#judge adjourned case

[bewithus4u]

Judge Adjourns Trump’s Sentencing in Hush Money Case: What You Need to Know

In a noteworthy development involving former President Donald Trump, a judge has adjourned the sentencing related to the hush money case that has captivated the nation. This decision comes amid a swirl of public interest, legal scrutiny, and ongoing debates surrounding the implications for Trump and the broader political landscape. Background of the Case The hush money case centers around…

[salvia-plathitudes]

An immigration judge has given lawyers representing the Department of Homeland Security a little over 24 hours to provide Mahmoud Khalil's legal team with evidence that he is removable from the U.S. under the allegations lobbed against him.

Khalil, legal permanent resident with a green card, was arrested by Immigration and Customs Enforcement officers at his Columbia University housing in New York last month.

Khalil's wife, who appeared via video feed at his hearing, is set to give birth within "a couple of weeks," according to Khalil's lawyer, Marc Van Der Hout.

The hearing grew tense at times, with the judge at one point saying there were nearly 600 people waiting to attend the virtual hearing that was reserved for legal parties only, saying this was highly unusual.

Noting the public interest in the case, Van Der Hout asked the judge to consider making future hearings accessible to the public, but she refused and said she was considering making all future hearings "in-person only" so all of his lawyers would need to attend in person.

Khalil was seated wearing a blue jumpsuit. He only said a handful of words throughout the hearing. At one point he asked the judge if his wife, Noor Abdalla, could also be allowed to have access to the video feed.

"Your honor, I would appreciate if you could let my wife in," he asked.

When she was let in, Abdalla was shown on the big screen. Khalil turned to look at her and then returned his gaze to the front of the room.

During the last hearing, Khalil's lawyers were granted continuance to give additional time to review the allegations raised against him in the Notice to Appear filed by DHS.

📸 Muslim protesters pray outside the main campus of Columbia University during a demonstration to denounce the immigration arrest of Mahmoud Khalil, a pro-Palestinian activist who helped lead protests against Israel at the university, in New York City, March 14, 2025.

David Dee Delgado/Reuters, FILE

Comans again grew agitated when Van Der Hout asked for continuance a second time and claimed lawyers representing DHS had not provided evidence to back up the allegations against his client.

"We have not received a single document from them," he said.

He urged the judge to allow him more time, saying "we can not plead" until they knew the evidence they had against Khalil.

But Comans denied his request and ordered Van Der Hout to enter Khalil's plea for over 12 allegations on the spot.

The allegations ranged from procedural, such as "You are a native of Syria and a citizen of Algeria," to accusations that he withheld information from DHS about his alleged membership in the Columbia University Apartheid Divest group.

He was also asked to respond to the DHS claim that Secretary of State Marco Rubio had found Khalil's "presence or activities in the United States would have serious adverse foreign policy consequences for the United States."

Van Der Hout responded "deny" for each allegation.

Comans conveyed a sense of urgency to get these issues resolved, noting Khalil had already spent several weeks in detention. She told both parties she was "not going to keep him detained" while they argued over his removability.

The court room was packed with reporters and a handful of supporters. One of them was told she needed to take off her keffiyeh before she walked into the courtroom.

As the hearing was adjourned, Khalil turned back to wave and smile at the group of supporters and press that were trickling out of room.

He smiled and waved a peace sign at one of his supporters.

[igotanidea]

(7) Cheater: Dick Grayson x reader

part 1/ part 2 / part 3 / part 4/ part 5 / part 6

A/N: ladies and gentlemen I give you : THE FINALE! happy early b-day @pookieisme4life 🎁🎁 (I was about to wait till 24th but it turned out impossible I am so excited to post it!!!)

***

„Who the hell are you?”

Honestly, he could care less about the ID of the mystery person, nor he hoped for the actual answer, but the initial shock did just that.

They were driving towards some unknown destination that was allegedly the location of the place Y/N was taken to.

“Nice try, Nightwing. Keep dreaming” the person, who was already deemed as a woman, laughed, swirling abruptly yet skillfully.

“Seriously you can’t just expect me to address you in a hey, you way.”

“Valid point. For the sake of it, let’s settle on calling me Shadow.”

“Fine. Whatever. Now why are you helping me?”

“I did some bad things In my life. Maybe this is my way of making up for them.”

“Huh. Seeking redemption?”

“Pretty nice trope, isn’t it?” she laughed. It was actually pretty nice to be able to use humor even in dire situations. “I was always a sucker for the character who wants to do better in their life.”

“Yeah. At least you chose a better way to do so than my brother.”

“You mean Red Hood?”

“For someone I don’t know shit about, you seem awfully knowledgeable about my family ties.”

“Intel is everything, Nightwing. And yes, I know what your other brother, Red Robin, might say.”

“Who the hell are you?!” At this point Dick was really getting curious.

“A friend.” She responded, looking right at him, her eyes shining from behind the mask.

***

“Let me go!!”

“Easy princess. Behave or this might actually get worse for you.”

“LET ME GO!!” she struggled against the binding on her wrist and the sack put on her head.

“What did I tell you, you bitch!?” She was abruptly pulled out of the car and thrown onto the ground. “Do you have a death wish?!”

“Fuck you!”

“If I were you, I’d cooperate, you little slut. Otherwise we might have to scar that pretty face of yours more than it’s necessary.”

With a sharp movement the sack was torn off her head and she had to squint her eyes from the light that hit her eyes with excessive force, reinforced by the fact she had just spent god knows how much time in a dark car with eyes covered.

“Shit…” there was no possibility to hold back the hiss and a few tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Yes. Yes sunshine, you’re in deep shit.” The kidnapper kneeled to her level and caressed her cheek in a condescending gesture, obviously misreading her tears as a sign of fear and submission. “So pretty…”

“Piss off!” she acted instinctively, ending up with a slap on the cheek and stinging sensation that only added to her anger.

“Didn’t I tell you to behave?”

“I had a stinking sack on my head, maybe there was something wrong with my hearing at the time and – “ her head spun to the side as another slap, this time far harder landed on her cheek.

“Well you definitely heard me now. And if you didn’t I won’t hesitate to remind you again. Now get up, we’re taking you to the boss.”

Great.

She was in a freaking video game, when two brainless thugs captured her for a reason that was still a mystery to her and was now taking her to the den of a final boss on the level.

***

“Y/N Y/L/N.”

Should she even be surprised that said den had a design of a video game? Dark, cold, adjourned with different kinds of weapons scattered here and there, huge desk in the middle and three monitors that took up the entire wall?

Almost grotesque.

But hey, who was she to judge the taste of Gotham’s criminals, right?

She probably should have been terrified, praying to every higher power to be saved by Batman, Red Hood, Robin or – damn – even Poison Ivy in the worst case, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to that particular emotion. It was like her brain refused to anchor in reality and everything turned into a freaking dream she was sure to wake up from any second now.

Though maybe getting back to reality in which Dick was still with Sienna and she was brokenhearted wasn’t really a good alternative.

Right. Dick.

Did he even notice her gone? Or was he too busy patching things up with his girlfriend, already forgetting about Y/N? The girl he claimed to love?

A kick in the back of the knees that send her to the floor (again) made her realize that while getting lost in her thoughts she missed the obviously very important and very detailed speech of the villain who was describing his wicked plan to take over the world and –

“Ouch!”

“Stupid bitch.”

“It hurts!” she tried to squirm away from the kicking but it was immensely hard with her hands still bound.

“Hold the fire, boys. Easy. The lady is our guest after all and this is not how we treat guests, is it?” The goons chuckled darkly, because clearly guests were deserving of a far more cruel and brutal treatment. “Now, now, don’t be scared little one. We won’t hurt you. Much. At least not until you give us what we want.”

The owner of a deep, husky voice, who clearly was the host of the party finally decided to step forward and show his face.

Well.

Not exactly showing his face.

***

 “Could you at least tell me who we’re dealing with here?!” Dick muttered, keeping his voice low as he and Shadow pulled at the abandoned building on the outskirts of Gotham. “Do you even know?”

“Why? Does it matter?” Shadow joked “Would you use a different contingency plan for Riddler and another one for Two Face?”

“Could you please stop joking about it? This is my girlfriend we’re talking about!”

The emotions started to come to the surface, and Nightwing started becoming uncharacteristically scatter-brained.

“Idiot. Keep it down!” Shadow hissed, pulling him behind the corridor crease, miraculously avoiding the watchful gaze of the guardian. “Here’s what I get for putting myself at risk. Nightwing announcing his presence to the entire compound filled with criminals. Get yourself together. Or is it too hard for you?!”

Dick grimaced. He hated himself at the moment. For both losing his cool, especially in front of someone who could hold it against him and for missing on precious time since every second counted.

“Y/N. Think about Y/N.” he muttered to himself “She needs your help. Now more than ever.”

He took a few deep breaths, calming down the storm inside him to the point where he was actually in control and capable of turning the fear and concern into anger.

If anyone touched his Y/N….

“You back?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m back.” He opened his eyes, completely focused, eyes sharp, instincts on high alert. “Tell me who’s the fucker who dared to take her.”

“Black Mask.”

