumbnotes "Up the chimney is a weird visual pun" Stacy: "You know we have a front door."

C & Stacy w/ambient sounds joke sequence - cut down?

Mono - "Four seasons of this show" Why did I ? ? ?

To Liv for Vanessay Playground - see how ? ? trap sets scene - a handled window box

Stacy: "Hey ? I ? ANIMAL NOISES!" CUT TO BLACK

Stacy pushes ? out of doorway

Dimin: after "Shorty" - No prize is worth this!

picture 5: T For Teen For Liv - SC 916 Perry leaps into air & does triple flip & lands ready to fight

Pitch n buttons for each

Exec note - Thurs - T For Teens 1:48 end of C/Stacy annual ? sudden cut to end ? w "napkins"

MEAP - PT2 S&P CONCERNS

(I cannot make this bit out to save my life. Martin what in the world my dude)

picture 6: Meap pt 2 - thumbnotes

22 to Meap - "Uh-uh! An ship ? us away!" (clumsy)

Fix pronunciation "St. Lois" joke C is shushed by Meap

Tidy up - don't have everyone say "Don't forget to flush"

C pressing red button to explode ? ship sucks

Brenda joke sexist "No one tracks you through the universe more than your wife"

picture 7: 501 PT1 Exec notes - bigger intro of Doof instead of him on yearbook 10:27 Buf. throw away Constitution Irving beat #2 too quick to nerd

Deconstructing thumbatic

Instead of "psychosis" "phantasma"

607 - Isa hair - 704 OWCA shredding SC

C feels good - "? ? that every day"

12 min: Viewers see The Murder Board

Biblio Blast anim. notes Perry incompetent - smashes into Doof's roof Cut down - plants surrounding/attacking Cut down Doof/Per table start w/Doof "We have to HIT SELF DESTRUCT"

picture 8: (page 1) song by the paver the wind makes love w/each other again

around us - it all seems so real meaning confounds us - cuz nothing's revealed we're SW in love w/each other again

Middle 1: From nothing we hustle Towards each other again Our love seems to circle Without any end

V3: The cloud of unknowing has such beautiful colors But where is it all going ? towards one another? we're SW - in love w/each other again

Middle 2: We seek out each other Every time we appear Sometimes we find another Before we disappear

INSTRUMENTAL W/DANCING SKELETON

(page 2) Middle 3: The breeze says to hug her And show how we feel Slowly healing each other Every turn of the wheel

Repeat V1: So basically - We're SW Along by the river We sit on a porch and The wind makes us shiver We're SW in love w/ each other again We're SW in love w/ each other again

JOSH - The paver of

picture 9: While Dance

says to hug her how we feel healing each other turn of the wheel

Repeat V1: (So basically)

We're SW Alone by the river We sit on the ? and The wind makes us shiver We're SW In love w/each other again

picture 10: Swampy

is trapped

back build something

element

State Triangle

"It's like the Berm[uda Triangle] totally different

(Teen lounge) & P&F build

too much like

Dan wants PLANE to

Doof is the ship

Jon said we turn strong where Doof is in the clouds - there's

picture 11: It's a whole new summer Perry (reblog if u cried)

Earthquake

Mom is laughing so hard she can't look

Staring contest - Try not to laugh

Candace has to be ? at Jeremy's larping tournament but she laughs

picture 12: Perry sick, "Can you take

Candace P&F canoe race

Laughtrack-inator Start ? - reveal Doof hits them w/a Doof keeps cranking it up

Doof rises wall of ? behind at ?

Laugh-inator Cut to surgeon heart

Norm: Good mg. sir Doof: But I programmed you to

picture 13: (this is another view of the page in picture 2, but this one reveals slightly more at the bottom, nothing too noteworthy added except for this)

LINDANA 80'S COP MOVIE - GUEST ON DOOFENPUS

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Back home p.2

Hii guys I hope you enjoy part 2 of this story featuring a love triangle between Arthur and Charles Leclerc. If you've missed part 1 here it is.

As Arthur parks the car, the familiar Italian restaurant you used to frequent comes into view. The sight of it immediately warms your heart, bringing back a flood of memories. "Arthur, this is perfect! It's like you read my mind," you say, turning to him with a smile that reaches your eyes.

"I'm glad you like it," he replies, his own smile genuine as he steps out of the car. He quickly circles around to your side, opening the door for you like the gentleman he's always been.

Inside, the cosy atmosphere of the restaurant feels like a comforting embrace. The soft lighting, the smell of freshly baked bread, and the quiet hum of conversation from other diners set the perfect backdrop for your reunion. As you begin to catch up over plates of pasta and glasses of wine, it feels like no time has passed at all.

"I'm so sorry, Arthur," you say, your voice filled with concern as you reach across the table to take his hand. "When you told me through FaceTime that Carla had broken up with you, I couldn’t believe it. It must have been so hard on you."

Arthur squeezes your hand gently, his expression softening as he looks into your eyes. The truth is, Carla didn't break up with him—he ended things with her the moment he knew you were coming back. After all these years, it had always been you. But he can't bring himself to say that, not yet.

"It was hard," he admits, his tone measured. "But I'm much better now, especially with you here." His words bring a smile to your face, one that he mirrors, feeling a sense of relief that you're finally back where you belong.

After lunch, the two of you drive to your apartment, chatting and laughing the entire way. The sun is setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the city as Arthur pulls up in front of your building. He helps you with your bags, insisting on carrying the heaviest ones despite your playful protests.

As you both reach the front door, the sound of a door opening catches your attention. You turn just in time to see Charles stepping out of the neighbouring apartment, his eyes widening in shock when he sees you.

"Y/N?" he exclaims, clearly taken aback. "I didn't know you were back!"

You smile, surprised but pleased to see him. "Charles! I just got in today. Arthur was kind enough to pick me up and help me with my bags."

Charles glances at Arthur, his expression unreadable. Arthur, on the other hand, remains calm, giving Charles a polite nod. He had deliberately kept your return a secret from Charles, knowing that his reaction might complicate things.

"Here, let me help," Charles offers, quickly stepping forward and grabbing one of the bags from Arthur's hand before you can protest.

"Thank you, Charles," you say gratefully. "Why don't you both come in for a bit? I could use the company while I unpack."

Arthur hesitates for a moment, but Charles is already nodding. "We'd be happy to help," Charles says, flashing you a smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

As you walk into your apartment, the familiar scent of home fills the air. You set your bags down by the door and turn to Charles with a curious smile. "So, are you still living with your mom next door?" you ask, remembering the days when you used to spend so much time at their place.

Charles pauses, a brief flicker of something unreadable passing through his eyes as he answers. "No, I’m just visiting. I’ve been away for a race, but I thought I’d stop by to see her." He adds casually, "I’ll probably come by more often now." His tone remains light, but there's an underlying intention, now that he knows you're back he'll come around more often.

You smile at his words, completely unaware of the hidden meaning behind them. "That’s great! I’m sure she’s happy to have you around. How’s the season going with Ferrari?" you ask, genuinely interested in hearing about his racing career. You remember how passionate he was about it when you last saw him.

Charles’s face lights up as he starts talking about the season. He dives into the details of the latest races, the ups and downs with the car, and the challenges he’s faced on the track. His enthusiasm is contagious, and you find yourself caught up in his stories, asking questions and laughing at his anecdotes.

But as the conversation flows between you and Charles, Arthur’s mood shifts. He stands a little further back, his jaw tightening as he watches his brother monopolize your attention. Every laugh, every shared smile between you and Charles grates on him. He had been looking forward to this moment—just you and him, reconnecting after all these years—but now Charles is here, and it feels like his brother is stealing his time with you.

You, however, are blissfully unaware of the tension simmering between the brothers. To you, it feels like old times, catching up with people who mean a lot to you. You’re focused on the stories Charles is telling, completely missing the way Arthur’s hands clench into fists at his sides, or the way his eyes narrow slightly whenever Charles makes you laugh.

Eventually, Charles wraps up his latest story, and you glance over at Arthur, who hasn’t said much. You flash him a warm smile, hoping to bring him back into the conversation. "Arthur, you should tell Charles about the restaurant we went to earlier. It’s one of our old favourites."

Arthur forces a smile, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "Yeah, it was nice," he says simply, his tone clipped. He’s trying to be polite, but inside, he’s fuming. All he wanted was a quiet afternoon with you, but now he’s sharing it with the one person who always seemed to overshadow him.

Charles, not as oblivious as he might seem, catches the flash of envy in Arthur’s eyes. The subtle tightening of his brother’s jaw doesn't escape him, and it only spurs him on. "That sounds great," Charles says, his voice smooth as he locks eyes with you, a hint of challenge beneath his easy smile. "Maybe we can all go together sometime."

He lets the suggestion linger, his gaze lingering on you with just enough warmth to make his intentions clear, even as he fully registers Arthur’s growing tension. Sensing an opportunity, Charles shifts a little closer, his body language open and inviting as he continues the conversation, deliberately drawing you in further.

Arthur, feeling the shift in the air, fights to keep his composure. Every instinct screams at him to pull you closer, to remind Charles that you were always meant to be his. But he knows he can't afford to lose control, not now. If he's going to win you over, he needs to play it cool—even if it's killing him inside. So he forces a tight smile, holding back the words that threaten to spill out, determined not to let his brother see how deeply he’s affected.

But Charles, fully aware of the silent battle between them, isn't about to back down. And as you remain blissfully unaware of the tension swirling around you, the rivalry between the two brothers only intensifies, each of them silently vowing to win your heart.

Here's part 3

Tags: @iamapersonwholikesunicorns, @janeh22

[pico-farad]

I finished season 1 of Vrains and it was cool but I thought it needed about 2 billion more secret identity shenanigans

extended thoughts below

So I went into a deep dive in my last two posts (1, 2) about all the problems I had with Vrains, and you'd think I didn't enjoy it, but in fact as I was watching, there was a separate, parallel version of Vrains that was playing in my head, a Yugioh I think we were robbed of and which fixes every problem I had with the first season, and that is Secret Identities AU.

Yusaku needs FRIENDS

This is YUGIOH.

This dynamic is everything I wanted from Vrains. Yusaku developing unexpected fondness for these bozos who think he needs a defense squad. I want Miraculous Ladybug levels of secret identity shenanigans. I want Yusaku slapping his duel disk every time Ai tries to blow their cover.

This AU sprung forth from the scene in the duel club where he shows Naoki his decoy deck. Having Yusaku passing as a bad duelist is 1) so funny, but 2) Yusaku needing to maintain his low profile is a useful contrivance for other characters to get more duels, and 3) I think it would be a really fun one-off episode where Yusaku has to duel using his bad deck. When he wins, Naoki is so proud he cries.

Having Yusaku actually have to interact with the other characters in the real world opens up Greek play levels of dramatic irony. The crux of a secret identity story is that every single interaction builds up anticipation, because you the viewer know that the other party is being deceived, and that the tension will snap when the secret is revealed.

I have zero anticipation about Playmaker's identity being revealed, because Aoi would be like "oh.... I guess he goes to my school" and Go would be like "have I seen that guy before?" But SIAU Playmaker? My guy is making friends just so he can betray them. Insane.

Go needs A ROLE IN THE STORY.

I said in my first post that Go isn't a rival or a best friend character. SIAU fixes this by making him both simultaneously.

Having him be the ace of the duel club is a natural replacement for his whole hero of the orphans schtick, while placing him directly the circle of relevance with the other characters. Instead of being disgruntled that the orphans suddenly like Playmaker more than him, he's disgruntled that Naoki and the duel club mooks are fawning over Playmaker -- which is actually just Naoki's character anyway.

I would kill for a big dramatic moment where Go learns that Playmaker and Yusaku are the same person, and even though Go feels betrayed that Yusaku has been deceiving him, he stands by Yusaku anyway because they're friends.

With a secret identity story, every conversation is working on multiple levels because each character is working with asymmetric information. You get these fascinating, layered scenes of two characters talking past each other because they cannot give up their secret.

Which would go especially hard with Go and Yusaku, because Go has legitimate criticisms of Playmaker in canon and Yusaku has legitimate reasoning behind the things he does, and as Go Onizuka and Playmaker they could never come to an understanding on them, but as Go and Yusaku, two friends in duel club, that door becomes open to them.

Aoi needs WRITING THAT ISN'T A TRAINWRECK

I made a whole post on this. Basically every problem would be solved if Akira doesn't know that she's Blue Angel. There's no reason for her to lose grotesquely against Yusaku, or have her basic autonomy called into question constantly. 

Having her actively deceive her brother is delicious. Like I said in my last post, it's so obvious how Akira's overprotectiveness has taken its toll on Aoi, and pushed her into developing this other persona, Blue Angel. I want this absolutely dysfunctional sibling relationship so badly. The Blue Angel vs. Zaizen duel would make me lose my mind.

And a secret identities setting works so well with the potential themes of VRAINS as a stand-in for the internet and Blue Angel as an idol. Give me that Perfect Blue Satoshi Kon good stuff. Give me those themes about identity, and the different lives we live, outward and inward, online and offline.

This also helps Akira's character, because I think he would be much more interesting and relevantly positioned in the story if he stayed a SOL Technologies baddie. SOL Technologies has very little presence in season 1 despite being critical to the story. After Zaizen is replaced by an irrelevant clown, they don't do anything but send out mook AIs to get destroyed. By having a three-way standoff between Yusaku's squad, the Knights of Hanoi, and SOL Technologies, both Hanoi and SOL Technologies become more compelling. They've both got all the reason in the world to want to take down the other. Zaizen vs. Revolver or Spectre? That's good shit.