“Fucker.” The word left Dick’s lips without the involvement of his brain. That was how much he loved her. The golden boy, teasing, joking and playful nightwing turned into a machine, swearing and ready to freaking kill, almost Red Hood like.

“So? Ready to kick some asses?”

“After you.” The predatory smirk blooming on his face was a sign of incoming violence and spilling blood.

***

Her screams mixed with the ones coming from the corridor in a beautiful, gory cacophony of sounds. An ode painted with blood and pain. Maybe that was why for a longer moment no one in the room actually paid attention nor was willing to try and differentiate the sources of notes in the song.

 Or maybe it was the fact that the goons’ cries were extremely high-pitched, almost reaching the same key as the yelling of a woman trapped in the torture machine, losing strength with every passing second.

“Oh no, no, no, no.” Black Mask laughed cruelly “you don’t get to pass out on me yet. Info first.” The iron grip on her wrist tightened even more, as if that was even possible, cutting into skin and muscle, amplifying the blood loss.

For the last whatever-time-passed she was kept on the edge of consciousness as if Black Mask was hoping that choking, hurting and injecting with some substance would cause her to lose inhibitions and finally blurt out the information he was so dead set on getting.

Who is Nightwing.

Who is Batman.

Any piece of information would turn out to be useful, but since the beginning of the questioning it became painfully clear that that stupid girl was either too weak or too strong to answer.

Too weak because it seemed that even the slightest amount of pain made her repeatedly pass out and too strong because on those intermittent periods where she actually was conscious and aware of the surroundings enough to talk was the one making her extremely stubborn and uncooperative.

And Black Mask was losing his patience.

Here he was, gracing that little scum with his presence instead of submitting her to the treatment of his lower men, with less than gracious methods and she had the audacity to be bratty.

A vicious circle in which he was using the moments to get information only to be refused, beating her again and ending up with a thoughtless body, achieving nothing, over and over again.  

He should have just stuck to using his rat, skillfully planted in Gotham.  

“Fuck!” he yelled seeing as once again she went limp on the chair only because he pulled her nail. “Stupid bitch!”

“Mmmmm…” Y/N muttered and for a moment the room was completely quiet save from her little whimpering.

And then –

“OUCH!”

“FUCK!”

“RETREAT!”

“The hell?” Black Mask walked to the door and looked through the peephole. “Fuck!” Seeing his guards and men being thrown in different directions, sounds of yelling and snapping bones alongside with blood streaming on the floor was not the best view before 7 p.m. and definitely not the best without his favorite drink. Under any other circumstances he would be giving zero fucks about the violence outside the safe door, but now – he had a plan to complete and no one, fucking no one would prevent him from succeeding.

The loud sound of a door’s guard crashing with the metal surface and pictorially sliding down with crushed skull caused Sionis to quickly recalibrate his plan.

Seemed like Red Hood was in the house. And not that Sionis was scared, but-

“Hold them back!” he yelled, grabbing the limp body of Y/N and rushing towards the safety exit, to the roof where his private jet was landed just in case of emergencies.

And this was clearly an emergency.

***

The door broke about 30 seconds after Black Mask rushed to the passage.

“You carry explosives with you everywhere?” Dick muttered, equally impressed and shocked.

“What? It comes in handy and -”

“AAAAH!” Both goons rushed at the two vigilantes before Shadow could finish a sentence, but their brave loud cries quickly turned to quiet, broken sobbing as they were laid down.

“Be a sweetheart and tell me where he went?” Nightwing leaned over the goon with an almost soft smile.

“mhm…” inert waving towards the passage was enough of an answer.

“Good boy. Thanks.”

***

“NO!!” she yelled as Black Mask was dragging her through the roof. Sudden realization of all the things that could go wrong making her much more valiant and strong. As long as she was still in Gotham and not exported to another city or – god forbid – country – could result in being deemed as another missing-without-trail- person.

That is – if someone was even looking for her in the first place.

Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes at the thought that she could be so easily forgotten.

And the terror she was holding back for so long, since the moment of being dragged into that black SUV, finally found a way out…

“NIGHTWING!!!”

***

“Y/N!!”

A dead man would hear that cry and even a dead man would rise from the dead at the sheer desperation beaming from the voice.

“Y/N!!! I’m coming!”

***

“You’re becoming a trouble!” Black Mask hissed, slapping her repeatedly, drawing another stream of blood this time from the broken lip.

“I – “

“I’m so done with you. Should have just killed you the second you turned out to be of zero significance to the cause. Now come here you little bitch-“

“No!!”

She blindly started to run away, only to trip (obviously) and ending up back in Sionis’ grip.

“NO!!”

He was too strong and she was too scared and stiff to fight anymore. Digging heels into the ground did no harm and was definitely no hindrance in being pulled towards the ledge of the 10-stories building.

“NO!!!!”

“Y/N!!”

Both the girl and Sionis froze for a moment as another male voice cut into the screaming match.

But it was too late.

***

“Go!” Shadow was probably the only one who didn’t lose cold blood.  “GO!”

***

She was falling.

And it was beautiful.

Knowing that she would finally be free of all the pain, of all the heartbreak, of the guilt coming with betraying another girl by sleeping with someone else’s boyfriend. Liberated from being stuck in the memories of the past when she was actually happy, before everything went to shit.

“I love you Dick…” she whispered, finally crashing to the ground.

***

“Who the hell are you?!”

“Oh, come on, not this again!” Shadow hissed, extremely dissatisfied with the fact that everyone she encountered was far more interested in getting to know her personality, rather than fearing her killer skills.

For Black Mask it took a record time of ten minutes before calling defeat and ending up bound and being taken by the GCPD.

***

“Y/N.”

She opened one eye and much to her surprise found out that she was not a celestial body looking at her bloodied pulp of a body on the pavement.

“I love you too…” the warm embrace around her was welcomed but in time started to become a little suffocating and her battered body refused to be squeezed.

“Dickie…”

“Shh… shh, I got you.” He whispered again, caressing her hair, kissing her forehead, doing everything to assure both her and himself that it was all over and that he got her, that she was safe and he would never let it happen again. Never.

“H-How? W-what happened-? I – I thought-“

“You thought so little of me, didn’t you?”

“Idiot.”

“Hey!”

“Fucking prick! I swear if it wasn’t for this – “ she swung her injured arm in the air “I’d slap the hell out of you!”

“I saved you!”

“I almost died and you’re making jokes!”

Oh. Right. Maybe, just maybe given the circumstances it was slightly inappropriate.

“Sorry.”

“Yeah. You better.” She pouted, but he knew better, wiping the unshed tears. “It’s over.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

“What happened?”

“I’m an acrobat, remember? I jumped. And damn, I wish someone had that on video because it was really one of my best – Ouch! Ouch! Ok, ok! Stop it! Point taken!”

***

“How are we doing here?”

Once Sionis was seated in the back of a police car, hands were shaken and words of gratitude exchanged Shadow walked towards Dick and Y/n.

“I think she’ll live.” Dick teased with a smirk, predictably moving a safe distance away from his -- .

Right.

Maybe there was no happy ending after all with that messed up relationship thing hanging over their heads like a freaking axe.

“Can’t say the same about Nightwing though” Y/N pushed the thought away, settling on sending him a death stare for making fun of her again.

“Good. I’m glad.”

“I think you made up for whatever crime you were trying to redeem, Shadow. Thank you. I owe you. You saved my –“

“Girlfriend?” Shadow prompted, looking between Y/N and Dick, making them both blush in a bit of embarrassment.

“It’s complicated-“ they both said at the same time.

“Oh, trust me, it’s not complicated at all!” Shadow laughed

“What do you mean? You don’t know-“

“I know more than you think. Haven’t I proved that already?” Shadow turned around, making sure no one was watching and slowly took of her mask.

***

Fast forward. One week later.

Y/N was walking out of the hospital. It seemed like her arm was healing nicely and there were no complications, though her doctor was very stern while telling her she was supposed to rest and not get herself involved in any form of physical activity.

If he only knew that she was in a relationship with Gotham’s and Bludhaven vigilante.

“Y/N!”

Speaking of which, said vigilante was now honking at her from his Porsche.

“Showoff!”

“Get in loser, we’re going shopping!

She laughed and jumped inside the vehicle.

“You’re supposed to hold the doors open for me!”

“Mh. Missed you too, sunshine.” He leaned over the gearbox kissing her with a cheeky grin. “How’s the hand?”

“She’ll live.”

“Quoting me already, princess? Careful, I might think you consider me a superstar or something.”

“Idiot!”

“Ouch! You’re hurting me. But I’m willing to forgive you, giving the circumstances of late.”

He started the engine and took the way to the city.

“Yeah. Crazy, right?” her head fell onto the car’s headrest and she sighed heavily. “I mean – who would have thought…”

***

Flashback

“S-Sienna!?”

“Hey you two.”

“h-hey? What do you mean “hey”?! What is this?! Some sick joke?!”

In her stupor Y/N missed the fact that Dick was as shocked (if not more) as her. Hence it couldn’t have been any conspiracy against Y/N’s mental health.

“Whoa! Whoa! Relax!” Shadow Sienna raised her hands in surrender “Dick-“

“The hell?! How do you know? Damn it-!” he forgot about all the rules of safety and tore off his mask. Getting to the bottom of this shit was far more important.

“- I meant what I said. Really! About that redemption arc! Just – just listen to me!”

“Five minutes.”

“It was all a scheme-“

“Well let me tell you, your explanation is starting off the wrong foot” Dick groaned, pulling Y/N to his side to strengthen her mentally.

“I am Black Mask’s niece in the second line!” Sienna explained dramatically “wait-! Wait-! I have no loyalty to him! Not anymore!”

“One minute left.” Dick hissed

“It was all a plan. He had some vague idea about the ties between the one Dick Grayson and Batman and Y/N and wanted to use all of you against each other.”

“Thirty seconds.”

“Yes, fine! I was his spy for a moment, but then you two-. God! You love each other! And I just couldn’t- I couldn’t-“

Y/N wriggled out of Dick’s embrace and walked to Sienna, grabbing both her hands in her healthy one.

“Thank you.”

End of flashback

***

 “I really hope you took your golden visa with you, cause I am about to go crazy with this shopping spree.”

“Hey. No limits on Bruce’s cards. He won’t even notice the loss of a couple thousands and I got my girl back, so-“

“I think we should send-“

“I already took care of that.”

After all the trouble and drama they got their happy ending.

***

In another part of town a certain girl found a fruit and sweet basket on her doorstep. With a little, but meaningful card.

It seemed like she found her happy ending too.

One in which she was no longer used by anyone and treated as a villain.

With the view for a future of freedom.

@miraculous-panic @fullbelieverheart @xlatinaaxx @ietss @arfrona

@gracescor3 @jaysgirlx @fuzzym4m4 @peachmartini @xenop0p @madness1999sworld

@leovergurl

[sweetlikecandysstuff]

Luca changretta x reader

The devil's bargain, (Part 1)

Reader is a very smart and powerful lawyer, however, she recently started working on a case against Luca Changretta, and she certainly seems to be winning the case. What does Luca think about this?

Part 2

The courtroom was thick with tension, the kind that made men shift uncomfortably in their seats and loosen their ties. The case against Luca Changretta had gripped the entire city, everyone wanted to see if the infamous Italian mobster could finally be brought to his knees. And you? You were leading the charge.

You stood at the front, poised, sharp eyes locking onto the judge as you laid out your argument with effortless confidence. Facts, truths, and hard evidence... everything was stacked against him. You knew it. The jury knew it. And Luca? He just sat there, watching you with an amused smirk, one leg crossed over the other, fingers adjusting his cufflinks like this was all some elaborate joke.

But you weren’t here to play games.

By the time court adjourned for the day, murmurs filled the room. You had made your case strong enough to shake the foundations of his empire. Your reputation had already been stellar, but this? This could be career-defining. You walked out of the courthouse, heels clicking sharply against the marble floor, the weight of victory pressing against your chest.

When you reached your office later that night, your breath hitched.

Luca Changretta was already there, sitting at your desk, his hands folded neatly in front of him, that devilish smirk still dancing on his lips.

"You make quite the impression, bella," he mused, his deep, velvety voice curling around the words like smoke.

"I don’t recall sending you an invitation, Mr. Changretta."

He chuckled, standing up at an unhurried pace, his dark eyes drinking you in as if he was savoring the sight of you. "No, but I figured... seeing as you've taken such an interest in me... I should return the favor."

You scoffed, placing your case down. "Oh, I’m interested, alright. Interested in watching you rot in a cell."

He tilted his head, stepping closer, the scent of expensive cologne and danger wrapping around you. "You don’t scare easy, do you?"

"Not even a little."

Luca's smirk deepened. "That’s what I like about you, cara mia."

You crossed your arms, ignoring the way your pulse quickened under his gaze. "You came all this way to flirt? I expected threats, maybe even a bribe. Or did you finally realize you’re losing?"

His laughter was low, dark, and amused. "You think this is about winning and losing?" He reached for a strand of your hair, twisting it gently around his finger before letting it slip through. "No, this is about something much more... interesting."

You swallowed, but stood your ground. "And what exactly do you want from me?"

Luca leaned in, so close you could feel his breath against your skin. "You’ve become a problem, tesoro mio," he murmured. "And yet, I can’t decide if I want to destroy you… or keep you all to myself."

A thrill shot through you, but you masked it with a sharp glare. "You don’t get to decide, Mr. Changretta."

He chuckled again, but this time, it was different... less amused, more intrigued. "Oh, but I do love a woman who fights back." His fingers traced the edge of your desk as he moved, circling you like a predator playing with his prey.

Except you weren’t prey.

You were fire, and you weren’t about to be extinguished.

"You can play all the mind games you want," you said, voice steady despite the heat simmering between you. "But in the end, I’ll be the one writing your downfall."

Luca exhaled sharply, his gaze darkening with something wicked. "Then let’s make this interesting, shall we?" He leaned in just enough for his lips to ghost over your cheek, the faintest touch that sent an unwilling shiver down your spine.

"You want to take me down?" he whispered, voice dripping with challenge. "Then do it. But don’t be surprised when I start playing a game of my own."

And just like that, he stepped back, walking toward the door with that same slow, confident stride. He paused at the threshold, looking at you over his shoulder.

"Until next time, avvocato."

And then he was gone, leaving behind nothing but the scent of danger… and the unmistakable craving for more.

You exhaled sharply, pacing your office after Luca had left. The audacity. The arrogance. The sheer nerve of that man. You had faced criminals before, murderers, liars, the worst of the worst... but Luca Changretta was something else entirely. He didn’t just play the game. He was the game.

And now? Now, he had made it personal.

But he had made one crucial mistake.

He thought he could rattle you.

You smirked to yourself as you sat at your desk, running a hand through your hair. If he wants a game, I’ll give him one.

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

The Next Day,

The courtroom was packed, buzzing with anticipation. The case was nearing its climax, and every journalist, politician, and high-ranking official wanted to see the untouchable Luca Changretta finally fall.

You walked in with confidence, head held high, dressed in a sleek black ensemble that made you feel like a queen about to deliver a royal decree.

And there he was.

Sitting at the defendant’s table, completely at ease, looking like he was attending a business meeting rather than a trial that could ruin him. His dark eyes met yours the second you entered, and that smirk was already in place.

Cocky bastard.

But you didn’t waver. You didn’t blink. You just gave him the kind of look that said, You should be afraid.

As you presented your argument, listing every charge with evidence that was damn near airtight, you felt his gaze burning into you. But you refused to look at him. You refused to give him the satisfaction.

Still, you felt him.

It was almost infuriating.

When the court was dismissed for the day, Luca stood, adjusting his suit, moving at that same unbothered pace. As you gathered your things, you heard his voice... low, teasing, just as he passed behind you.

"You look good when you're winning, bella."

You turned swiftly, eyes flashing. "I always win."

Luca chuckled, tilting his head. "That so?" He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "Tell me… do you always enjoy it this much?"

The way he said it sent a dangerous heat through you, and you hated that he could do that. That he could make your skin prickle with awareness even when he was the enemy.

You gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. "You should worry less about my enjoyment, Mr. Changretta, and more about your sentencing."

His smirk deepened. "You make it sound like you actually want me locked away."

"I do," you shot back.

But his gaze flickered with something… darker.

"No, you don’t."

You opened your mouth to argue, but he was already walking away, his words lingering in the air like smoke.

You hated that he was right.

You hated it even more that he knew it.

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

You were up late, going over case files, your mind working through every angle, every potential weakness in Luca’s defense. You needed this win. You needed to prove that no man... no matter how powerful, how deadly... was above the law.

And yet, your thoughts kept drifting back to him.

To the way his voice sent shivers down your spine.

To the way his eyes watched you like a wolf toying with its prey.

To the way he made you feel… something you had no business feeling.

Then, as if conjured by your very thoughts, there was a knock at your door.

You froze. It was past midnight.

Another knock.

Slow. Measured.

Your pulse quickened.

Reaching for the small gun you kept in your drawer, you moved carefully, unlocking the door just enough to see...

Luca.

He stood there, maddeningly calm, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a bottle of expensive Italian wine. His smirk was infuriating, a slow, knowing thing that curled at the edges of his lips like smoke.

"Now, before you shoot me," he said smoothly, tilting his head, "I thought we could discuss our… arrangement."

Your grip on the door tightened. "What arrangement?"

Luca stepped closer, so close the scent of his cologne... dark, rich, sinful.. wrapped around you. "The one where you try to destroy me in court," he murmured, eyes gleaming, "and I see how long it takes before you admit you want something else entirely."

You scoffed, but the way your pulse quickened betrayed you. "You really think you can charm your way out of this?"

His smirk deepened. "No, cara mia. I think I can charm my way into something much more interesting."

You hated the heat curling in your stomach, hated the way he could make you feel anything at all when you should be focused on ruining him. But as he held out the bottle, watching you with that devil-may-care confidence, you did something reckless.

You let him in.

As you pour two glasses of the expensive wine, your eyes never leaving Luca's as you hand him one. You take a sip, the rich red liquid rolling over your tongue, a small hum of appreciation escaping your lips.

Luca watches you intently over the rim of his glass, swirling the wine gently. He sets the glass down, leaning back on your couch, his eyes glinting with unspoken challenge.