And don't get me started on how I would turn Revolver into a Secret Identities character.

[romavoid]

Nullity can’t remember when she started humming the tune. It was small snippets of a bigger song, that she did know. But what song is also lost to her. Was it before the sky kingdom, with her biological parents? Or was it after that, during her unsteady days adapting to the higher, less nocturnal climate? She was too young to really remember either way.

Still, it's a nice melody to sing to, especially when baking.

“What’re you trying out this time, Nul?”

The nightwing squeaked loudly, whipping her whole body around in surprise. In the doorway to the kitchen loomed a large, redwood-coloured skywing, clearly trying to hide his mirth.

“Dad!!! You can’t do that to me!” Nullity yelled past his now booming laughter. She felt blood rush to her face, flush with embarrassment.

“Aw darl, that was an amazing reaction!” Her father replied, wiping a stray tear from his eye.

“Yeah well, I'm making banana bread, and it’s gonna be way better than yours, so ha!”

Despite his frankly annoying tallness, Nullity’s adoptive father was a baker, and a good one at that. Hired among the higher circles of the sky kingdom - both in altitude and class - he would prepare pastries, breads, cakes, and other sweet and savoury foods for other dragons to snack on. But for a long, long while, his family and creations were a one dragon job, until he found Nullity.

“Oh banana bread? That’s a good one, what’s your flour to banana ratio, though?”

“Oh 1 to 2, obviously, but I’m adding some walnuts to it as well.”

Nullity’s father smiled fondly. “Attagirl.”

Yeah, he was a great dad. Silly and often times oblivious, but great. But of course it wasn't just him that found Nullity in the woods…

“Morning Nully, morning Finch!” a voice boomed through the entrance of the house.

It was her mother too.

Their story goes a little like this:

It was one of those restless nights for Finch, when his mind was too loud to get any decent sleep, that he found his little garden. Nestled in between some brambles of the kingdom’s outer wood, Finch had started growing his own food. It was embarrassing, honestly, not trusting his own kingdom's community gardens, but wild fruits and vegetables had always tasted better! Plus, it was a good reprieve from work, too.

On a completely unordinary night, Finch felt like digging up some carrots. “They should be grown by now,” he had thought, “Just in time for carrot-cake season.” So he flew over to his super secret spot, to dig up his super secret carrots, for his super amazing deserts when-

“What are you doing here, citizen?”

A skywing guard found him… with his claws about 1 foot in the ground, and mud splattered all over his scales. The shriek that left his mouth bordered on banshee.

To say he overreacted would be a lie, he had been coming to the garden for almost a year, and no one had found it, or him. He was scared okay? But the way the pink-red guard yelled back in surprise, meant he wasn't the only one.

“Whoa, hey, hey! Calm down!” She squawked at him. “What on earth are you crying about!?”

“You!-” She then whacked him in the face. With her whole wing. OW-

“What is your problem!” he muffled, trying to shove the wing back.

But he stopped, and saw what the guard saw.

The brambles were rustling, he noticed, different from any animal Finch had heard before. Then, out of the thorny bush, slung a black-grey and bleeding tail. A dragonet tail.

The two skywings were frozen with shock.

It was only when a small, scared squeak, left the toddler’s mouth did they finally move.

“Oh gods” The guard breathed. Finch shoved her wing away and rushed over.

He peeled back the branches as delicately as he could, both him, the child, and the guard flinching at every snap of twig. His heart hung heavy in his chest.

“Did you know of this?” The guard - who Finch still didn't know the name of - whispered loudly.

“N-no… nobody comes here.” Finch replied, just as startled. “Why a kid? Why a kid?”

Finch’s hands were shaking, his mind reeling. There’s a child, abandoned, stuck in the thorns in the middle of the night, scared, hurt, and alone. It kept squeaking as well, too young to form words yet. Something needed to be done.

“You…” He hesitated towards the guard.

“Xantus”

“Xantus, thank you, could you search around the area? T-They must have parents, right?”

The guard nodded gravely, taking off into the upper trees.

Finch turned back to the bramble, picking thorns off the child's delicate scales. Their legs were now free, but that was about it. Finch cooed at them, whispering small reassurances, as he painstakingly untied vines and thorns around them. It took a long time, long enough for the guard, Xantus, to come back with no news. The legs were free, then the wings, the chest, the arms and then finally the neck, then face.

Finch noted that, when the sunrise shone through the branches, and the child’s light-burgundy eyes locked on to his, he wanted to be a father.

—

Of course, Nullity wasn't adopted by them until about 10 months after she was found. In that time, Finch and X had to go back to work, giving the child over to the sky-mud joint orphanage. But during that time, both skywings couldn't stop thinking about her. The situation was strange, but above all else, heartbreaking. Her description, age, or location, wasn’t on any census. No kingdom could vouch for her birth, not even the nightwings. Legally speaking, she was a nullity. (ha)

So call it impulsive or parental, but Finch needed to give that child a home. After some consideration, he flew over to X’s, and explained the situation. He knew that, on that completely unordinary day, his whole life had changed. It was to Finch’s surprise, however, that Xantus felt the same. “I couldn’t think, I couldn't eat, I couldn’t sleep, without knowing if she was alright.” She had stated at the time, offering to help the new dad any way that she could.

So they adopted her together, and raised her together.

—

Back in the present, Nullity noted she was still humming that unknown tune, her claws mindlessly stirring her banana bread mixture. Through the doorway, she could hear Finch and X bicker, their loud skywing laughs ringing in her ears.

She loves her parents so much.

[surelysilly]

SuperPhantom Week 2024, go!

What: A week to celebrate the bestest crossover — Danny Phantom / Supernatural (TV 2005)! Fanfic, fanart, playlists/music, other multimedia or crafts, whatever you want, are all welcome! There are themed prompts for each day, so try to include it and more or as little as you want!

When: September 7th, 2024 - September 13th, 2024

Day 1: Sept. 7th - Divine / Impiety Day 2: Sept. 8th - Strange Day 3: Sept. 9th - Family / Outsider Day 4: Sept. 10th - Song (Fic) Day 5: Sept. 11th - Right / Left Day 6: Sept. 12th - Tools of the Trade Day 7: Sept. 13th - Free

*I will catch up on what I've missed in the following week to the best of my ability, but can't guarantee any swiftness. Submissions may show up the day after their prompt as I queue them up.

Sentence prompt for the week:

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay.”

How: Post your works on Tumblr with the tags #superphantomweek2024 and #superphantom. I’ll reblog them here! Submissions to the week can also be added to this Ao3 Collection!

Just want everyone to have fun with this old little crossover here, so be free and be merry!!! <3

Below are extra details and information for each day.

Honorable mentions for extra brownie points:

Focus on side characters from either show! Last (few) season(s) nonsense Where do ghosts fit in the war between heaven and hell?

Day 1: Sept. 7th - Divine / Impiety

Do you think God lives in Heaven because He, too, lives in fear of what He's created Here on Earth? - Spy Kids 2

Divine: Angelic Presence, Angels, Grace, Holy, God(s), Wings, Pie, Fudge, Resurrection, Prophets

Impiety: Deals, Crossroads, Demon, Betrayal, Curse, Desecration, King of Hell, Abomination, Half-human (Nephilim, Cambion), Halfas (Half Angel & Half Ghost)

Day 2: Sept. 8th - Strange

There's something wrong with those boys... Something off about that house...

Too Many Eyes, Charade, Fleeting Glimpses, Veil, Death Defying, Midwestern Gothic, Limbo/Purgatory, Horror, Biblically Accurate, Ghosts, Weird Age Club

Day 3: Sept. 9th - Family / Outsider

This is about the blood of the covenant and the water of the womb, or neither or.

Family: Children, Childhood, Siblings, Old Friend, Blood, Fluff, Teamwork, Bonds

Outsider: Accidental Meeting, Secret, Outside POV, Found Footage, Ghost Facers, Wrongfully Accused, Strange Bedfellows, Incorrect Assumptions

Day 4: Sept. 10th - Song (Fic)

We've got a long road ahead of us... can't just sit in silence! Or can we...?

Mixtape, CD burn, Radio, Voice, Enochian, Ghost Speak, Silence, Lullaby

Day 5: Sept. 11th - Right / Left

The usual canon divergence, even canon compliance... or something even further removed!

Right: Time Travel, Pre-canon, The End AU, It's a Terrible Life AU

Left: Roleswap, Fantasy AU, Sci-fi, Multi-Crossover

Day 6: Sept. 12th - Tools of the Trade

These vary by profession. What are yours?

Overshadowing, Shot gun, Blade, Salt Circle, Trap, Ghost Portal, Ectoplasm, Impala, Feton AV, Cold Iron, Disguise, Fire, Possession, Wail, Monster of the Week, Summoning

Day 7: Sept. 13th - (Team) Free (Will)

New beginnings. Final endings. Let's do it all over again, it's only just getting started. Or is it?

Friday the 13th, Unlucky, Carry On My Wayward Son, Thrill, whatever you want!

*Take what you like, leave what you don't; these are all just extra suggestions for each day to help get the brain wrinkling up! Send any questions my way~

[written-in-flowers]

Be the Light: Pt. 2 (SeongjoongxFem!reader)

Pairing: Hongjoong x Seonghwa x Fem!reader

Word Count: 7k

Genre: angst, fluff, smut

AU: historical!au, arranged marriage!au, royalty!au

Summary: YN has spent her entire life in service of Han Sookmyung, Queen of Hanseong. She never dreamed above her station, or that she'd ever be in reach of Sookmyung's concubines, 'The Golden Ones'. But, when secrets are brought to life, her world is turned upside-down.

Warnings: graphic descriptions of violence, heavily referenced torture (briefly), heavily referenced abuse (briefly), heavily referenced sexual abuse (briefly), enslavement, slight gaslighting, lost sibling, political drama, historical drama, joseon!au, concubine!ateez, nsfw content, virgin!reader, polyamory, polygamous, throuple, threesome m/m/f, oral sex (m. and f. receiving/giving), cunnlingus, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, virgin sex, virginity discussed.

Taglist: @scarfac3 @tunaasan @lelaleleb @sevngmin148 @meljoongiee @puppyminnnie @sunasmoke22 @kyourixr

And thanks to my @daesukiii for beta reading this for me! It's so hard to find a good beta reader, and they've never disappointed me! ❤️

Part 1 < | > Part 3

***

Hongjoong learned long ago that the best release of anger was having sex with Sookmyung. Not in the heated passionate way he might’ve with a real lover, but in a hateful way. He pinned her down. He pulled her hair. He bit her neck, bruised her thighs, and slapped her ass until it turned red. He rammed his hips into her quickly and fiercely. All the while pretending that it is his desire for her making him act harshly. He held Sookmyung by her arms as he guided her onto Yunho, who laid beneath her naked and erect. Her loud, feral grunts told him she was close to her third climax today. He hated her. He hated her for making them do this. Her insatiable libido was limitless depravity. Nothing is ever too vile for her. Nothing is ever off limits.

He hated how she’d made San whip Wooyoung, all because she thought they’d coupled together without her permission. The two sat on a couch nearby, kissing softly as ordered to be Sookmyung. He saw the long red welts and purple marks along Wooyoung’s tanned back and torso. According to her, they’d been laying in bed together half naked. San told him they hadn’t touched or kissed. They’d only laid there talking as friends do at night. It enraged her. She’d scowled and screamed, throwing a tantrum in San's bed chamber. Hongjoong remembered hearing Wooyoung’s cries as she barked orders at San. San still had bite marks on his shoulders where she’d bit him. This made Hongjoong suck and bite into her neck to retaliate.

“Don’t stop,” she growled as he and Yunho pushed into her, “Don’t…Don’t..Oh god, keep going!”

She eventually came, and Hongjoong stayed inside until it subsided. Every muscle in his body ached, burning hotly and begging to rest. He and Yunho both withdrew and moved away from her.  He did not fully rest as Yunho did. Standing on wobbly knees, Hongjoong grabbed a robe from nearby and slid over his shoulders.

“Hongjoongie,” he heard Sookmyung whimpered behind him, “Where are you going?”

“I’m famished, beloved,” he muttered.

“I can have food brought to us,” she called, but he shook his head.

“No need,” he assured her. “The others will keep you company until I return.”

He kissed her before walking out of the circular room. Hongjoong walked down a hallway into another, smaller sitting room where a servant left  plates of food and a pot of tea. This sitting room is the farthest from the main lounge, where most of the guards and attendants would be, leaving him entirely alone. Taking a sip of tea, he took a quick peek through the wooden lattice windows.  The setting sun gave their garden a russet glow that broke between leaves and branches. It is a beautiful sight, he admitted. Lush green bushes and vibrant flowers basked in the spring time season, while fish swam in the ponds and lakes across the grounds. Cobbled walkways circled brass fountains, and trees outside sometimes bore fruit for them to eat. It reminded him of his own garden back at home, where he played with his siblings and companions while his mother looked on. He still remembers all the times she’d chase him around the garden or taught him about the different flowers. Sookmyung had taken that from him. Shed stormed in with her vast army, and slew his entire family. He thought of his mother’s lifeless eyes looking at him as a knife plunged into her chest, her last breath echoing in his ear.

‘I’ll take better care of you than she ever did,’ Sookmyung whispered to him as his mother lay dying on the ground. 