He spreads his arms across the back of the couch, a picture of casual confidence. His gaze slowly rakes over you, appreciating the way the wine has stained your lips a deeper red. "You know, for someone so determined to take me down, you're not half bad at entertaining a guest,"

"For someone who's supposed to be behind bars, you're unusually comfortable in someone else's home," you counter, crossing your legs elegantly as you take another sip. Your eyes lock with his, displaying equal parts challenge and... something else you can't quite admit, even to yourself.

Luca's lips curl into a slow, dangerous smile. He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his voice dropping to a low, husky tone. "Ah, but that's where you're wrong, cara mia. I'm not just any guest."

His face inches closer to yours, the air between you crackling with unspoken tension. His gaze drops to your lips, lingers there for a moment before snapping back up to your eyes. "I'm the man you can't stand to lose to. The man you hate to want."

You feel your heart rate quicken, your breath hitching slightly at his proximity. You set your glass down, your hands curling into fists on your lap. Your voice comes out low, steady, a mirror to his own. "And what makes you think I want you at all, Luca?"

Luca's smile widens, his eyes gleaming with triumph. He knows he's gotten to you, that you're protesting too much. He reaches out, gently lifting your chin with his finger, tilting your face up to his.

"Because if you didn't, you wouldn't be arguing so hard." His thumb brushes lightly against your lower lip, a feather-light touch that sends a jolt through you. "You wouldn't let me get so close. You wouldn't still be sitting here, talking to me, drinking my wine."

His hand drops back to his lap, but his eyes remain locked with yours, intense, knowing. You feel your resolve shaking, the professional mask slipping. His voice softens, almost tender. "You're damn good at your job. The best I've ever seen."

He leans back, giving you some much-needed space. His eyes never leave yours, full of respect and something deeper, more primal. "But you're even better at denying yourself what you truly want."

You feel the sting of his words, recognizing the truth in them. Your resolve wavers, the attraction you've fought so hard against threatening to overtake you. You take a deep, steadying breath, your fingers tightening around the stem of your wine glass.

Luca watches the internal struggle play across your face, his expression a perfect blend of understanding and amusement. He takes a slow sip of his wine, savoring the flavor ... and the moment. When he speaks again, his voice is low and laden with barely restrained desire.

"Tell me to leave. But first, look me in the eye and convince me , convince us both , that you don't want me as much as I want you." His gaze drops to your lips, his intentions clear and unmistakable.

You stare back at him, your heart racing in your chest. The room feels smaller, the air thick with tension. You open your mouth to speak, to issue the command that would send him away ... but the words stick in your throat. Because deep down, you know he's right.

"That's what I thought." His voice comes out rough, almost tortured with wanting. He sets his wine glass down carefully, his eyes never leaving yours. Then, slowly, deliberately, he reaches out and gently takes your wine glass from your trembling fingers. "You're fighting a losing battle here."

He leans in closer, his face inches from yours. His breath is warm against your skin, carrying the scent of red wine and something distinctly Luca. His thumb brushes over your lower lip, parting them slightly. "Stop fighting, cara. Give in to what you really want."

His words are a soft command, a whisper of temptation that echoes through your entire being. You feel your resolve crumbling, the walls you've built to keep him out shattering one by one. Your breath hitches as his thumb slides deeper into your mouth, grazing against your tongue.

His eyes darken with desire, his pupils dilated with hunger. Slowly, almost reverently, he pulls his thumb out of your mouth, trailing a spark of electricity in its wake. "Tell me to fuck you. Say it out loud, and I'll do it right here on this sofa."

Your body tenses, your breasts tightening as your nipples harden. Your mind screams warnings, your professional self shouting 'No! Bad idea!' But your body... your body has different plans. You swallow hard, your voice lower, huskier than before.

"Jesus, that look..." His voice is barely more than a ragged whisper. "Even when you're fighting yourself, you're the sexiest fucking thing I've ever seen." His hand moves to your thigh, warm through the fabric of your dress. "Just say the word, Bella."

His fingers trace a slow path up your thigh, making your breath catch. "Is it 'fuck me'? Or 'get out'? Which is it going to be? Because one word... that's all it'll take."

The room felt impossibly small. Every nerve in your body was ablaze. Your lips parted...

And then... You chose.

Part 2

[esteemed-excellency]

Hiram usually defends! He was a solicitor in his youth and he's finally having the time of his life at the Evenlode, much to everyone's dismay (except maybe his client's).

A terpsichorean prosecution and defence sounds like a literal nightmare, I love the idea hahahah

i do love imagining the apologist as an evenlode barrister, it feels appropriate in a lot of ways. participating in the structured dance od the courtroom, wielding the law like a weapon, putting all the eloquence of verse into closing statements. acting as a force for law more literally

[spidernuggets]

Jason Todd:

*In Court*

Judge: "Prosecutor, please state your-"

Y/n, Jason's defense lawyer: "My client, Jason Todd is innocent, your honor"

Judge: "I did not state that the defense can make a claim-"

Y/n: "No trial needed, your honour, he is innocent, court is adjourned"

Judge: "Mx. Y/n, you can not deliver the verdict!"

Y/n: "Case, closed, Jason Todd is innocent, have a good day" *Grabs Jason and leaves*

Jason: *Confused asf*

[bigheadbrooke-9]

Hi! Can I request a fic for Kit Walker where reader is the psychiatrist assigned to examine him for trial (instead of Thredson), and she is instructed to declare him guilty, but she starts to see the truth and his innocence and is conflicted about her task and how to help him? Thank you.

⋆.˚ Conflicted ｡𖦹°‧

Kit walker x psychiatrist!reader

Summary: As a psychiatrist, you had worked in countless asylums, but Briarcliff Manor was unlike any other—chaotic, unpredictable, and home to the most unsettling individuals. You had treated murderers, the delusional, the truly lost, yet nothing could have prepared you for what lay beyond its walls.Your assignment was Kit Walker, a man already presumed guilty by the court. The judge expected you to confirm what they all believed—that he belonged behind bars. Your job was to get inside his mind, dissect his thoughts, and seal his fate.But you weren’t one to take things at face value. Instead, you decided to uncover the truth for yourself.

A/n: AYEEEEE FIRST REQUEST IM EXCITED WOOT WOOT, anyway I haven’t watched ahs in like a year so excuse me if I don’t get everything right thank you for the request anon 💜

As the judge’s gavel slammed down, signaling the end of the hearing, I remained seated, my fingers gripping the case file a little too tightly. The words rang in my ears—He has killed many women, including his wife. There are no other suspects but him. It was presented so definitively, so matter-of-factly, yet something about it didn’t sit right with me. The details were too clean, too convenient. In my fifteen years as a psychiatrist, I had met and studied countless criminals—serial killers, sociopaths, people truly lost to their madness. But Kit Walker? His profile didn’t fit.

“Bloody Face.” I scoffed under my breath as I stood, smoothing out the creases in my blouse. “What are we, in the fifth grade? Giving killers nicknames like it’s a horror novel?” My voice was low, but sharp enough to make the judge glance my way.

He sighed, already tired of my defiance. “Dr. L/N, your job is not to question the verdict—it is to evaluate the subject. Walker is set to plead guilty. We simply need insight into how he did it and why. That is your assignment.”

I clenched my jaw, biting back the urge to argue further. “With all due respect, Your Honor,” I said carefully, “I don’t evaluate cases based on convenience. If I’m going to get inside this man’s head, I need to know everything. And right now, what I see is an incomplete puzzle.”

The judge exhaled sharply, clearly unimpressed. “Court is adjourned.” The gavel struck again, and just like that, my protests were dismissed.

As the room emptied, I lingered, my eyes scanning the documents once more. The crime scene photos, the witness statements, the autopsy reports—all pointing to Kit Walker. All too perfect. I had spent my career untangling the minds of killers, understanding their triggers, their motivations. And something about this? It felt…wrong.

Fine. If no one else was going to ask the right questions, I would.

I closed the file, tucked it under my arm, and walked out of the courtroom with only one goal in mind—find the truth.

Briarcliff Manor

The air inside Briarcliff Manor was thick with despair, a suffocating weight that clung to the walls and settled in the bones of those who walked its halls. The wails of patients echoed through the corridors, a chilling symphony of suffering that never seemed to cease. The scent of antiseptic and something far more unpleasant lingered in the air, a reminder of the institution’s harsh methods.

As I walked beside Sister Jude, I observed the residents—frail women with vacant stares, their threadbare garments hanging loosely over their malnourished frames. Some mumbled prayers under their breath, others simply sat motionless, their eyes hollow and unfocused. It was a grim sight, one that only reinforced the dark reputation Briarcliff had earned.

“Hello, Sister Jude. How are you today?” I asked, breaking the silence between us.

She clutched the rosary hanging from her neck, pressing it to her chest as if seeking divine guidance. “I am well, child,” she replied, her voice firm, yet carrying a reverence that spoke of her unwavering faith. “The Lord walks with me through all things. Amen.” Her lips moved in silent prayer before she turned her sharp gaze back to me. “I assume you are prepared for what awaits you beyond this door?”