He hated her. He loathed her. He despised her with every fiber of his being. Queen Sookmyung had stormed into his home, killed his family, enslaved his people, and then took him. It sickened him. He did not eat a single portion left on the table; he could barely stomach the tea. She must be stopped. He’d said this to himself a million times over the past eight years. Hongjoong often laid in bed and thought of killing her. Simply putting a knife in her chest as she’d done to his mother. But, no. That will not do. Her council, no matter how much they despise her, will be forced to act. Also, there’d be an even major problem: there’d be nobody to claim the throne. King Siwon had old uncles, and they had children, but they’re so low in rank now that nobody remembers their names. Sookmyung put any possible challenges to the sword: children of the king’s concubines, close cousins, and people who might stake a claim however small. There’d be nobody to guide their kingdom; nobody to speak on behalf of its people and rebuild what Sookmyung destroyed.

Hongjoong might hate Sookmyung, but he did not hate the people. The subjects whom he’d hoped to serve one day called out for help and he is unable to answer their call. It made him feel helpless, useless, and powerless. That is, until he’d met Naeun.

He’d gone into the garden alone a few weeks ago when he heard a disturbance near the apricot trees towards the side walls. The scrape of metal against stone caught his ear in the dark corner of the garden, followed by a soft thump of feet touching ground. When Hongjoong went to discover it, someone put their hand over his mouth and pushed him into the bushes between the trees. There, he’d seen the intruder: short and slim as a tree branch, the young woman wore a half mask and dressed in all black. He’d originally been scared, seeing the dagger on her belt, but then she pulled down her mask.

‘Your Grace, I come on behalf of Seo Changbin. He says hope is not lost.’

It took him a moment to place a face to the name, but it hit him quickly. While never having met the man in person, he’d heard Sookmyung mention his name disdainfully before. A resistance leader, he’d once been a military soldier until his defection some years ago. According to Naeun, he has been gathering recruits to his cause while remaining underground. Hongjoong had no idea why he’d contact him; he’d lost his crown and his people. He held no power to help them. Changbin seemed to think differently.

‘The people of Wonju have not forgotten you, my prince. We must free you from this prison.’

'That is much easier said than done, I'm afraid. Sookmyung takes as much care to keep us imprisoned as she does keeping others out. The most I can do for him is to remain here.'

'You wish to be kept here?'

'Yes. Sookmyung foolishly boasts about her plans in front of us. I know things about her bases, her forces, and her battle plans than most. I can leave messages for you in the tree whenever I have something to pass along.'

'Your Grace, if she were to catch you…I believe you do not understand. You are our only hope.'

'I am more useful to the rebellion inside these walls than out. Trust me. I know what I'm doing. Come to me a week from now, and I shall have information for you.'

Naeun agreed to the plan. Sookmyung never suspected anything when she began idly chatting about her various strategies. Hongjoong made note of her words and passed them along to Naeun, who then told Changbin. It helped them in the short term, but they needed something stronger. Simply cutting off trade routes, attacking military camps, and liberating political prisoners is not enough. They needed to get rid of Sookmyung permanently. 

An assassin sounded easy, but Sookmyung is so closely guarded, getting a moment with her might be hard. The one time a person did manage to reach her chambers, she’d killed them. He told Naeun that Sookmyung is no delicate kitten. She has claws that are long and sharp, and she enjoys sinking them into her enemies slowly. 

They would need to be careful if they wished to proceed.

“Tired already, Joongie?”

He heard Seonghwa call from somewhere behind him, and he turned around to see him by the door. Wearing his own black robe, seeing him in the faint orange sunset, he understood why Sookmyung took him as a concubine. His dark eyes twinkled with a thousand stars, and his plush lips resembled rosé petals. After being captured by Sookmyung, Hongjoong realized he had companions in his misery: the other sons of people Sookmyung killed. One of them being Seonghwa, son of a chief advisor in another nation. Sookmyung must’ve hoped he and Seonghwa would fight over her; that they’d rip each other apart for a special spot beside her. That is the only disappointment she let them get away with. The pair of them both realized the only people they’d have in this world is one another; they’d never see home or their families again. The “flowers” learned long ago that they can only depend on one another.

“Far from it,” he replied. “I thought it’d be unfair to keep her from enjoying the rest of you.”

‘I wanted to get away from her.’ 

Even in this room far from ears and eyes, they practiced caution. Seonghwa sauntered over to him, “I think she’s plenty occupied with the others for the moment. A bit of rest will not upset her.”

‘She’s busy. Let’s talk.’

Their casual expressions became serious once Seonghwa reached him, their backs facing the doorway. Seonghwa poured himself tea, and the elder sipped quietly.

“Will you see your friend again tonight?”

“I might,” he said. “She told me to meet her by the trees a week from then. She said Changbin uncovered information that could be very instrumental in removing her, but he needed proof of it.”

“What could it be?”

“I don’t know,” he shrugged. “Maybe he discovered Sookmyung is some foul demon and has discovered how to banish her from this world.”

The pair of them giggled softly. Seonghwa drank from his tea cup, and said, “Have you heard anything about that maid?”

Hongjoong hesitated. His stomach twisted into knots when the picture came back to him. He pictured a young girl, about sixteen by his estimation, laying on the pavilion floor as she cried out in pain. It had been a mistake. An older servant told him that the young girl came to them looking for work, and was given a job in the kitchen. She’d been putting down wine cups when she accidentally knocked one over which spilled onto Sookmyung’s lap. Naturally, the queen went into an immediate rage.

“One of the attendants told me they’d thrown her into the cells for a week,” Hongjoong said flatly, putting his drink aside. “Over an accident. She beat that child for spilling wine, then imprisoned her.”

Sookmyung beat her with a bamboo switch until she drew blood.  Hongjoong remembered flinching every time the thin wooden stick met flesh; his heart sinking in every cry he heard, her pleas for the abuse to stop. A proper monarch would not have risen to anger so quickly. To be fair, he’d never seen anyone rush to rage like Sookmyung. The girl left the scene bruised and whimpering, being dragged away by two armed guards. They’d all wished to speak out. While the others wept for the young girl, he fumed with hate. It swelled in his chest until it tightened, causing him to take deep breaths. The child did nothing wrong. She’d only been a bit careless, possibly nervous at serving a queen for the first time.

“She needs to be stopped, Hwa,” Hongjoong said under his breath. “This madness must not be allowed to continue.”

“It will be stopped,” Seonghwa assured him. “A revolution is at hand.”

“Revolution? What revolution?” he spat. “The citizens of this city are too frightened of her and her men to raise up arms against her. The few who can be encouraged do not have the proper support. A revolution can only happen if enough people stand up and speak out.” He thought of that girl, and what she must be feeling now. She must still be frightened. “That woman has stomped out any glimmer of hope those people might have had long ago. She killed anyone who would have opposed her or helped them stop her. Do not forget, love, she has her people everywhere as well.”

“Perhaps the news your friend brings will be the very ray of hope we need,” said Seonghwa.  Hongjoong sensed a change in subject when his brother smiled softly, “YN looked lovely today, didn’t she?”

“Yes,” he nodded, thinking about you as he admired the flowers beneath the window. “She did.”

“Good idea in distracting Sookmyung,” Seonghwa said, doing the same. “Chaewon mentioned she hadn’t seen YN for the past two nights.”

“I thought she could use the time.”

You looked lovely at court today. Even though you wore the same hanbok, the same slippers, and the same hairstyle every day, he and Seonghwa still found you lovely. If Hongjoong pitied anyone outside of himself and his brothers, it’d be you. While they only saw a small percentage of Sookmyung’s cruelty, you saw all of it. You saw the things she did as a princess, you saw the horrors she committed during her conquest, and the deplorable things she did as a queen. He heard Sookmyung often makes you join her in the palace jails where she keeps her victims. You've seen Sookmyung’s true nature. He imagined she might’ve even forced you to participate. If she enjoyed making you watch her have sex with them, then she definitely delighted in forcing you to torture people with her.

“She is clever, you must give her that,” Seonghwa cut through his thoughts. “From what the handmaidens say, YN is the only other person who can navigate Sookmyung. Remember when that seamstress accidentally made her jacket too short, and Sookmyung almost hit her for it? YN managed to convince her that Queens are trendsetters, and how popular she’d be to have started a new trend in hanbok fashions.”

“She’s brilliant.”

Words he instantly wished he could take back. Those words may float through the air and over to the very front of the house where she’d hear him. Hongjoong could never look at you the way he wanted with Sookmyung so close by, but he liked catching glimpses of you. He knew you likely did not feel the same way. Sookmyung’s wrath kept you from looking too long or speaking to him directly. The things he learned about you had been through others. Late at night, when the weight of his plight robbed him of sleep, he envisioned what would happen if he’d still been a prince. He would’ve come to Hanseong as a diplomatic envoy or as a prince to discuss alliance terms. You’d likely still be Sookmyung’s handmaiden, but he’d be allowed to speak to you. He could talk to you without the threat of death looming behind you. He could enjoy your company leisurely in the open and be free to seek you out if he wished.

Perhaps, once he’d deposed Sookmyung and reclaimed his homeland, he could pursue you the way a man pursues a woman he admires.

“I sometimes wonder what it'd be like if I was still an advisor’s son,” Seonghwa mused, “We wouldn’t be the same rank but I still would’ve married her, if she accepted. I’d keep her safe. She wouldn’t need to live in fear anymore.”

“And if she married me, she’d be free to do as she wished,” added Hongjoong.

“What makes you think she’d marry you?” teased Seonghwa. “Because you’re a prince? You cannot marry someone so below your rank. You’re supposed to marry a princess.”

“Sookmyung murdered all the princesses, remember? ” said Hongjoong, “Besides, I wouldn’t be a prince anymore. I’d be a king, so she’d surely say ‘yes’ to me.”

“Being a queen is complicated and stressful. Being the wife of an Advisor is much more relaxed. She’d have a comfortable lifestyle and also freedom she wouldn’t get as a queen.”

“She’s strong enough to handle the responsibilities. She handles Sookmyung every day, so it wouldn’t be so hard.”

Hongjoong did not mind the idea of being with both you and Seonghwa. He’d grown to love Seonghwa, and after sharing a bed with him on many occasions, the intimacy nurtured the fondness. Hongjoong learned to put his trust in a handful of people, and Seonghwa became one of them. His brilliant mind and tender heart drew in anyone who spoke to him, Hongjoong included. 

“Or you could both be my concubines to make things easier for everyone,” he winked. “Kings have very big appetites, you know.”

Seonghwa punched his arm and laughed, “I’d never be a concubine to anyone ever again. I’ll settle for your Chief Advisor position, however.”

“In that case, I get to marry YN and you cannot protest.”

“Trade YN for a seat on your council? Hm, perhaps I should think more on it before giving an answer.”

“You’d be Chief Advisor, second to The King and second most powerful man in the country,” he explained. “Surely, that will be a reasonable trade.”

“May I at least kiss her before you take her from me, Your Grace?”

“If she accepts, then you may.”

“Hongjoong! Seonghwa! Where are you?”

The sound of her voice demolished any laughter between them. Hongjoong’s  hatred immediately boiled inside him. He glanced back to the garden, the sun nearly set and darkness waning over them. He knew you’d come to bring Sookmyung her supper, and then disappear again. Perhaps those few minutes you stayed in his presence may be enough to soothe his anger.

“Hongjoong!” she screamed in a firm tone.

A third call will result in chastising. Hongjoong finished his drink, then stood up with Seonghwa to walk back into the main room. Draped with red, black and gold, plush couches and cushions decorated the circular room. It had every comfort or luxury people outside the palace would faint over.  If she wanted, musicians would stand in a corner to entertain them while Yunho, Mingi or Wooyoung danced for her. Jongho or Yeosang would be ordered to sing songs as she lounged herself across Hongjoong and Seonghwa’s laps. The “garden”, as she called their quarters, was her private playground and nobody is permitted inside unless under extreme urgency.

Sookmyung laid on her back on one of the couches, still nude and sweaty from the strenuous love making. His brothers rested around her, their privates no doubt aching from the constant orgasms, and their muscles burning due to the exertion. He supposed she’d tired herself out, since all physical touching stopped in his absence. Though, knowing Sookmyung, that desire can turn its ugly head around very easily. He must not do anything to entice her, yet still placate her. Perhaps he can convince her to retire to bed early or return to her quarters for the night. Meeting Naeun will be easier if she’s away.

“There you are,” she said, rolling onto her side and looking at him through tired eyes, “I was beginning to think you’d fallen asleep without me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

He thought of straddling her to wrap his hands around her throat, yet instead, he did so to kiss her softly. Her lips, warm and tasting faintly of their combined juices, disgusted him instead of exciting him. The thought of kissing you instead was what pushed him through it until they broke apart. 

“I had someone go fetch YN,” she told him, putting her legs across his lap. “I’m starving, and she hasn’t appeared yet.”

“I’m sure she’s preoccupied elsewhere, and it slipped her mind,” assured Hongjoong.

“How can I slip from her mind?” she snapped. “I’m her queen. My welfare is all she should be concerned with; it’s her role as my handmaiden and head of my household. She is my oldest companion, but she can be so simple-minded sometimes.”

He wanted to slap her, but resisted the urge by giving her thigh a slight squeeze disguised as desire.

“Maybe I should take her down to the cells again,” she said pensively. Rolling her hairpin between her fingers, he saw her turning the idea in time with it. “I can show her what can happen if she forgets about me.”

His eyes looked to Seonghwa, whose jaw clenched tightly. He saw similar expressions from the others around them. Hongjoong knew they cared about you just as much as he did.

“I don’t think such a harsh display is necessary, Mistress,” said Yunho, coming to her opposite side, gently moving his fingers through her hair. “There are many duties she has besides tending to your needs. She has to manage your household staff, plan out your meals for you, and make sure everything is prepared for your nightly routine. The kitchen might not have finished your supper, for all you know.”

“Hm, I suppose.”

“And I believe you’ve exerted yourself enough for one evening, no?” he proposed.

“I guess,” she said, sounding almost disappointed. “It’d still be funny,” she snorted. “She’s so squeamish sometimes. She'd looked away when I cut off a man's hand once, and cried like a baby." 

Hongjoong remembered that man. While thievery is frowned upon, the man’s reasoning was sound to Hongjoong: he was hungry. Rather than remove a finger for theft as is customary, Sookmyung chopped his hand. Piece by piece, he'd heard. Hongjoong did not see it, but you did. He wished he could remove the images from your mind, and replace them with ones of warmth and happiness. Yet, that is one thing a king cannot do.

“She’s delicate, Mistress,” Yeosang said next, coming up and kneeling beside Yunho. “Ladies like YN are sensitive to certain ghastly sights, and cannot handle them. She is not as strong as you; you cannot fault her for what is a part of her.”

“You all seem to be quite fond of her…” they all heard the accusation laced into her words, and Hongjoong knew what to say.

“She is not only your handmaiden, but your childhood companion,” he said, “She has become a large part of you. She’s almost an extension of yourself, and how can we not be fond of something that is a part of you?”

‘She is your slave. She is your property, therefore we care for her safety and spirit.’

"She is,” Sookmyung agreed, “I have known her my entire life. She has been there for me through the toughest times, and has never betrayed me. YN might be naive and simple, but she is the only person whom I can trust entirely.” Hongjoong saw her eyes glaze over as you crossed her mind, “If she serves me well, perhaps I’ll find a suitable husband for her myself. Someone worthy of my handmaiden and companion. Nobody of noble birth, of course, but maybe a nice stable boy or a cook-”

“-You summoned me, Your Majesty?”

Speak of an angel, and she shall appear. You parted the curtains leading into the harem room, still in your white uniform and hair braided down your back. The concubines did their best to not get an eyeful of you, but Hongjoong couldn’t help himself. While Sookmyung displayed pride and power, you showed more purity and grace. He liked that about you. 

“There you are,” said Sookmyung, standing up from the couch as if she hadn’t spent hours having sex with her concubines. Without an order, you picked up the bed robe hanging over one of the chairs to slide onto her arms. “I’m starving. Tell the cook to bring my supper here.”

“I already told them,” you said, pulling her hair out from inside the robe, “I know how exhausted you must be, so I thought you may find it more comfortable to eat here.”

“Ah, YN…” she smiled in satisfaction, “My father used to say the mark of a true servant is them knowing your commands before you’ve given them. You know me so well, YN.”

“It is my job to know you.”

Your eyes found him in the room as you quickly braided her hair from her face. Hongjoong knew complimenting you would raise suspicion with Sookmyung. 

“You’re an excellent handmaiden, YN,” said Yunho, “Knowing exactly what our Mistress needs at any given moment is a true talent.”

You bowed your head to him, but did not answer. You’re not allowed to unless Sookmyung permits it. You finished tying her hair, and stood aside while Sookmyung returned to one of the sofas nearby. Hongjoong forced himself to look away from you, knowing a lingering glance may have consequences for you. If she suspected anything between you both, you’d no longer be allowed in the house, and that would kill him. 

Sookmyung lounged across a sofa, resting against Wooyoung’s chest with her feet on San’s lap. "She truly is,” Sookmyung said. “YN, I was just telling my flowers that I should find you a proper husband.”

“That’s kind of you to consider, Your Majesty.”

“But, I have no idea what kind of men you like,” she frowned, and Hongjoong feared where this might be going.

“Your Majesty?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “What kind of men do you like? Athletic? Intelligent? Creative? Mysterious?”

“Um, I’ve never really thought about it before. I don’t have much time for men.”

“Well, if you did think about it.”

You averted your eyes from the men staring right at you. No doubt you think she is trying to trick you into a punishment. “I prefer simple men, Your Majesty. Ordinary people like me.”

“Psh, that’s no fun,” she scoffed. She paused for a moment, then said, “A woman like you needs a protector type. You know, somebody strong who will take care of you and be a proper provider. Your father isn’t around anymore, and once he’s gone, you’ll be a vulnerable little mouse. Sannie,” she turned to him, “Stand up.”

“Mistress?”

“Stand up,” she repeated more firmly.

San did not question her again and stood from the couch. “Take off your robe,” she said. “Let YN see what a protector’s body looks like.”

San removed his robe, letting it slide down his shoulders. Hongjoong saw red flushing up to his neck, cheeks, and ears as the room took in his naked form. You certainly did your best to not look at him.

“YN, look at him.”

“I’d rather not, Your Majesty.”

“Why not?”

“Because he isn’t my type.”

“You won’t know until you look.”

When you looked up at San, you did your best to not glance at his exposed groin. “Do you like it?”

“Um…well…”

“I won’t know what you like unless you tell me.”

“I think he’s nice, Your Majesty.”

“Nice? You clearly aren’t looking in the right places,” she said. “Yunho, make her look.”

“Mistress?”

“You heard me. YN clearly needs a bit of guidance. Show her where she should look.”

“Mistress, is this truly necessary?” asked Seonghwa. “YN is not as versed in sexual practices as you. Women like her are-”

“-She will be after tonight,” she grinned maliciously at your nervousness.

Yunho had taken two careful steps up to you when the doors at the end of the hall burst open. The sounds of struggling and feet stomping on the wooden floors froze everyone in place. A terrible feeling stirred in Hongjoong’s stomach when he heard a woman grunting. Through the curtains came two of Sookmyung’s guards, each of them holding the arm of someone dressed entirely in black. Naeun. Hongjoong let his shock show on his face, but disguised it as shock at the intrusion.

“What is the meaning of this?” Sookmyung shot up, outraged by their interruption. “What is going on?”

“We found this one sneaking about in your flower garden, Your Majesty,” one of the guards said. “She was carrying this.”

He showed a long dagger Naeun kept on her person at all times. The red band around the pummel made every lewd thought in Sookmyung’s mind disappear. Dark eyes glared at Naeun, who glared right back at her.

“A resistance fighter, huh?” She walked towards Naeun slowly, like a lioness stalking prey. “You truly believed you could sneak in here under the cover of night, armed with a pathetic little blade,” she took the blade from the guard and weighed it in her hands, “And think you can kill me? Hm, is that what you hoped to accomplish?” Naeun had the smarts not to respond. “You resistance bastards are like roaches. Right when I think I’ve stomped you out, you crawl your way back in.” She stuck the knife right underneath Naeun’s chin to force her eyes on her, “As I told the last rebel scum who snuck into my palace, your cause is hopeless. I control the trades. I control the fleet, the army, and the elite. Everyone and everything on this earth belongs to me, and I can do with it as I see fit.”

"You bitch,” Naeun gritted. “You won’t get away with this. Soon, our true monarch will rise from the shadows and strike you down. Death is coming for you, Sookmyung.”

“Not before it comes for you!”

“No, Mistress,” you rushed to her side to stay her hand, “Do not kill her.”

“What?!”

“Your Majesty, if this woman truly is a resistance fighter, she may have information on the people who sent her,” you explained breathlessly. “If you question her enough, she may tell you where the rebels are hiding. Those rebels have been a thorn in your side for so long, you might have the key to their undoing right in front of you.” When Sookmyung seemed unconvinced, breathing quickly on the verge of a kill, “Wouldn’t putting her in the cells be more fruitful than merely killing her? Particularly in front of the present company. You wouldn’t want your flowers to see the ugly side of you.”

Sookmyung mulled this option over, then said, “Yes. Yes, it would be more fruitful.” She smirked at Naeun, sliding the flat of the blade across her jawline, “I think we can learn very much from our ambitious friend here. Take her to the cells. YN and I will be there soon.”

“Yes, my queen," one of them said, bowing and taking Naeun away. 

“Should you not dress yourself properly, Your-” you'd begun to say. 

“-And get blood on my dress? I think not." Sookmyung turned to the men behind her, “Sleep well, Flowers. I will see you tomorrow.”

“Beloved,” Hongjoong called out to her, standing to meet her by the door, “How about you let YN go for the night and I will accompany you to the cells? She is not very well suited to interrogate someone properly, and she’ll be no help to you.” He pulled her closer to him, then whispered, “The others might find it ugly, but I find your fierceness to be…inspiring.” He brushed his lips on the edge of her ear, aware of you watching him.

“You do?”

“Always. A good queen should know when to be strong. YN isn’t like you; she’s soft and simple. Dismiss her for the night, and let me go with you.”

“You just want me all to yourself, don’t you?” she giggled, pecking his lips. “Fine, I will allow it this one time. YN, you’re dismissed.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

Hongjoong needed to get to Naeun. He's sure you stopped Sookmyung to keep Naeun alive or otherwise kill her quickly. But, he still had a greater need for her. He walked with Sookmyung out of the house, feeling your presence behind him. Naeun is a woman dedicated to the cause. Hongjoong sensed she will not give up the information easily, if at all. Knowing Sookmyung, she will drag out the pain for as long as possible before letting Naeun succumb to her wounds. Naeun will be alive enough to pass on the information she’d gotten from Changbin. Letting Sookmyung into the palanquin outside the house, he looked over to see you already walking away. You must feel relieved at being spared embarrassment and guilt for tonight. As he climbed into the seat, he knew he’d done at least one thing right tonight.

He braced himself for what he’d witness tonight. 

***

Sookmyung’s torture chambers ran deep underneath the palace jail. Sitting behind metal bars, “prisoners of interest” were locked up in small, low-ceiling rooms with nothing but a bed of straw to sleep on. Hongjoong’s nose wrinkled at the foul smells emanating from the different cells as they passed them. He did not dare glance inside any of them, a bit fearful of what he might find there. A sense of despair and dread came over him as he followed her down the aisle to the room at the end. He could imagine himself being a prisoner here, dragged out of a cell and inflicted with unimaginable agony. It sent shivers down his spine. 

“What do you think, love?” Sookmyung asked him, excitement dancing in her eyes. “Do you like it?”

“It’s innovative,” he said, having to come up with something. 

He dared peek into a cell, where he saw a long wooden box on the floor. He thought it might be a storage room before he saw the box begin to quake and faint screams came through the wood. It made his blood run cold. 

“You built this place yourself or was it always here?” he asked, moving along with her. 

“I built most of it, but it’d been in disuse for decades,” she said. “My father never approved of torture. He believed the punishment should fit the crime. I think differently. If the punishment is extreme, then the offender won’t think of doing it again.”

Hongjoong didn’t disagree. Not that he agreed either, but he wouldn’t say it out loud. Loud, painful screaming echoed from behind a wooden door, and this made Sookmyung stop to look through its small window. “Blossom, come look,” she smiled, glancing over to him and beckoning him forward, “They’ve lifted him to the ceiling.”

He made himself step over to her, and she let him see the naked man dangling from a pulley system. The jailors tied baskets of weights to his ankles so his legs stretched further. From what he could see, the baskets were nearly full. 

“You see, what they do is hang them from the ceiling,” she explained excitedly, “And then they keep adding weights to the baskets to bring their body downwards. It’s like a stretching rack, but vertical. I’ve found it quite marvelous to watch. If they hang there  long enough, their bones start dislodging from the sockets.”

“That’s…Beloved, we have an assassin to question. We shouldn’t keep the confessor waiting.”

“Oh alright,” she huffed, like a child being refused sweets, “But when we finish, I want to show you The Box. YN squirms whenever I open it, but you’re a strong man and she’s a little girl, so you can handle it better than her.” 

Hongjoong did not want to see ‘The Box’. He did not want to see any of this. If he asked, he’s sure whatever crime these people did to deserve these punishments is minor. ‘They stole a loaf of bread’, ‘They said treasonous things’, ‘They happened to be wearing the same color as me at a special occasion’. A queen, or any person, should not delight in the misery and pain of others. Capturing the revolting scenes before him only fueled his hate more, and solidified his cause. He’d get rid of Sookmyung. He’d kill her himself, if he must, and the consequences be damned. These people, whatever their crimes, do not deserve such torment. 

They finally reached a room at the end of the hall, which turned out to be a singular space with a fireplace, a tub of water, and a wooden chair. At a desk in the corner sat a record keeper, who prepared a new sheet of paper and an ink bottle to record whatever transpired here. Why this was needed, Hongjoong could only guess it was meant for Sookmyung to revisit later on her own. Strapped to a chair in the middle of the room was Naeun, blood dripping from a broken nose and a harsh mark on her cheek. He stayed in the shadows as Sookmyung approached her, eyes widening at the sight of her helpless victim. Naeun glanced over to him, and he wanted more than anything to save her, but that’d mean revealing his intentions for tonight. 

She’d started softly: questioning Naeun about the assassination attempt, who sent her, where were they and what else did they have planned. When Naeun did not answer, Sookmyung started slapping her. Then, she changed from a hand to a thick strip of leather. Then she used a long bamboo switch to strike Naeun’s hands until they bled. This did not disturb Hongjoong, since he’d witnessed such things during the war, but what Sookmyung escalated to shocked him. 