Before I could respond, she reached for the heavy iron handle of the door in front of us, her expression darkening. “The things this man has done are beyond comprehension,” she continued, her voice lowering to a grave tone. “May Jesus have mercy on his soul. His behavior has been unacceptable, and we do not tolerate such disobedience here. Punishment is necessary—it is the only way to correct a lost soul.” With that, she pushed the door open, gesturing for me to step inside.

I hesitated for only a moment before entering, my eyes immediately falling upon the figure bound to the bed. Kit Walker.

His wrists and ankles were strapped tightly to the bedposts, the restraints digging so harshly into his skin that angry red marks and bruises had begun to form. His chest rose and fell unevenly, his breathing labored. Sweat clung to his skin, and his face was flushed, his exhaustion evident in the way his eyelids fluttered, barely able to stay open. Whatever punishment had been inflicted upon him had taken its toll.

I swallowed hard, the sight of him stirring something uneasy in my chest. I had read his case file over and over, studied every account given, every piece of so-called evidence, and yet, something about it never sat right with me. The accusations against him were horrific, unspeakable even, but as I looked at him now—this young man, beaten down and broken—I couldn’t help but wonder if he truly belonged in a place like this.

I stepped closer, lowering my voice in an attempt to sound reassuring. “Hello, Kit. My name is Y/N L/N. I’m your new psychiatrist.” I gave him a small, hesitant smile, though I knew it was unlikely to offer any real comfort in his current state. “I’ll be here every day, and you can talk to me whenever you need to.”

For a moment, I almost reached out to shake his hand, a simple gesture of introduction, before I realized how pointless it was. His hands were bound—tightly. Instead, I let my gaze flicker back to his, searching for any sign of recognition, of trust, or even just understanding. But Kit only blinked at me, too weak to say much, his expression unreadable.

Before I could say anything else, Sister Jude abruptly took hold of my arm, pulling me aside with a firm grip. Her eyes bore into mine with an intensity that sent a chill down my spine. “This boy has attempted to escape too many times,” she whispered, her voice low yet brimming with authority. “He is troubled, filled with demons, and I fear they will consume him entirely if something is not done. Please, child, do what you can to help this poor lost soul. But do not let your heart be fooled—he is not as innocent as he may seem.”

I nodded slowly, though I wasn’t sure I agreed.

As she released my arm, I turned back to Kit, watching as a nun dabbed at his forehead with a damp cloth. He remained silent, but his eyes flickered toward me, studying me just as I had been studying him.

And in that moment, I made a decision.

Regardless of what Sister Jude or anyone else believed about Kit Walker, I was going to uncover the truth myself.

Day one

The air between us was thick with silence as I settled into the chair across from him, my legs crossing instinctively as I flipped through my notes. His posture was tense, his fingers fidgeting as his gaze flickered around the dimly lit room. The stark walls of Briarcliff loomed around us, casting long shadows under the flickering fluorescent lights. He had barely spoken since I arrived, and I could tell he was wary—perhaps even afraid—to break the silence.

Clearing my throat gently, I finally spoke, my tone measured yet inviting.

“What was your life like before you were accused, Kit?”

His fingers momentarily stilled before resuming their restless motion. He didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge my words right away. It was as if he was afraid to speak—as if forming words would solidify the nightmare his life had become.

Leaning forward slightly, I softened my voice. “You can talk to me, Kit. Anything we discuss stays between us unless you express intent to harm yourself, harm others, or escape. Otherwise, this space is yours.” I placed my clipboard down on my lap, hoping to make the conversation feel less clinical, less like an interrogation and more like an opportunity for him to finally be heard.

For a moment, there was nothing but the distant echoes of Briarcliff—the occasional scream from the hall, the sound of hurried footsteps outside the door. Then, finally, he spoke.

“I didn’t kill those girls.”

It was the first sentence I had heard from him since stepping into the room, his voice thick with an accent that only made his words feel more resolute. He wasn’t just saying it—he believed it, knew it.

I nodded but didn’t press further on that just yet. I wanted to ease him into this, to hear about his life in his own words, not the ones already plastered in reports and case files.

“That’s not what I asked, Kit,” I said gently. “We’ll get to that when you’re ready. Right now, I just want to know about your life with Alma. What was it like?”

The second her name left my lips, his entire demeanor shifted. His pupils dilated, his jaw tightened, and his fingers picked relentlessly at his nails. The mention of his wife clearly struck something deep within him.

“I loved that woman,” he said, his voice quieter now, but heavy with emotion. “I would’ve done anything for her. I woulda never—eva—hurt her.”

His accent thickened as his emotions swelled, and I could see the way his chest rose and fell in uneven breaths. He swiped at his face quickly, as if trying to erase the evidence of any tears before they could fall.

“She was all I had,” he admitted, his voice raw. “And now she’s gone.”

A sharp pang of empathy struck me. This wasn’t just a man accused of a crime—this was a husband who had lost his wife in the most inexplicable, terrifying way.

“I wish I could’ve helped ‘ha that night,” he continued, his voice thick with regret. “There—there was nothin’ I could do about it. I miss her so much.”

He let his head fall into his hands, his shoulders shaking slightly, though he was trying to contain it.

I hesitated before asking my next question, not wanting to push too hard, but knowing we had to go there eventually. “Do you remember what happened that night?”

Kit didn’t lift his head. He just shook it, a slow, almost reluctant movement.

“I don’t remember much…” His voice was hoarse now, as if the words physically hurt to say. “But that night—”

He cut himself off abruptly, rubbing at his tired, reddened eyes. I could see the weight of it pressing down on him, the sheer exhaustion of reliving something he barely understood himself.

I sighed heavily.

The silence between us stretched, thick with the weight of everything unsaid. Kit’s breathing had slowed, but his shoulders remained tense, his fingers still anxiously worrying at the edge of his sleeve. The fluorescent lights overhead flickered slightly, casting shifting shadows along the peeling walls of the small room.

I gave him a moment to collect himself before speaking again, my voice steady but gentle. “Kit, I need you to try and remember. Even if it’s just fragments—anything from that night might help us understand what really happened.”

He swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he exhaled shakily. “I—I remember Alma screamin’,” he finally admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “She was right there in front of me, and then—then there was this light. So goddamn bright I couldn’t see anythin’. It was like the whole room got swallowed up in it.”

His brows furrowed as he spoke, frustration flickering in his dark eyes as if he were trying to chase down memories that kept slipping through his fingers.

“And then?” I prompted, leaning in slightly.

Kit’s fingers curled into fists. “I couldn’t move. It was like somethin’ had me pinned down. I heard her screamin’ my name, but I couldn’t do nothin’. And then…” His voice hitched, his jaw tightening. “Then she was gone.”

The raw devastation in his tone sent a chill down my spine. His grief wasn’t performative—it was visceral, consuming. Whatever had happened that night, he had lived through something traumatic. Whether it was an abduction or something else entirely, it was clear that he believed every word.

I let the silence settle, allowing him space to process before I spoke again. “You said there was a bright light. Do you remember anything else? Any sounds? Figures? Anything unusual before Alma disappeared?”

Kit hesitated, his fingers twitching at his sides. “Yeah,” he admitted after a long pause. “There was a sound—like…buzzin’. Like electricity hummin’ real loud in my ears. And these…shadows. Shapes movin’ through the light, but I couldn’t make ‘em out. It was like my head wasn’t workin’ right, like I was half-dreamin’ or somethin’.”

His gaze flickered to mine then, a desperate sort of plea in his expression. “I know how it sounds. I know everyone thinks I’m crazy.”

I studied him carefully. “Do you think you’re crazy?”

He blinked at me, startled by the question. For a long moment, he didn’t answer. Then, slowly, he shook his head. “No.”

The conviction in his voice was unmistakable.

“Then that’s what matters right now,” I said firmly. “I’m not here to judge what happened. I just want to help you make sense of it.”

Kit exhaled shakily, nodding, though he still seemed unconvinced that I—anyone—truly believed him.

I reached for my clipboard, glancing at the clock on the wall. Our session was nearly over. “You did well today, Kit. We’ll keep working through this, piece by piece.”

He gave a small nod, but his expression was unreadable.

I stood, smoothing down my dress. “If you ever need to talk, you know where to find me.”

As I turned to leave, I caught one last glimpse of him—sitting there, shoulders hunched, eyes distant, as if he were trapped somewhere between reality and memory.

This was going to be harder than I thought.

—

That night, the asylum felt even colder than usual. I had retired to my small quarters, curling beneath the thin blankets in an attempt to block out the distant sounds of screaming and murmured prayers that echoed down the dimly lit halls.

Sleep came slowly, my mind still tangled in the complexities of Kit Walker.

Then—a knock at my door.

Soft, hesitant.

I groggily blinked at the clock on the bedside table. 2:53 a.m.

My stomach twisted with unease. No one should be knocking at my door at this hour.

Dragging myself from the bed, I cautiously approached, my hand hovering over the handle before I finally pulled it open.

Kit stood there in the dim light of the hallway, his body tense, his fingers twitching as he picked at his nails—a nervous habit I was beginning to recognize.

But when he stepped forward, into the faint glow of my bedside lamp, my breath caught in my throat.

His face was battered, swollen, the deep purple of a fresh bruise blooming around his left eye. Scratches ran down the side of his jaw, disappearing beneath the collar of his shirt. He was shaking, barely keeping himself upright.

“Kit—”

“I didn’t know where else to go,” he mumbled, his voice hoarse.

Without another word, I grabbed his wrist—gently, careful not to startle him—and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind us.

The door clicked shut behind us, sealing us in a fragile cocoon of dim light and silence. Kit stood in the center of my small room, his breathing uneven, his hands clenched into tight fists at his sides. Now that he was up close, I could see just how much worse the bruising was—deep splotches of angry purples and blues spreading across his cheekbone, his split lip swollen and raw. The scratches lining his jaw were thin but fresh, stark against his pale skin. His collar was askew, revealing more bruising down the column of his throat.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay composed. “Who did this to you?”

Kit hesitated, shifting his weight as he glanced toward the door, as if expecting someone to be listening in. “Doesn’t matter,” he muttered.

“Yes, it does.” I stepped forward, lowering my voice. “You came to me, Kit. That means you want help.”

His jaw clenched, the muscles ticking beneath his bruised skin. He looked exhausted, worn thin by fear and pain. Slowly, he lifted a trembling hand and rubbed at the back of his neck. “They do this to keep me in line. To make me ‘confess’ to things I didn’t do.” He let out a humorless laugh, but there was no real amusement in his eyes. “Sister Jude calls it discipline. I call it bullshit.”

Rage simmered beneath my ribs, though I forced myself to remain calm. Briarcliff wasn’t just a prison for the mentally unstable—it was a breeding ground for cruelty, a place where punishments were disguised as divine justice. I had heard whispers of the punishments before I arrived, but seeing it firsthand—seeing the proof carved into Kit’s skin—was another matter entirely.

I took a slow breath, forcing my hands to remain steady as I gestured toward the small chair beside my desk. “Sit down. Let me clean you up.”

Kit hesitated, his gaze flickering between me and the chair. Then, with an almost reluctant nod, he lowered himself into it, wincing as his body adjusted.

I moved quickly, retrieving a small first aid kit from my bedside drawer. It wasn’t much—just basic medical supplies I had brought with me—but it would have to do. Kneeling in front of him, I dampened a cloth and reached for his face, but he flinched before I could touch him.

I stilled, my hand hovering just inches from his skin. “I won’t hurt you,” I said softly.

He exhaled sharply, nodding once before allowing me to continue.

I worked carefully, dabbing at the cut on his lip, the cloth turning pink with diluted blood. He barely reacted, his jaw tight as he stared past me, as if he had trained himself to endure pain in silence.

“How often does this happen?” I asked, my voice quiet.

Kit let out a hollow laugh. “Often enough.”

I swallowed back my frustration, focusing on my task. “You shouldn’t have to go through this, Kit.”

“Yeah, well,” he murmured, “lotta things I shouldn’t have to go through.”

I bit my tongue, knowing I couldn’t argue with that. His entire existence in Briarcliff was a cruel, undeserved punishment.

As I finished cleaning his wounds, I pressed a cold compress gently against the bruise beneath his eye. Kit hissed softly at the contact, his hand twitching in his lap.

“Sorry,” I murmured.

He shook his head. “S’not your fault.”

For a moment, we just sat there in silence. His breathing had slowed, his shoulders losing some of their earlier tension. The warmth of the room, the gentle press of my hand against his skin—it was likely the first kind touch he had felt in a long time.

Then, softly, he spoke. “Why are you helpin’ me?”

I looked up, meeting his gaze. His brown eyes were filled with something I couldn’t quite name—skepticism, maybe, or something softer, something like hope.

“Because I believe you.”

The words hung between us, heavier than I expected.

Kit blinked, his throat working as he swallowed. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but no words came.

A knock at the door shattered the moment.

Kit tensed immediately, his body going rigid as his gaze darted toward the sound. I stood quickly, my pulse spiking.

“Dr. L/N?” A voice called from the other side. A nun.

I exhaled sharply, turning back to Kit. “You can’t be here,” I whispered.

He nodded, already standing. “I know.”

I glanced around the room quickly. There was nowhere for him to hide.

Another knock. “Doctor?”

Shit.

I turned back to Kit, gripping his wrist. “Stay quiet.”

Then, squaring my shoulders, I crossed the room and opened the door.

CLIFFHANGERRRRRRRR lowkey love kit Walker he is a sweetheart 😭

[beardedmrbean]

e didn’t want to have sex, a court has heard.

The man – who cannot be named to protect the boy’s identity – booked two rooms at a hotel in Bromley, south-east London, and arranged for a pair of sex workers to attend, Croydon Crown Court heard.

The boy told his father he did not want to have sex with a 26-year-old.

The father also offered a line of cocaine to his son – who replied: “I’m f------ 13, that’s ridiculous.”

The man pleaded guilty to arranging for a child to engage in sexual activity, as well as offering to supply cocaine.

Martin Ingle, prosecuting, said the man took his son to dinner then told him he had “bought a brass [prostitute]”.

When his son told him he didn’t want that, the father blamed it on the boy’s mother being “overprotective” and told him “don’t be a p----”.

The father added the sex workers were already in a taxi so it was too late to cancel, the court heard.

When the two women arrived the boy was taken to a separate room where a 26-year-old sex worker performed a sex act on him, the court heard.

In a police statement the boy said he didn’t want to do it and he was left feeling disgusted.

The father then paid the women £150 each and they left.

When the boy’s mother found out what had happened she drove her son to the police station and the father was later arrested, Mr Ingle said.

The defendant appeared in court but chose not to be represented by a barrister.

He said: “I can’t have this hanging over my head, I just need it over with.”

Tony Hyams-Parish, the judge, warned him the offence has a starting point of five years and that he faces “significant” prison time.

The case was adjourned for sentencing at a later date.

[pursuitseternal]

Hi first of all, I wanted to tell you how much I love your fanfictions I'm always happy to see something new (ascended astarion and astarion spawn stories are my favourites but the others are captivating too). I was wondering if you could write a story where the original Tav dies and is reborn a few hundred years later and Astarion finds her again. Maybe in a more modern setting where the prudery thing isn't quite so… strong

I apologise for my bad English it's not my native language I hope you can understand it anyway

“Mistrial:” a Modern Faerûn AU

Astarion x Tav |E| 2.5K modern au

Ao3 link

Summary: Hundreds of years without her, Astarion still sits on the bench, Justice Ancunìn hear case after case. Until one day, that young prosecutor gets under his skin, until she confronts him after their trial, until ancient memories stir and things awaken.

A/N: Thank you to @myfavouritelunatic and @brabblesblog for their enabling and encouragement.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Justice Ancunìn, I have to object,” the little firecracker of a prosecutor ground her high heel into the tile of the courtroom.

Astarion shook his head, tired of her tone already on day one. “You don’t have to, counselor,” he rubbed two fingers against his silver-haired temple, “but given that this is already your twenty-second one today, I can’t say I’m surprised.” She looked at him with sharp eyes and folded arms. The little shit. He did not care for her already.

If this had been in the good old days when Faerûn was at its prime and most debauched, he could have her flogged for her tone and sent to cool in the stocks. And that would have been before he had been turned into vampiric spawn, before he had become hero of Baldur’s Gate with the love of his life at his side. Helping him learn how to hide his immortality and vampirism from the public, learning how to still serve as Magistrate despite his… condition.

That was until time moved on, and his immortality won over the lingering bonds of love. He missed Tav, her brilliance and ferocity, her pointed ears and sweet blood, her passion in life and in the bed.

Like the blink of an eye, he moved on. City to city, career to career as hundreds of years continued their slow grind of time. Until now, now, he stared down from his bench in BGC, new finagled magic in this modern age like cars and electricity and internet. But law was law, and a judge was a judge

It was as if he never left, aside from the new spitfire attorney, just arrived from New Waterdeep, with a ferocity he would have once admired.

He just now found it tiresome. Irritating. He realized after a moment, she had the decency to wait on his final word on her request for objection. He shifted in his seat, narrowing his eyes at her. “Overruled, Counselor Ylfe.” He banged his gavel twice. “In fact, court adjourned until tomorrow,” he stood grumbling to himself. “At least I’ll be spared a twenty-third objection in so many hours…”

His pointed ears picked up on a high pitched scoff. “We shall see,” that lawyer snipped to herself. But that tone, that defiance and jabbing quality… something piqued his interest.

Stirred his ancient memory.

He finally groaned as he rested in his chambers, only moments after shutting the doors and sliding off those scratchy robes. Gods, he missed silks and wigs and velvets. Not this cheap crap everyone wore. He went to his cabinet, taking out a discrete green bottle and pouring himself a mug of its swirling ruby contents. He popped it in his microwave, one improvement on the campfire he would not begrudge using.

Not when it made his stash of blood warm for once.

But even as it hummed, his mind kept rolling over his day. Especially that stubborn, annoying, irritating prosecutor with her defiant eyes and jutting out chin and crossed arms and swaying, perfect hips, and……

“Justice Ancunìn, I figured you would finally have a moment for us to address how to best proceed civilly in your own chambers,” his head shot up, his gaze narrowed as he watched her stride on into his offices.

Her.