Teeth pulling. Nail ripping. Bone breaking. Stretching her until her bones popped. Naeun’s screams of pain bounced off the damp, stone walls and into his ears. Hongjoong knew he could not look away, even for a moment, because Sookmyung would notice. The queen herself cackled at Naeun’s pain, only asking questions as an afterthought. Hongjoong saw the delight in her eyes, and the gratification the torture gave her each time. He wondered if this is what you witnessed every time you came down here, and, if so, you are much stronger than he could ever be. 

“Fuck me,” Sookmyung growled at him, her eyes flaring and already lifting her robe. 

“What?” he asked, stunned by her appearance. Blood stained her fingers, and light sprays covered her face. She pressed him into a wall, and began untying his own robes. “Sookmyung! Mistress!”

“Doesn’t this arouse you like it arouses me?” she asked, feral and panting as she stroked him. “Do you not feel adrenaline coursing through your veins in every snap? Do her screams not make your loins burn like mine? Put it inside me, Hongjoong. Please. Your queen demands it!”

He pushed her away from him hard, and she gasped at his refusal. “I will not do this here,” he explained himself, fixing his robe closed, “I think you have gone far enough, Mistress. The woman will obviously not speak tonight. Let her wallow in her pain and reflect on her choices.” 

“I knew you were spineless,” she scowled at him. “A goddamn coward. That is how you ended up my whore, because you’re too cowardly to fight me. You’re a gormless, worthless, useless coward!” She grabbed a nearby pot of iron nails and threw it at him, though missed him by a few inches. “Let the bitch rot here for tonight, but come tomorrow, beloved,” she let the endearment hiss in her voice, “We’re going to return, and you’re going to question her for me.” 

“Mistress…”

“We’re done here,” she said to the room, her eyes burning on Hongjoong. 

He’d kill her then. He’d strap her to the chair and make it last as she would to him. Hongjoong watched her storm out of the room, and the jailors lifted Naeun from the floor. Her soft groan brought him out of his rage, and he looked over at her. From her half-opened eyes and shallow breaths, she still lived. Hongjoong followed the men out of the cell, then in the opposite direction of the entrance. The men did not question why he followed them, and nobody batted an eye when he watched them dump her body on straw. Hongjoong waited until they left to crouch down beside the bed. They must’ve assumed he wouldn’t try helping her, or that she'd die before he could. 

“Naeun,” he whispered as quietly as possible, worried his voice may carry, “Naeun, can you hear me?” 

Her head on the straw, he saw her remain motionless. 

“Naeun,” he said once more, the worse coming to mind. “Naeun, please…” She muttered something incoherently, and he moved in closer to listen. “Naeun?”

Naeun wriggled on the bed, shifting as little as she could before stopping all together. Hongjoong held his breath. For a few seconds, Naeun stayed silent and still. He considered the fact that she may have died before her head slowly turned upwards to him. One eye swollen shut, the other suffered enough damage that blood vessels popped and filled the white of her eye. He noticed her mouth stopped bleeding from the pulled teeth, and a bloody gash congealed on her chin. Despite all this torture and pain, he still spotted a glimmer of defiance in her eyes. He saw her rifling around underneath her collar, bloody fingers barely grasping the necklace around her throat. When he saw her struggling to remove it, Hongjoong took it by the charm and tugged the thin rope. Opening his palm, he saw a wooden dove in flight. 

“Crack…it,” she slurred, unable to move from her position. 

Hongjoong took the wooden charm and smashed it against the floor. After a few hits, it split open to reveal a thin scroll inside. Hongjoong picked it up and gave her a quizzical look. 

“Read it,” she croaked, “Alone.”

Tightly holding it in his fist, Hongjoong nodded and put the scroll in his pocket. Then, he looked at her. “You were brave, Naeun,” he said, “I wish I shared such resilience.”

“You d-do, Your Majesty,” she said, coughing and breathing deeply. “You do.” She took his hand in hers, and said, “Your people need you, sire. Please…help…help them.”

“I will,” he nodded. “I promise I will.” 

Hongjoong knelt there for several minutes, listening to Naeun’s shallow breaths becoming fainter and fainter with time. When the torchlight fell on her face, he realized how young she was. He wondered about her. She must have a family; a husband too, perhaps, and possibly a child. A child who will now grow up without her, never to feel her warm embrace or gentle kisses again. Sookmyung took that from them. She'd taken it from him too. He watched her eyes slowly closing through his tears. 

“I am going to make her pay, Naeun,” he said, sniffling. “You have my word. She will receive justice for what she has done.” 

He recalled every time he could’ve ended Sookmyung’s life. He thought of the times she laid soundlessly sleeping in his bed or the moments they spent in the privacy of their garden. All the times he could’ve fed her poison, or how he could’ve strangled her during sex. Yet, he had not. He’d let her live, afraid of the consequences each time he thought of them. Seeing Naeun fade from the world spilled tears down his cheeks, and filled him with self-loathing. He is a coward. He should be the one Sookmyung tortured, not Naeun. 

“Forgive me,” he whispered thickly, breathing back his tears. 

Naeun did not speak, and he did not expect her to either. Yet, with her last breath she said, “For Wonju…” 

And then she was gone. Hongjoong finally stood, and walked out of the cell. He informed the jailor, but did not stick around to elaborate. A sudden weight held him down. He trudged through the foul chambers, with the guilt holding him down. He did nothing. He’d watched the woman be senselessly tortured, and there’d been nothing he could do to help her. When he walked outside, he found Sookmyung waiting for him in the palanquin. He stared at her hard. The scroll in his pocket felt multitudes heavier than it should. 

“Don’t be so weepy. Real men don’t weep,” she said in a yawn. “I’m tired. Get in and let us be on our way.”

He climbed in without a word. Naeun did this for him. She’d risked her life to give him this information. Naeun knew this scroll was the key to saving their homeland; she’d died getting it to him. He would make sure her death was not in vain. 

Thankfully, Sookmyung’s exhaustion kept her from speaking too much. It gave him time to think without her incessant interruptions. By the time they reached the house again, he’d jumped out of the palanquin and stormed off. This sign of resentment made her call after him, but he did not hear her. He did not care. Her voice only irritated the rage brewing inside him. Let her beat him tomorrow, if she wishes. Tonight, he had more important concerns.  

As expected, the only light in the house was the moonlight coming in through the windows. He suspected his brothers already ate and retired to their rooms. Good. He did not wish to be disturbed. Rushing into his chambers, hot tears streaming down his cheeks, he didn’t realize someone was already there until he’d shut his doors. 

“Hongjoong?”

Seonghwa sat on his bed, reading a book by candlelight. He’d changed into a long tunic, and tied back his hair from his face. He stood up the moment he spotted Hongjoong’s puffy eyes and wet cheeks. In the safety of his embrace, Hongjoong sobbed hard. He clung onto his lover’s broad shoulders, fingers pressing into the muscles, and sobbed against his shoulder. Everything that transpired in the past few hours crashed onto him and only Seonghwa’s soft shushing and back rubbing soothed his cries. Quietly, he let Seonghwa remove his clothes, but not before Hongjoong withdrew the scroll. 

“What is this?” Seonghwa asked in a hushed whisper, seeing the scroll. 

“Naeun,” he explained, taking a breath, “This is what she wanted to give me.”

Seonghwa nodded in understanding, then stood by as he broke open the seal. In thin writing, Hongjoong saw a message scribbled:

‘Han Sookmyung is not King Siwon’s only living heir. The person who gave us this information will meet you in the palace temple at noon tomorrow. They will ask you what you pray for today. We pray for home. We pray for Wonju. For Wonju, we serve.’ 

Seonghwa and Hongjoong stood there in silence. The words marinated in their minds, and he still had difficulty believing them. Hongjoong reread the message again. ‘The person who gave us this information…’ A person? What ‘person’? Nobody in particular came to mind immediately. It also seemed borderline insane to write the starting line. Changbin seemed confident that nobody else but Hongjoong would read it, if he so brazenly wrote this down. 

He was confident because he’d sent it with Naeun.

“Another heir?” Seonghwa gaped. “Could it be?”

“There is only one way to find out.”

“You will meet this informant of theirs, then?”

“I will. I must." 

He slipped into bed, and surprisingly, Seonghwa joined him. “And I will go with you," Seonghwa said, pushing hair from his face. 

The two men curled beside one another, enjoying each other’s warmth and presence. His last thought, as he drifted, was of Naeun’s dying words. 

“For Wonju…”

***

A/N: thank you so much for the love and feedback I got from some people! I wasn't sure if people would like a historical au, but I love them so I wrote one lol I hope you guys liked this one, and please feel free to like and reblog <3 spread the love <3

[degreedummy]

Looking at Lukola's Synastry and Current Transits-

Venus transiting N’s 3H, L’s 7H In [a week], Venus opposes N’s Mars, L’s Venus-

1. To start off, this is a transit that signals appreciation, going out of their way to give each other credit for how hardworking they each are. On N’s side, I think we see someone who is feeling a bit lost, trying to find a way to [Venus-Mars] shift peoples’ focus, and this more shows her needing that emotional support, being reminded that her work is valuable and meaningful to people.  

On L’s side, I think we see a [friend] reaching out, someone who knows N enough to know when she isn’t acting like herself. I don’t think this transit will be too emotional, but I think it’ll show the way… two people are able to ground each other. The opposition to N’s Mars takes place before the opposition to L’s Venus, so it’ll be more like someone softly coming in behind the storm to help clean up the mess. I wouldn’t take it as a sign of how deep his feelings are, but that he still cares.

2. After these oppositions, Venus will be transiting L’s 4H, N’s 8H. In Libra, I think this influence simply shows the way how… in September, they will be in a position of relying on each other again, reconnecting and sharing themselves. I wouldn’t take this transit as anything too significant, but as an acknowledgment of a known pattern in their lives. The 4H represents ‘where we feel at home’, the 8H represents ‘who we trust the most’, so I think this shows them being happy to be back together.

3. In L’s 4H, this will mean that Venus passes her retrograde Jupiter, square N’s Sun and Mercury, and I think there’s two big options here: 1) L speaks out for N, saying she isn't open to conversation 2) they make an agreement not to talk at all about what goes between them.

I think Venus is granting them the privacy they’ve been wanting for so long, not really creating the chance for ‘secret love’, but giving them the chance to show love without outsiders trying to make it more than what it is. Just based of Venus’ transits, I think things are still moving slow, but more importantly, it shows how their relationship has remained unaffected by outside factors. The trust they have can’t be broken by anyone outside of them.

Mercury retrograde in L’s 2H, N’s 7H Goes direct while in conjunction to L’s Chiron [3 days~] Enters an inconjunction with N’s Neptune [one week]

On L’s side, I think for weeks we’ve been seeing him slowly release insecurity, not being too loud, but standing strong in everything he does. I think this was a reflective period for him more than anything, only frustrated by people misunderstanding him. Going direct, I think Mercury is going to put that newfound confidence to action, and connecting themes to his real life, I think we’ll see this through his performance in the next season. I think he’ll go into it feeling beautiful, free of comparing himself to anyone.

In a [month and a half], [mid-October], Venus will enter L’s 10H, N’s 5H, and I think this could be represented in them celebrating some kind of achievement together, or award. It’s more ‘recognition of someone’s work, acknowledging their legacy’.

This will also take place after L’s exact Mars return, so I think… this will be his true chance to break away from his past. I don’t want to promise anything or anyone specific of course, but I think facing his past, being credited for his work, working toward more for the future, and having people show support will allow him to feel like he can take the [next step], whatever he feels that may be for him. I don’t know how this would conflict with filming, but this is a time for individuality.

On N’s side, this slowly developing inconjunction to her Neptune shows me someone who is trying to lock down, [isolate], [6/11H] cutting herself off from social circles to protect her work life, which I think is also natural for [show filming].

More than that, I think this Mercury inconjunction is a time to be wary about anyone who claims to be speaking for her, claiming to know how she thinks or feels, or people claiming to know personal information about her. If anything comes up, I think it’ll be obvious that this person has no connection to her, based on how inaccurate they are from the beginning, but I think this does show someone trying to take advantage of her attempts to lock down and stay quiet.

In [two months], [October], Mercury will eventually enter a trine with N’s 1H Jupiter,  which (I believe) agrees with what I said before in her natal transits, with how she’s planning to reach out to her fans more.

With this continued theme, I think it’s important for her fans to consider… how much space a person needs to feel safe talking in front of people. If everything she says gets swept up, flipped and turned against her by the end of the day, what reason does she have to come back or try to open up again? I think it’s just a time to consider… if we can contribute in some way, it would be by enforcing that people respect and listen to what she says.

If she doesn’t want to share her life in some way, she won’t. Not because she’s hiding anything, but because communicating with her audience demands different boundaries, especially as her fame rises and she’s introduced to new audiences.

In all, I think these next few months are about friends rekindling a love for each other, showing that nothing can break them apart. I know we hope for signs of a relationship, but I think this affirms what we've always said about things moving slowly, showing stability. I still take these transits as a good sign, them finding some kind of privacy and peace, but I think it is on us to maintain that distance, respecting their need for it. I think there are conversations they keep between them, and this is the time they'll be explored.