“What in the hells are you thinking, Counselor Ylfe?” he spat, fighting hard from baring his fangs at her. A habit eroded from nearly a millennia of practice almost overturned just at the sight of her. “You know any discourse outside of the courtroom can result in a mistrial?”

“This isn’t about the trial, this is about your abject disdain for me, personally, it would seem.” She did it again, crossing her arms and swaying her hips in that tight little black pantsuit of her hers.

Astarion let his eye wander. There was something about her… not many females cut so fine a figure in trousers, or slacks or whatever the fuck they were now.

Not since… her. The other her in his life. His true love. That was the last time he even gave a woman a second glance.

Her hair hung over her shoulder, but now, up close, he could see two pointed ears peeking through her crown of long and flowing hair. Elf. High elf.

He locked eyes with her, that piercing shade… his mind raced and wandered… flying through ancient history for some, the warmest of memories for him. Emerald Grove, Shadow Cursed Lands, the real Baldur’s Gate…

“Didn’t you hear me, Your Honor?” she snapped at him.

Astarion shook his mess of silver locks, smiling in a way that no longer hid his fangs. “I’m afraid I was… lost in the sea of my long and winding memories… darling….”

That made her freeze solid. Her smooth face drew into an inscrutable expression, her cherry red lips parted… “What did you call me…?”

Only then did he realize the slip of his own tongue, how that pet name he vowed never to use flowed right off of it. “D-darling.” He repeated, as shocked as she was at the impropriety. “I’m sorry, Ms. Ylfe.”

“Don’t be,” she instantly replied with a shake of her head. Then she smiled, even as her brows furrowed. She looked at him, at his pale face and silver hair and… dark brown eyes…. “Have you always worn contacts, Mr. Ancunìn?”

“How…” but before he could interrogate that true suspicion, his microwave dinged.

“You better get your drink, Your Honor…” That lilt in her voice was new, he noted.

“I’ll wait,” he shrugged. “I can always reheat it later. First I’ll have to apologize for my… behavior today.”

“I should hope so,” she grinned, walking around and sitting on the edge of his desk. “Treating a lady with such disdain… only to about face and call her darling the next moment… seems something only a true, black-hearted rogue would do…”

“What?” he went rigid. Bending forward, that old instinct to fight or fly racing through his nerves after centuries.

“I’ve never been a fan of contacts,” she smiled so easily as she leaned back against the top of his desk, fingers splayed on his files and papers. “Better if you just showed the world your natural eyes, Mr. Ancunìn….”

His nostrils flared, his breath racing and head swimming. But this time there was no fucking tadpole, he knew that.

“What’s your name…” he hissed, narrowed eyes leveling at her.

“I can tell you, unless you’re bent on letting your stash of blood from getting cold…. Astarion.”

His hand flew to her neck, bringing her up into his face, fangs bared, hackles raised, every long suppressed vampiric sense firing on all cylinders now as he smelled her. “Name,” he commanded.

“Taveria Ylfe,” she swallowed under his hold. “But those close to me have always called me Tav….”

“Tav,” her name was a gasp in his throat.

“And I know you,” she said, breathy and quick. “I didn’t know how… but there was something about you that made me… unsettled.”

“Twenty-two objections later and you call yourself… unsettled?” he smirked, lightening his hold, but stroking his fingers on her skin.

Her skin.

“Well, darling,” she purred, "lifetimes of perfect memory for our kind, and I should have recognized my lover with the crimson eyes and pointed fangs.”

Astarion shook his head, swallowing the rising ball of emotion that caught in his throat. “I’d cry, but it’ll make my contacts hurt,” he gave a wet laugh. His thumb traced on the side of her neck, two circle marks in her flesh, like moles or scars…

“You found them, the brands I’ve have on my flesh ever since you, Astarion,” she added, eyes batting shut under his touch. “I’ve looked for you in every lifetime, my true love with roguish swagger, red eyes, pointed fangs, and massive…”

She paused, pursing her lips.

“Ego?” he offered as an answer, but she shook her head.

“Cock,” she grinned as she bit her lip.

“I was hoping you’d say that… darling…” He hissed as her hand grasped at the gusset between his legs. “Looking for your evidence?” he growled, a roll of his hips into the pressure of her touch. So ancient and familiar. “You’ll get it, darling, if you want it…”

“I do, Astarion,” she sighed, fingers stroking back and forth on the cotton of his pants, feeling that rising erection instantly straining back.

A monsterous growl in his throat, a burning hunger in his belly, he grasped at the back of her neck, pulling her against his lips.

The age-old dance, the same taste. Closing his eyes, his body transported a millennia ago… as if he could smell blood and woodsmoke and magic in the air mixed with her scent. Had he suppressed so much of his senses he couldn’t recognize her scent? Had he ignored the same beat of her heart in her chest, same musical rush of blood in her veins?

He shook his head to let all that go, realizing her hands already tore through her own blazer and button down, clothing now cast to the floor. Already, she had shimmied off the desk, pressing harder into his kiss. He waited for no further invitation, hands instantly sliding her slacks from her perfect curves, his own clothing suddenly feeling too tight and too abrasive.

Astarion only wanted her skin on him now. After so long. He couldn’t move fast enough, his reflexes had dulled from neglect, his dexterity a fraction of what it once was with her. But it, too, slowly crept back, his hands making quick work of his own clothes.

Suddenly, those fingers remembered the smoothness of her skin, rekindled their dexterity. His hand clawed into her hair, the other stroked down her belly, backing her perfect body to perch on the edge of his desk. The gasp he drew from her lips as he sank two fingers into her folds woke something feral in him, something ancient. Vampiric.

“Tav,” he hissed, nuzzing against the music of her artery, rubbing along the stream of her blood in her neck. “May I, please…”

“Mmm, I want to see your real eyes before you take anything of mine, Astarion,” she purred, arching against him. One hand splayed on the desk behind her, she smirked and watched. Never had anyone removed contacts so quickly, so dexterously.

As he blinked, her heart poured open. That scarlet glare, that tilted head, those mussy silver curls. “I can’t believe it’s you…” she sighed.

His eyes went wide, shining in his unshed tears and well of emotion. “I’m so tired of words, Tav,” he replied, voice cracking with that exhaustion and unbridled desire now. “Just give me all of you, to lose myself in, to lose these long and draining years in, years without you.”

Not another word as said, nothing but the groans of their joining once more, the shudder of their bodies as they fucked, the creaking of the wood beneath her as he slammed his hips against it. Cock buried deep in her cunt, fangs digging into her neck.

Both parts of her were hot and leaking. Blood spilled from his mouth once more—warm and fresh and sweetened with her taste. Arousal leaked into the wood beneath them, her musk and sweat the only perfume he longed to smell.

He swirled his tongue over his bite marks, fresh bleeding wounds that swallowed those scars she was born with. A lasting brand on her skin as she had forever been on his heart, his soul.

He couldn’t bring her close enough to him, fingers clawed into her ass to keep her from sliding away with his frantic thrusts. And she had already wrapped herself around his waist, already scratched up the places of his back that weren’t riddled with scars still. Clutching him tightly to never lose him again.

Their lips were sealed together, locked as they sucked and moved and danced in their ancient kiss, the taste of her blood sending them both reeling into oblivion. She keened as her walls spasmed around his cock, that familiar ripple and beat of her climax pressing against his every wild and erratic thrust.

His forehead resting against her shoulder, the scent of her blood there was the last little push he needed, losing himself in the trembling warmth and comfort and pull of her body. His cock pulsed hard inside her, thrumming against her muscles as he came harder than anything for a thousand years. Forcing his head back up, he locked eyes with her, face twisting and arms shaking as he came. Lips pulled back to show those glistening and reddened fangs.

Her hand braced hard at the back of his neck, keeping her with him as his hips thrust, slowing as he emptied into her. At last he stilled, a foolish, young smile on his gaping lips, lips he licked clean.

He would tell her sometime, how she had made his undead heart remember how to beat and love again twice now. How she brought him back to life over and over again. But with that haze in her eyes, the way she clenched still around his cock, he knew this wouldn’t be the end of their reunion.

Thank the gods.

Lips curling as she met her mouth in a kiss, she drew him in again for more. “I have a hotel…” she whispered.

“And I have a penthouse, darling,” came his instant reply between her ravenous caresses.

“Hmm,” she laughed deep in her throat, their kiss still working slowly, unable to break apart once more. “As long as you keep it cleaner than your tent once was, I accept. Someplace for us until the morning when we return to court…”

His fingers, coated in the scent of her arousal, stayed her mouth. “Tch, surely even a young thing like you knows this will end in mistrial now,” he smirked. “Not even I can think of a clause that allows for lost soul mates to continue in court after such…” he glanced at the mess between their legs, “…debauchery.”

“Oh well,” she feigned disappointment, sliding off to retrieve her clothes. “Worth it…”

Suddenly his arms gripped her, pulling her by the swell of her ass, flush against his naked body one more time. “It’ll be days before either of us must return to court… long, exhausting, pleasure-filled days, darling.”

Tav dove up for his kiss, standing in her tiptoes to meet that smirk that haunted her for centuries. “You better hurry me away to your place, Astarion, or someone will find us here making up for lost time.”

Reluctantly and with a deafening sigh, he relented, busying himself to dress again.