[cieloclercs]

Could you do a Oscar Piastri x verstappen!youngersister

secret glances, eyes talk of love — oscar piastri

pairings: oscar piastri x verstappen!reader

warnings. started out as fluff but it sort of turned into angst along the way?? not like superrr angsty but it’s definitely sad vibes

word count. 1.2k

author’s note. hi anon! thank you so much for the request <3 i loved writing this concept! ps, i’d definitely be open to doing a part 2 if anyone is interested 👀

Decked out in a Red Bull jacket and cap, it's a wonder no one outside the McLaren garages notices you. Maybe you've grown so used to sneaking around that it now comes as second nature. It's been like this since the start of the season: the secret kisses in quiet corners, making up excuses to get away from the Red Bull garage (and your over-protective brother), and, of course, your fair share of close calls. You aren't exactly inconspicuous in the paddock. There are eyes following you almost everywhere you go — but over time, you've learnt to avoid them. You can only thank your lucky stars no one seems to have caught on yet.

Sometimes you wish it didn't have to be this way; that you could be like any other normal couple on the grid. Kiss him when he triumphs, comfort him when he falls. The feeling can grow intense, especially after a day like today. You have to watch him on the podium like any other supposedly indifferent onlooker, pretending that your cheers are only for your brother on the top step. Oscar's first top-three finish in Formula 1 (albeit in a sprint race) is by no means insignificant, and all you want to do is pull him into you over the railing and kiss him. But you can't. Not here, not with your brother and father, and the whole world watching. You've already agreed that keeping your relationship a secret is best for the both of you. Yet that doesn't stop you from wishing for more.

Instead, you’re left to sneak into his driver’s room as soon as your brother’s back is turned. He’s caught up in the media pen, chatting with Charles. Another thing you’ve learnt over the past six months is never to miss an opportunity when it presents itself – this is as good as any you’ll ever find, because Max is talkative at the best of times, but even more so when his childhood rival is around. You leave them somewhere between ‘safety car restart’ and ‘left-hand tyre degradation’. He won’t even notice you’re gone.

Oscar is halfway out of his suit when you arrive. His back faces you, covered only by his white fireproofs. You can see every move of his muscles beneath them. You murmur a soft greeting as you step into the room and close the door behind you, heart lifting to see him turn to you and grin. To the world, you know Oscar will appear calm and level-headed about his result – but with you, in private, he’s as happy as a puppy dog being given his favourite treat.

“I’m so proud of you, baby.” You whisper into his shoulder as he wraps you up into a hug. “You drove so well.”

His lips curve upwards, and you feel it against the skin of your neck. Oscar’s hands fall instinctively to your hips when you pull away, rubbing slow circles that he probably doesn’t realise leave burning trails against your flesh. You loop your arms around his broad shoulders, playing with the short hairs at the nape of his neck, just as he likes. He lets out a contented sigh.

“I panicked at the restart.” Oscar smiles down at you sheepishly. You roll your eyes. It’s typical of him – always so critical, even when he’s just produced one of the best rookie performances in Formula 1 for years. Sometimes you wish he could see himself the way you see him. Then maybe he’d celebrate a little harder, look a little prouder when things finally start paying off for him. It’s not that he isn’t confident – but Oscar’s confidence is the quiet, self-assured kind. Sometimes you just wish he would shout from the rooftops about how incredible he is: because if you can’t do it, then you need someone to.

“It doesn’t matter.” You tell him firmly, “No one was going to be able to hold off that rocket ship. Not even you.”

He giggles at the term. It’s such a lovely sound, you think. Your favourite in the entire world.

“D’you think you can get him to slow down a bit? Give the rest of us a chance?” Oscar asks, arching an eyebrow mischievously. You grin back, a little reluctant to shake your head.

“I wish I could, but he’s just not wired that way.” You sigh. It morphs into a giggle when he grips your waist tighter, pulling you into his chest. You look up, and he’s already gazing down at you expectantly. His hair is still a little sweaty from his balaclava, but you find you like it that way. He has the cutest little ringlet sticking out from the rest of his relatively tame curls. You fight the urge to tug on it.

“You still haven’t given me a kiss.” Oscar remarks with another cheeky raise of his eyebrows. He leans forward, puckering his lips the slightest bit, and you laugh, louder this time.

“You’re such a dork.” You snort. But you press your lips to his anyway. Somehow, they always taste like some kind of citrus fruit – what exactly you can’t put your finger on. It overwhelms you, clouding your mind and your senses, making your knees weak. They’re soft too, his lips, like pillows. You can feel him smile into your mouth, swallowing your soft sighs. It’s not fair, you think, that a person can make you feel this way with just a kiss; not fair that you’re grappling at his shoulders for support, afraid your knees are going to give out if you don’t. He never lets you fall though. His arms are always there, pulling you in, crowding you against the wall, in your hair, all over your body, lighting every inch of it on fire.

Then there’s a knock on the door, and the spell is broken.

You turn towards the sound, breathing heavily. Oscar glances at you, with a look that reads keep quiet. He clears his throat, calling through to whoever is stood outside his driver’s room.

“What is it?” he croaks.

There’s some shuffling from the other side of the door. Then: “Uh – Team meeting in ten minutes.” The person says. Oscar calls back some kind of affirmation, but you don’t hear it. That feeling is back. The one where you long not to hide in secrecy. It’s so unfair that he makes you feel so safe, so loved, and you can’t even show it to the rest of the world. You want people to know that he’s yours.

“You ok?” Oscar asks after a beat of silence. Your eyes find his, and you nod. I will be, maybe, you think. You want to tell him that you’re sick of hiding, but you’re not sure how he’ll take it. You both have a lot at stake. What if he can only love you in secret, never in front of the world?

He kisses you goodbye, and you allow yourself to believe that’s not the case. Oscar isn’t shy about his affections – he’s soft and he’s clingy and his eyes when he looks at you are full of love. They’re your own reflected straight back at you. One day you’ll walk into the paddock, and it���ll be with his hand in yours. You swear it.

But if he doesn’t want that, a life in the shadows is surely better than a life without him.

[monstersdownthepath]

Homebrew Horror: Beetle Knights

(art is of the Dung Beetle Knight, from Kingdom Death: Monster, from which this creature draws inspiration)

Also known in some circles as the Liegeon, Fauxladins, and most commonly Chevaliars, Beetle Knights are enormous insects which have, aided by magic-rich diets, evolved over countless years to fall into an incredibly strange niche in which they serve as guardians and allies to more intelligent creatures in order to hunt greater prey. That their human shape allows them to avoid scrutiny from true monster hunters is, itself, a benefit.

On their own, Beetle Knights are relatively dim creatures guided almost entirely by supernaturally potent instincts. They spend the majority of their lives wandering the world, following the roads and paths set by the races of man and elf from settlement to settlement as they slay and devour monsters and bandits they encounter, giving off the illusion of a reclusive, wandering knight keeping the roads safe. Their humanoid but elaborate appearance causes unquestioning townsfolk to mistake them for mercenaries, kingdom guards, and especially adventurers, which is their true goal; to be directed at a threat which requires a heavier hand than most civilians are capable of mustering, for it is these greater beasts on which the Beetle Knights prefer to feed.

Though fully capable of hunting down their own food in the wild, Beetle Knights have grown to enjoy the safety and comfort offered by living alongside humans, especially when it becomes time to reproduce. During breeding season, Beetle Knights require an enormous amount of food both for them and their young and thus must hunt greater prey with more magical energy within. To do so, the parents couple only briefly before going their separate ways and proceeding to infiltrate (or get accidentally brought into) existing adventuring groups as mysterious and stoic hirelings, secreting powerful mind-bending pheromones which cause these parties to behave more recklessly and require little prompting to go hunting dangerous prey. These pheromones also have an unusual effect on the mind of any nearby humanoid, causing them to rationalize or fully ignore their 'new hires' more inhuman traits, going so far as to interpret their chittering vocalizations (which already sound distressingly close to human speech) as motivating--if terse--speeches to drive them ever forward towards their goal. Most 'hosts' to a Beetle Knight rarely realize just what they've been traveling with the last few weeks until they part ways, the effects of the pheromones fade, and the adventuring party realizes that their 'hireling' didn't actually take any coin or gems in payment.

The only payment they require is food. Beetle Knights feed readily on almost anything they slay, using any lulls in adventuring to gorge themselves at every opportunity. Their inordinately powerful jaws can crush iron, to say nothing of bone, and their wandering habits leave them little room to be picky. They will even consume the equipment of their fallen foes and the iron alloys found in destroyed Constructs, ferrous metals recycled by their magic digestive system to reinforce their carapaces and mix with the resinous secretions they use to form their weapons and nests. Unattended magic items are consumed ravenously, the magic extracted from these items and used to fuel the growth of their young; their habit of eating overlooked loot is what normally brings them into conflict with their 'host' parties, which rarely ends well for the human adventurers.

Beetle Knights grow to be anywhere from 6 to 8 feet tall, and weigh around 300 pounds. Individual Knights can live upwards to 10 years, but most die much sooner through combat.

Beetle Knight CR 8 Neutral Medium Magical Beast Init +1 Senses: Darkvision 80ft, Scent, low-light vision, Perception +12 Aura: Pheromones (60ft, DC 19) ------ Defenses ------

AC: 24; touch 15; flat-footed 24 (+1 Dex, +10 natural, +4 deflection) HP: 100 (10d10+40) Fort +11 Ref +8 Will +6 Defensive Abilities: Ferocity, Chitin Plate; DR: 5/Magic and piercing; Immune: disease, poison, charms and compulsions. ------ Offense ------ Speed: 30ft, climb 20ft, fly 20ft (poor) Melee: +1 Resin Longsword +16/+11 (1d8+6/19-20), bite +15 (1d8+5), slam +10 (1d6+2); OR bite +15 (1d8+5), two slams +15 (1d6+5 plus grab) Special Attacks: Crushing Jaws, Pounce, Rend (2 slams, 1d6+7) ----- Statistics ----- Str 20, Dex 13, Con 18, Int 3, Wis 16, Cha 6 Base Atk +10; CMB +15 (+19 when Repositioning or Disarming); CMD 26 (30 vs Reposition and Disarming) Feats: Dirty Fighting, Improved Disarm, Improved Reposition, Greater Disarm, Greater Reposition Skills: Climb +17, Disguise +4, Fly +12, Perception +13; Racial Modifiers: +10 to Disguise checks to appear as a humanoid knight Languages: Common plus one local language (cannot speak). SQ: Resin Equipment, Pheromones ------ Ecology ------ Environment: Any temperate land Organization: Single, pair, or adventuring party (1~2 plus 3~4 travelers between 1st and 10th level) Treasure: Standard (+1 Longsword, magic and mundane items kept as a snack, monster parts, other treasure)

------

Combat: Beetle Knights fight with a startling amount of tactical knowhow. If fighting alongside a party, they attempt to maneuver opponents to allow any allies present to flank and move enemies into the line of fire of allies with reposition maneuvers. They will also work to prevent enemies from drawing too close to more fragile allies, and disarm enemies with dangerous weapons. If alone, it will attempt to disarm enemies whose weapons pierce its DR first, then focus on one enemy at a time until each are dead or have fled.

Morale: When part of a party, Beetle Knights fight fiercely and without fear of death, instinctually assured that their allies will at least attempt to keep them alive (whether or not this is truly the case). If alone, Beetle Knights flee when brought below 30 HP. In either case, the Knights will play dead at 0 HP or below and drag themselves to a safe location to recover.

------ Special Abilities ------

Chitin Plate (Ex/Su): The extremely tough shell of a Beetle Knight is woven with iron and hardened by consumed magical power. It is part of its body and thus does not impede its movement and cannot be sundered or broken. If it is struck with a targeted Dispel Magic (dispel check DC 21) or enters an Antimagic Field or similar, it loses its deflection bonus to its AC and its Damage Reduction for 1d4+1 rounds (or until it leaves the Antimagic Field).

Crushing Mandibles (Ex): A Beetle Knight's complex jaws can rip apart almost anything. Its bite attack is always treated as a primary natural attack, and ignores the first 5 points of hardness and/or Damage Reduction of any object or creature it encounters.

Pheromones (Su): A Beetle Knight produces a subtle mist of magical pheromones that it fans in every direction with subtle movement of its wings. Creatures breathing in these pheromones must make a DC 19 Fortitude save; those who fail see the Knight as a human (or whatever humanoid creature is most common to this area), parse its vocalizations as intelligible speech relevant to the current situation, and rationalize or ignore any strange behavior or blatantly inhuman actions it takes. It does not need to make Disguise checks to hide its nature against creatures under the effects of its pheromones. These effects last for 24 hours, unless a creature (typically its adventuring party) has spent a continuous 24 hours around the beetle, at which point the pheromones do not leave their system until one week has passed. A creatures who succeed their saving throw against the pheromones must make a new save each minute they spend in the aura.

Resin Equipment (Ex/Su): A Beetle Knight can weave digested magic and metal into its own resinous secretions, creating weaponry. With 2 hours of work, the Knight can create a resinous version of any simple melee weapon. With 6 hours of work, it can instead create a longsword or greatsword. The Knights prefer one-handed weapons, allowing them to deliver secondary slam attacks, and they are considered proficient with any resin weapon they make.

Any weapon created by a Beetle Knight is treated as a steel version of that weapon with a +1 enchantment bonus. Unless magically compelled to do so, they will only ever make weapons for themselves, and will consume damaged or broken ones to remake them. Beetles tend to only have enough resin to make three weapons a week.

------

Champion Beetles are Knights who, by consuming large quantities of magical foods from prosperous host parties and having been resurrected via magic at least once, undergo a second metamorphosis which takes a two weeks to finish, emerging from a gilded cocoon as a golden warrior with greater abilities than their common kin. Champion Beetles gain between 4 and 6 additional racial Hit Dice and typically favor taking feats which allow them greater proficiency with more combat maneuvers, usually Dirty Trick, Trip, or Sunder. In addition, they gain the following abilities:

Resistance 10 to one element, Resistance 5 to two other elements, typically the most common forms of elemental damage they've encountered on their journeys.

Increased DR from 5 to 10/Magic and Piercing.

+2 to their natural AC and +2 to their deflection bonus.

Their Resin Weapons gain an additional +1 enhancement bonus.

Increase each of their mental ability scores by 2.

Fast Healing 1.

Champion Beetles can live upwards to 40 years. There is a 10% chance that the larvae of Champion Beetles hatch with the Advanced simple template and 1d3 of the above abilities selected at random.

[thatgenericwriter]

The Boyfriend? || Shawn Spencer

Paring: Shawn Spencer x gn! reader

Summary: reader is Carlton's younger sibling and is secretly dating Shawn

Warnings: idk Carlton?

P.s. this is based off of a request I got from the lovely @hpxmcusworld takes place around season 1-3

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You've been keeping a major secret from the two most important people in your life and it's killing you. You've been trying to make it seem like nothing was wrong, but the truth had to come out at some point. You were just hoping that point in time would be far off in the future. Not in the middle of Thanksgiving dinner.

"Y/N stop chewing on your nails, it is very annoying." You drop your hands into your lap quickly apologizing to Carlton. You then opt to stand and start pacing around in a circle.

"Come on why are you so worried? If this guy is as great as you say he is then everything should be fine." You stop and turn to glare at Carlton who is currently cleaning his gun.

You were about to yell at him but before you could the doorbell went off. Carlton makes eye contact with you before cocking his gun and standing up.

You sprint across the living room and try to make it to the door before Carlton but you're too slow. He throws open the door and stands face to face with your boyfriend Shawn Spencer. Who was holding a pineapple with a bow on it? You decided not to question it, just happy that he actually came.

"Oh, Lassie! I'm so sorry I think I'm at the wrong apartment!" Your boyfriend looks around a little before you step out from behind Carlton and give a little wave to Shawn.

"I'm so glad you could make it!" Two things happened once you said this. One, Shawn immediately went towards you and gave you a quick peck on your lips before excitedly showing you his pineapple he picked "just for this occasion" as he quoted. And two, Carlton was figuring out 20 different ways to kill Shawn and leave no trace of his body.

Shawn had to make the situation more tense by opening his big mouth. "So what's Lassie doing here and when do I get to meet your brother?" You look between Shawn and your brother (who looks like he is about to strangle Shawn) before finally fessing up.

"Um... actually you're looking at my brother Shawn." You point to Carlton who is now cocking his gun with a murderous look on his face.

"Ha, that's a good one babe. But seriously when is he going to be here?" At this point, you have to stand between the two men as Shawn looks around cluelessly and Carlton starts raising his gun towards Shawn.

Taking a deep breath you slowly push Carlton's gun down and gently grab Shawn's face to make him look at you. "Guys I'm being so serious when I say this."

You look at both of them to make sure you're being heard. "I love both of you so much. And I don't want you to fight... At least not in front of me."

"But he..." You cut Carlton off with a sharp glare. He gulps and nods his head.

You look over at Shawn expectantly. "Hey man, I'm perfectly fine with this. It means I get to spend more time with my two favorite people in the world." He gives a flirtatious wink to Carlton. And you close your eyes with a sigh as Carlton lunges at Shawn in an attempt to strangle him.

This is going to be a long day.

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Authors note: Hey....... Um so it's been a hot second... my bad. school has been a lil bitch anyways I'm trying to write more and get through some requests that I have plz be patient with me🫣

[azsazz]

Change Your Ticket (Part 6)

Rugby Star!Cassian x Reader (A Modern AU)

Summary: Dating famous rugby star Cassian Bailey is a dream. What's not one is keeping your secret relationship under wraps. Will you and Cassian be able to keep from the limelight or will your relationship crumble because of it?

Warnings: None

Word Count: 3,300

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Part 4] [Part 5]

Notes: I rlly need to stop overthinking this...so I'm just going to post it.

_________________________________________

Cassian don’t know why he’s running myself into the ground. It’s been a great morning, and although you’d had to leave for work, he’d enjoyed getting the little time seeing those pretty eyes, how your cheeks had pinkened with his taunts.

He almost had you climbing right back into bed with him.

He had loved the way you moaned and groaned about work, how you tried to hide away from him by running into the bathroom. How you tried to block him out by starting the shower, trying to mask how wet you were for him by drenching yourself under the hot spray.

Cassian bets it didn’t work.

His cock stirs at the thought of finishing he’d started, lingering in the space between the both of you like a thread winding tighter and tighter. And he thought it might snap when you’d come out all ready for work, eyes a little bit dazed as they avoided his lounging body on your bed. Cassian had all of the time in the world to tease you.

It was something after your sheepish goodbye, still reveling in the fact that he’d been so close to breaking through your routine. And if your boss dared fire you for spending a little time with him, well, Cassian isn’t too sure he’d be all that mad.

He wouldn’t mind taking care of you. In fact, it’s what he desires. And it’s not some manly expectation for you not to work, if that’s what you truly want, then so be it, he will be your best cheerleader. But he always aches when he’s away from you. He wants you by his side because he’s never had that, never had the rush that someone who actually cares for his wellbeing watches him play the game he loves, will caress him and speak encouragement, no matter if he wins or loses.

He doesn’t have a mother to call when things go sour, a father to seek advice from, nor siblings to playfully banter with. Sure, he’s had the children who’d he seen grow in the system with him, but oftentimes he’d be separated by a foster home that would only last a handful of months before they sent him away again, no matter how much he tried to stay. He’d help in the kitchen, with chores, jumping at the chance without even being asked because if someone were cleaning or cooking, maybe they’d keep him around a little bit longer.

His attempts were futile, at best.

“Bring it in, gents,” Coach calls and Cassian jogs over with the rest of his team. He snags a water bottle with thanks from the young boy handing them out, spraying a large gulp into his parched mouth before tilting the bottle back and wetting his already damp hair.

“Thanks, kid,” he grins, and the little boys’ cheeks turn red.

Cassian joins the rest of the team, forming a semi-circle around the coach. He finds his place between Azriel and Rhysand, the captain of the team. They are his best mates, brothers in every sense of the word, except literally. They’ve all played for the Velaris Stars for two seasons now, and are almost inseparable, both on and off the field.

“Great practice, eh?” he asks, getting down on one knee like the rest of the players as they await Coach Devlin’s words of wisdom. Something the coach has been trying to instill in his team for a while now, according to Azriel, who’s been with the Stars the longest. There isn’t a practice nor game that goes by without a morale boosting chat from Coach.

Azriel cuts him a glare from the side of his eye, and Cassian winces. His teammate hadn’t gotten to practice with them, ankle still not quite healed after the last match. That was poor wording on Cassian’s part.

Rhys brushes his damp hair from his eyes, toweling the sweat from his face as he responds. “Eh, still could work on some more scrums, but we’re in pretty good shape for Saturday’s game.”

“Oi, Third Degree,” Devlin’s snaps, startling the three of them. Cassian, Azriel, and Rhys have become known to the team and the fans as Third Degree because the group of them dominate on the field. It had a nice ring to it, if he does say so himself. Devlin stands with hands on his hips, lips curled around his whistle as if he was about to blow it to gain their attention. “We interrupting your little chit-chat?”

“No, sir,” the three answer in unison, and Cassian notes the difficulty his coach has to not roll his eyes. He bites back a smirk, giving him his attention.

“As I was saying,” Devlin continues with a pointed look in their direction. It slides off Azriel’s shoulders but Rhysand has the gall to look innocently at their coach, as if he’s nothing but the angel captain Devlin thought he was when he’d been chosen for such a position. Cassian snickers and Rhys elbows him. “We’re playing the Autumn Rangers this weekend. Now, since it’s a home game, I expect all of you on your best behavior. You will welcome them to Velaris with sportsmanlike conduct and will not be brawling outside of this stadium,” he says, eyeing Azriel, who had gotten into a fistfight with Lucien Vanserra in the hotel lobby last season.

Cassian never did hear about what had happened, though he did wonder if it had anything to do with Lucein’s older brother, Eris, who is the Stars’ athletic trainer. The younger Vanserra was estranged from his large family, all connected to the sport in some way, shape, or form. Something about a distasteful relationship in the public eye his family was not proud of. In the end, Lucien had lost her heart anyway. Cassian feels a twinge of pity for the youngster, only in his second year in the sport. He has no one, either.

“He better not let me catch him off of this grass, then,” Azriel mutters, arms crossed over his chest. He won’t be playing in the game this weekend because of his ankle, and Cassian knows how hard he’s taking the news. While they were practicing, he’d been on the sidelines with Eris, working on stretching and testing the muscles of his rolled ankle. The red-headed trainer told Devlin he was going to have to sit out for another game, much to Azriel’s utter annoyance.

“He’d probably go straight for that fragile ankle of yours,” Rhys answers quietly, violet gaze still on their coach.

Azriel kicks him with his good foot and Rhys winces, biting back a grin.

Coach Devlin’s speech wraps up with some words of wisdom. The same one’s Cassian hears after every practice, before every game, and even in his nightmares. “Stars help the moon light up the universe. That’s the power of teamwork. Now get off my field and get into the showers, you all stink.”

“To this day, I don’t understand what that’s supposed to mean,” Cassian mutters to his friends, nodding at Balthazar as they make their way towards the locker rooms. He catches Eris eyeing Azriel, a pair of crutches in his hands, but the latter doesn’t seem to notice, or is avoiding eye contact with the trainer as he limps from the field. “You good, man?”

“Peachy,” Azriel grunts, the fringe of his hair falling into his eyes. He’s trying his best not to limp, but there’s a twist of pain in his ankle and he hisses uncomfortably. He’d rather it gives out than use those fucking crutches Eris is lugging around for him. He can fuck right off with those. “It’s just another bullshit waying of saying ‘team work makes the dream work,’ Cass.”

Cassian considers his coaches words. He thought they’d played as an impeccable team during the last match that they had, but they’d still lost anyway. He’s not going to think it’s because his own shooting star wasn’t there in the city, watching him play.

“Maybe he needs to work on it a little,” Cass answers, “Shit’s confusing.”

“More confusing than the Rangers chant? ‘Allez les rouges?’ What does that even mean?”

“It means ‘Go Reds,’” Azriel answers, and Cassian didn’t know he knew French. Maybe he should pester him until he can teach him something worth saying to you to make you swoon. Then, he thinks that Azriel would teach him to say something naughty instead, and Cassian changes his mind.

He tugs the hemline of his shirt up and it sticks to his skin. It’s tight so that other players can’t easily grab it, but it often gets stuck over his broad shoulders. With a breath of frustration, the constricting fabric finally gives way, and Cassian rolls his shoulders, tossing it onto the bench in front of his locker before he digs around for his phone.

He can hear it buzzing against the wood and his brows furrow. Most of the people he knows are from the team, you, and a few others in the league. There’s his media manager, who he has weekly meetings with, and very sparse social media notifications on.

There’s a giddy stir in his stomach, hoping it might be you. He needs to shower, set up a grocery delivery, and head to his house to begin preparations for the extravagant dinner he’s planning on making you.

Cassian’s smile morphs into a frown upon seeing his lock screen. It’s not a call from you, but notifications cover his screen, from his manager, telling him to call him immediately, to a few friends he has outside of his team, texting him about something that’s happening on Twitter.

He unlocks the phone, heart kicking up in speed. If he’s being mentioned and called out for something in the media, it’s usually not a good thing. He wracks his brain as his fingers move on their own accord, motions robotic as they click the blue icon.

The first thing he sees when the screen refreshes is a photo of you, and his world stills.

The noise in the locker room turns to static in his ears. His heart is pounding so hard in his chest, adrenaline rushing through his veins, that he thinks he may drop the phone to the ground. His vision tunnels in on the photo of you from this morning, wearing his black t-shirt stuffed into your trousers. You’re pulling your hair into a clip, your work bag slung over your shoulder. You look good, of course you do, it’s exactly how he remembered you when you’d left him this morning. But what is going on?

The caption above the photo reads:

            Cassian Bailey’s Love Try: Secret Girlfriend Revealed!

Fuck. Oh, fuck.

Cassian’s hands shake as he scrolls. Post upon post of you headed to work fill his screen like a tidal wave of coverage. Most are the same photo, and he doesn’t dare look at any of the comments or reposts. There’s a grainy one of you at what must be your work, eyes round and tinged with fear as you stand in the lobby of the building.

He exits the app, pulling up your number instead. He shoves his phone between his shoulder and ear, digging around frantically for his clothes, wallet, and keys. He needs to get out of here, needs to find you, because your phone is going straight to voicemail no matter how many times he calls.

“Fuck,” he mutters, swinging around only to run face-to-face with Azriel and Rhysand.

“Cass?” Rhys asks, reaching his hands out as if not to scare him away. He can barely even focus on them right now, mind reeling with thoughts of if you’re safe, how you’re taking all of this, if you’re over. “You alright?”

“Is it true?” Azriel adds, hazel eyes a touch softer now.

He looks frantically between his friends. His mouth can no longer form words but all he knows is that he needs to get out of here right the fuck now.

Cassian can only nod. It’s more of a jerk of his head, and then he’s shoving his way between them and beelining for the door. It’s all he can do to pray that there isn’t media waiting to follow him, because he’s going straight to your home.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

“(Y/N), it’s definitely not the paparazzi.”

You place your freshly refilled glass on the table and shove to your feet. The blanket falls from your lap onto a heap on the floor, but you couldn’t care less as you make your way to the front door, Mor on your heels.

You freeze when you round the corner, meeting a worried hazel gaze that makes your aching heart crack. His eyes are red-rimmed, brows pulled tight with worry. Cassina’s hair is a mess, from both practice and running his fingers through where it was pulled back in a sloppy bun for practice.

He pushes gently past Feyre, but he’s still a wall of a man and she jumps out of his way.

It seems like time slows when he reaches you. Your vision vignettes so it’s only Cassian, standing before you like a child scared of the monster under their bed. He reaches out but thinks better of it, worried you don’t want him to touch you at all.

Your name is a whisper across his lips, and it makes you break, falling into his strong arms.

“I can fix this, I swear.” His voice is raw, cracking with his words. You hug him closer. His heart is running rampant in his chest, so you stroke soothing but shaky circles into his back. A touch of relief floods you, knowing that Cassian is as worried about all of this as you are. People know your name, your face, and they’ll be digging into your past, predicting your future, forever, now.

“Cass,” you offer gently, pulling away slightly to look up at him. He doesn’t want to give an inch, hands clamped like iron around your waist. “I don’t want to break up.”

“You don’t?” he asks, like he can’t quite believe it. His frantic gaze searches yours, and you let him see the truth in yours. His shoulders relax only slightly after he finds your words sincere, moving one large hand to your cheek to caress your face.

“No.”

You watch him swallow and force out the question he doesn’t want to ask. “Not even now that everyone knows you’re mine?”

No, you don’t want to be in the media, don’t want anyone to know who you are or try to get close to you only because of Cassian. The thought of people with ill intentions coming after you makes you sick, but you don’t want to stop this relationship with Cassian.

“I have no idea how I’m going to come back from this one, but no, I don’t want to leave you.”

Cassian releases a shaky exhale and because he can’t help himself, he dips down and kisses the hell out of you. You breathe him in, salty with sweat and part your lips, allowing his tongue to dip into your mouth, brushing softly against your own. It feels like an apology but he doesn’t need to give you one, it isn’t his fault you left the house this morning in a t-shirt you’d assumed no one would connect to the rugby player.

“I love you, sweetheart,” he breathes, lips brushing your own. He’s still holding you close, and the cocoon of his arms keeps you steady. None of the outside world matters right now, not when he’s holding you like this. “I’ll do whatever I can to fix this. I promise.”

You nod, an unsure feeling stirring your gut. You don’t know how he might begin to even attempt fixing something like this, but you trust Cassian, and there will be time to talk privately when your friends aren’t staring at you while your boyfriend kisses the daylights out of you.

Speaking of, Mor has the biggest grin on her face and Feyre’s eyes are wide, glass of wine halted halfway to her lips. At least she’s shut the door.

“Hey, Mor,” Cassian nods, and you stare up at him incredulously.

“Hey, Cass.”

Wait a minute.

“You two know each other?” you ask, just as shocked as Feyre, who’s jaw hangs low.

“My uncle owns the team,” Mor shrugs, and now your jaw is touching the ground. “I know all of the players.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Feyre exclaims, elbowing Mor in the side. She groans dramatically, rolling her eyes as she snatches her friend’s glass from her hand to take a sip.

This is certainly news to you. You can’t believe all this time Mor and Cassian have known each other. When you were in the bar last week for the game and your friends had attended, Mor didn’t act like she even knew what rugby was.

“Because I didn’t think you were that into rugby,” she tuts, saying exactly what you’re thinking. She sends a pointed look your way, “And I didn’t know you were dating Cassian Bailey!”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. You do feel bad for not telling your best friends, but you haven’t told anyone, not even your family.

Oh no, your family. Have they seen the social media storm that you’re now in the eye of? Have they been trying to contact you to ask their own questions or see if you’re okay?

You try to dislodge yourself from Cassian but he refuses to let you go, turning to you with a frown.

“Why are you wearing a Sealion’s hat?” His question serious, and there’s a slight scrunch to his nose, letting you in on his distaste. Fuck, you forgot about the hat.

You laugh, but it comes out thickly. “It’s Tarquin’s. He let me borrow it after the paps showed up to my work.”

“Should I be worried about this Tarquin?” Cassian asks, genuine concern on his face. So much so that your wet chuckle turns a touch more real.

“He’s more into you than me, so I’m wondering if I’m the one who should actually be worried,” you tease, hugging him tighter before pulling away. Cassian pouts, but you pat him on his chest. “You stink.”

“I thought you liked when I’m all musky and sweaty,” Cassian responds with a touch of suggestiveness. So much for figuring out what to do about your face in the public tonight.

And it’s fine, for now. You’d much rather spend your evening allowing Cassian to comfort you, and you him. You can still see the weariness in his gaze, how he may not want to talk about this in front of an audience. He cares for your opinion and your opinion only.

“Okay, ew,” Feyre says, sliding from her spot at the counter and reaching for her shoes. “I’m Feyre, by the way, and we’re totally leaving, right Mor?” she asks over her shoulder to a smirking Mor.

“No, wait, you guys don’t have to—”

“Yes, we do. We do not want to be around while the two of you make-up,” Mor agrees with Feyre, slipping into her own shoes. Expensive trainers that she must’ve slipped into quickly when she’d found out the news. She snatches her purse off of the counter, key ring jingling with keychains and keys. “Call us when your phone stops blowing up. See you later, Cass.”

“I think your captain is really hot by the way,” Feyre yells as Mor shoves her through the door with a laugh.

You sigh, turning back to your boyfriend who’s grinning down at you like a creep.

“What?”

“I like your friends,” he says earnestly, pulling you back into his body by your hips. “Now, how about some dinner?”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•

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[fairilia]

Chapter 1 | Unlikely Allies ⛓️🌹

Pairing: Mafia!San x fem!reader

Genre: Mafia AU, enemies to lovers, angst, romance

Warning: fem bodied reader, swearing, light smut in future chapters so mdni

Meeting Choi San for the first time.

⨯ . ⁺ ✦ ⊹ ꙳ ⁺ ‧ ⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . * ꙳ ✦

The bustling streets of Seoul were a world unto themselves, filled with life and energy. Y/N moved through the crowded headquarters of the National Intelligence Service (NIS), the weight of the nation’s unspoken secrets pressing down on their shoulders. They had been summoned to Director Park’s office, and y/n could sense that this was no ordinary assignment.

"Y/n, come in," Director Park’s voice called out as y/n approached. The door swung open to reveal a room filled with classified files and the lingering scent of coffee. Park was a seasoned intelligence officer, his stern face softened only by the wisdom in his eyes.

"Please, have a seat," Park gestured to the chair opposite his desk. y/n complied, noting the thick file labeled with a name that had become synonymous with power and fear: Choi San.

"We have a new mission for you," Park began, his tone grave. "One that demands your utmost discretion and skill."

Y/N leaned forward, their interest piqued. "What’s the assignment, Director?"

The older man sighed, the lines on his face deepening. "Choi San has been the puppet master of Seoul’s underworld for far too long. He’s meticulous, ruthless, and incredibly difficult to pin down. We need someone to infiltrate his inner circle, gain his trust, and gather the evidence we need to bring him down."

Y/N’s pulse quickened. They had heard of Choi San, a man whose influence was felt in every dark corner of the city. "You want me to go undercover."

"Exactly," he affirmed. "You’ll pose as a private investigator, newly arrived in Seoul, offering your services to the highest bidder. We’ve crafted a cover story that should get you close enough to San without raising suspicion."

Y/N took a deep breath. "And if he discovers who I really am?"

Park’s eyes met y/n’s, a flicker of concern there. "Then we lose our best shot at dismantling his empire. But I have faith in you, agent. You’ve always been our best."

Y/N nodded, determination hardening their resolve. "I won’t let you down." Hopefully….

⟡ ⟡ ⟡ ⟡

The night air was crisp, a chill breeze sweeping through the deserted dockyard as y/n approached the meeting point. The old warehouse stood silhouetted against the moonlit sky, its decrepit exterior hiding the secrets within. y/n double-checked their disguise, every detail meticulously prepared. This was it—the start of a perilous journey.

As y/n entered the warehouse, the atmosphere shifted, the weight of unseen eyes and hidden dangers pressing in. Men moved in the shadows, their presence palpable even in the darkness. At the far end, a group had gathered, their attention focused on the man who commanded their respect: Choi San.

San’s gaze locked onto Y/N as they approached, his eyes cold and calculating. Y/N felt a jolt of apprehension but also an undeniable intrigue. San’s presence was magnetic, his air of authority and confidence almost palpable. He was strikingly handsome, with sharp features and an aura that demanded attention. Despite the danger, Y/N couldn’t help but feel a grudging respect for the man who had managed to stay ahead of the law for so long.

San’s eyes assessed y/n with a scrutinizing intensity. "You must be the investigator I’ve heard about," he said, his voice smooth but edged with steel. "I understand you have a particular set of skills."

Y/N nodded, their own voice steady despite the pounding of their heart. "That’s right. I’m here to offer my services."

San scrutinized them for a moment, a slow smile playing at the corners of his lips. Y/N’s composed demeanor and confident stance impressed him. This one might actually be useful, he thought, noting the intelligence and determination in Y/N’s eyes. "Welcome, y/n. Let’s see if you can prove your worth in my world."

The words hung in the air, a challenge and a promise all at once. Y/N felt a chill, knowing that this was only the beginning. The road ahead was fraught with danger, but they were determined to see it through. No matter the cost, they would bring Choi San to justice and free Seoul from his shadow.

To be continued….

// chapter 2

-

💌; aaaaand how do we feel about the first chapter? What will you think will happen between them? I’ll try to update this daily!

[lenievi]

My fave spones fics

It's spones day!, so I decided to finally publish this extremely subjective short list I wrote years ago (hence no new fics). If a link doesn't work, put it through a wayback machine.

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TOS McCoy/Spock romance, friendship, anything in between

A Man of Integrity by Jane Carnall. M. 18k. A mirror ‘verse story. Spock didn’t mind meld with McCoy, but kept him for long enough that the rest left without him. Will McCoy get back home? Written in 1989. (ao3)

Blue Under the Colourless Sky by vail-kagami (LJ). T. 4k. This. was. so. good. And melancholic. And bittersweet. And saying more would spoil it. (death is discussed)

Catharsis by babel. E. 40k+ still WIP. This is all I ever wanted from a McCoy/Spock fic. Follows season 1 of TOS. What if Spock and McCoy had an arrangement.

Coming Through in Waves by Cirth. T. 6k. “Spock dislikes doctors.” This was just lovely. A great character study from Spock’s POV. Includes room sharing and bathroom sharing. 

Deepening of the Spirit by lynndyre. G. 1k. A short fic set after the last film. Sweet and warm, finally getting together after all those years.

Distances series by berlynn_wohl. G-E. 54k. The first story is pre-slash and can be read as a standalone mission fic. A nice series spanning years. Written in 2007.

Down The Long Corridors Of Air by Thistlerose. T. 7k. This is another fic that demonstrates quite well what I like in the pairing. “A circle has no end. Spock and McCoy over the years.” Spoilers up to ST VII. Written in 2009.

Further Study Needed by J. Rosemary Moss. G. 2k. Cute pre-canon fic. McCoy tries to teach Spock how to flirt. Pre-slash. Written in 2008.

My Little Town by Phoenix. M. 8k. Post-movies. McCoy’s mother dies, and McCoy goes back to Earth to sell the old house. Spock accompanies him. A bit sad, melancholic story where the two of them finally stop avoiding what’s between them.

something bright, traveling fast by lupinely. G. 7k. “After fal-tor-pan, Spock considers existence.“ Movie-era, really lovely.

Spock of Baker Street by K. V. Wylie. M. 18k. Crossover with Doctor Who. The Guardian of Forever “kidnaps” Spock and McCoy, and throws them into late 19th century Britain. They meet a guy named Arthur, and live at Baker Street. And investigate a murder. Established relationship.

Teshuvah by K. V. Wylie. PG. 20k. A reincarnation AU - i.e. McCoy gets to relive his life again.

The Secrets of Pine Cones by K. V. Wylie. PG. 9k. Movie-era. Married Mc/S. McCoy is observing Ramadan, and this year, after many years spend together, Spock stays at home and keeps him company for the first time. A very lovely fic, written from Spock’s POV.

Through A Glass, Darkly by Jane Carnall. M. 67k. mirror ‘verse. pon farr. mind bond. Written in 1988. (on ao3: prime spones part and the mirror spones 3-parter)

AOS McCoy/Spock

This Must Be The Place by therev. M. 38k. Spock learns that Spock Prime and his Leonard McCoy were in a relationship, and... This was one of the first mc/s fics I read, and it’s still among my favourites. It also showed me that aos!mccoy/spock could work. The mood is a bit melancholic (and perhaps a bit slice-of-life-ish), it’s set post-Beyond, and it has Joanna.

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also older spones fics recs (i.e. written before the reboot)