“Oh,” she commented, that taunting tone in her voice, “and don’t think I missed how you never answered it your place was still a mess of chaos again.”

He turned, shaking his head as he refastened his belt. “Well, even if you are disappointed in that regard, I can assure you…” he gave her that look, those half-lidded eyes, that sharpened fanged smirk, “you won’t be left wanting in other regards.”

[mariacallous]

Donald Trump has yet again slipped away from trouble following his reelection: his sentencing in his 34-count criminal hush-money and election interference case was adjourned Tuesday without any explanation provided by the court in New York.

Now the presiding judge in the fraud case, Justice Juan Merchan, will decide how to proceed. Sitting presidents cannot be prosecuted, so Merchan may decide to delay sentencing for four years or dismiss the case outright.

[mywifiismanhattansvu]

Episode — 6 Sophomore Jinx

The minute I read the episode title I remembered this one. Another great, one of my (morbid) favorites. Classic Law & Order at its finest.

Back when we had cold opens!!

God damn Maureen is a hot girl coming in at 2:30am 😭😭😭

Like babygirl he’s a COP

I was a sneaky kid but I didn’t pull that

“Out. Nothing. Nobody.”

Amateur hour, I expect more of a detective’s daughter

“No Underwear”

Dick Wolf loves panty-less corpses. Everything okay at home?

Also lmao at the couple trying to get it on who found her, like??????? Did they finish up that morning or never hook up, chat?

Alcohol level .27

“There was a time I yearned for a girl who could drink like that” WTF Cragen omg

Lmao @ Cassidy and Munch arguing about whether or not college sports players get paid

Guys dead woman, hello??

Jeffries is going to court for the “severed head guy”????

Why they always got her in the most fucked up court cases ever

“You’re as well known for slamming back the brews as you are for slamming down hoops”

LMFAO MUNCH

“You know the way those people get.”

Who???

“Street players”

Like damn Riley why didn’t you just say BLAQUE PIPPO

LMFAO at Munch turning off the “STREET PLAYERS’” boom box

AND EVEN BIGGER LMFAO at them calling those two the Blues Brothers shaffawjejkwkwjsgdgs

Brian having an attitude with the one black guy they’ve investigated like just you wait like 10/20 years Brian when I catch you……..

Like my good sis’ blood alcohol was dangerously high so why does his story of trying to get her to go home not seem likely????

Meanwhile Jeffries is ALONE. Fending off a DECAPITATOR like??????? Is yall gonna follow up with that case I can’t remember????

This “hostess” program in which pretty college girls can like street team for the college sports teams sounds an awful lot like [REDACTED]

Handing out scholarships to make them comfort women for basketball players? Was this taken from real life???????

“Hostesses must always be available”

Her poor parents….

“Hey, your mysteriously DEAD and DRUNK daughter changed a few weeks ago…. W’ssup with that??????”

Ah, the posthumous rape allegation. As much as colleges love their stars I guess trying to take a stand wasn’t worth it

Trying to convince a doctor to reveal a dead victim’s tea: ✅

Oh, she was probably preggers

And I guess the Smart Alec black guy is so looking good for this

“YO BITCH YOU DROP A DIME ON ME AND IM GONNA KILL YOU YO” - Brian

LMFAO at Chuck and Munch being like…. Bye Felicia

Munch can tell from his affinity for literature he is NOT the rapist-killer

I’m so sorry but I don’t think this professor’s actor has ever ever ever played someone not creepy abeg 😭😭

Like according to the court of mywifiismanhattansvu you are GUILTY

Damn they can’t take Riley down for the rape because Jeanne is gone 😭😭

Oh, and the college is covering it up!

Youthful Indiscretions

Cragen going to harass campus PD in person IKTR

Please pray for Maureen who cannot leave her room indefinitely for sneaking out

“Suppose my parents had dealt with me like that?”

“We wouldn’t have had Maureen.”

LMFAO get off of her Elliot!!!

Al Sharpton sighting????????

“Case is adjourned because it is unnecessary!” LMFAOJWSGGSSB at this judge annoyed that I *think* the decapitator decapitated himself??? In custody???????

Elliott and Olivia talking about what colleges they wanted to go to was sooooo cutie. He loves clocking in to see his wife

This mfer just BLAMING the first black person he can think of …… professor when I fucking catch you…….

OMG Jeffries taunting Munch about sperm counts…it was serious they do not LIKE each other.

Ugh them just fucking over Chuck because of optics sucks. Like season 25 Olivia literally would’ve been psychic and communed with the dead Vic and know what happened already

THERE WE HAVE IT. Professor weirdo stalked Jeanne

Olivia squaring up with a priest like 😭😭😭😭

How tf did this guy end up a tenured professor with allegations like 😭😭 true to life but disappointing

Abbie sighting! Love her on OG L&O

LMAO at this man saying “whatever” when he wants to talk to his daughter avoidant in EVERY way

Oh Stabler…She will be the least of your worries soon enough.

lol at him dragging the little memorial for Jeanne.

Enrolled in God’s College

yall better airbrush me on some shirts if I get got

Damn bro this freak copied down Jeanne’s effing schedule

“Flowers Of Evil. How appropriate.”

not him trying to spit game at Liv when they’re trying to pick him up

“Kinda like a bad French film noir, isn’t it? All these cops around in a circle, some silent. Some leaning in with cynical quips.”

Olivia CANNOT stand this motherfucker 😭😭😭😭

ITS DETECTIVE NOT MISS

“She was already dead”

He followed her and watched her and Chuck have sex then party. He watched this poor depressed girl, blacked out, fall and fucking DIE.

“He could just tell she was dead” HOW YOU KNOW????

So he took her to the garden and fucked her freshly deceased corpse, a whole different set of charges. All these upskirts of bodies literally led to this. Everyone’s faces 😭😭

The defense attorney when Rousseau admits this shsgsgshsjakaksysgshsjsj

The priest: “aight yall ima head out”

They did not have this lesson plan in the Bible

“May God have mercy on your soul, my son. But, uh you should also realize that you’re responsible for your own legal fees”

LMFOAUSHSJS at Chuck’s mother calling Munch and Cassidy “Mutt and Jeff”

Well I’m really glad you ruined his promising career with bad police work!!!

“You a weird cat Munch, but you cool.”

And none for you Cassidy

They should indict the POS who def raped Jeanne when she was alive, but the episode ends with the injustice and inequality that plagues our law system. This is another episode that really freaking shocked me the first few times I saw it, especially when episodes were syndicated before streaming.

Could’ve had more Jeffries since we won’t get too much more of her, but an A+ episode.

5/5

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Allison Gill at Mueller, She Wrote:

There’s a lot going on in the case of detainees being flown to El Salvador using Trump’s Alien Enemies Act (AEA) proclamation. Ten days ago, after hearing that Trump had invoked the AEA, five Venezuelans being deported without due process asked for an emergency hearing for a temporary restraining order (TRO). Judge Boasberg caught the case and came in for an emergency hearing because planes were already taking off with deportees subject to the invocation of the Alien Enemies Act. During that hearing, the judge asked Trump’s DoJ about the planes, and they responded that they didn’t have any information. With that, Judge Boasberg adjourned the court for 38 minutes to give the DoJ time to get the flight details. When DoJ returned, they still didn’t have any information on the flights. By the end of the hearing, Judge Boasberg expanded the “class” of plaintiffs from the five Venezuelans represented by the ACLU, to ALL people being deported under the proclamation (Venezuelan members of Tren de Aragua (TdA) being deported under the Alien Enemies Act.) After expanding the class, the judge ordered all planes to return to the United States. Within hours, it became clear that the Trump administration had defied Boasberg’s order. Several propaganda videos were released on social media and shared by right wing influencers. Some photos shared by Trump and Rubio, showed tail numbers on planes that could be easily tracked using public flight trackers. Despite this information being easily available to the public, the Trump administration has been refusing to give the information to the judge in his quest to determine whether the Trump administration had violated his court order. [...] They try to justify it using affidavits signed by Marco Rubio, Pam Bondi, and Kristi Noem, who attempt to justify the state secrets privilege by saying that this case hinges on sensitive negotiations with foreign countries (again, many of which were blasted out on Twitter by Bukele and Rubio themselves.)

The Trump Administration has invoked “state secrets privilege” in the J.G.G. v. Trump case that deals with the Alien Enemies Act.

[evans23]

Daughter of mine

Pairing : Judge Turpin x Daughter OC

Summary : When a mere acquaintance of Judge Turpin announced to him that he had a daughter, The Death's Judge is flabbergasted.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Abandonment. Neglectful mother. Mention of prostitution.

A/N: Hello dear 😁 I wanted to try something else with Turpin. Hope you'll like it. No proofreading because I am lazy 🫠😅

Part II - Part III - Part IV

Also read on AO3

Richard was walking briskly through the court corridors, a bunch of papers under his arm, his wig still on his head.

"Richard ! Richard !" he heard shouting behind him.

The sound of the irritating voice makes him walk faster. The Beadle wasn't here, having got a leave of absence for personal matters. 

Personal matters... harlot matters, thought Richard, chewing the inside of his cheek while his pursuer continued to call him. Due to the absence of his minion, he will have to talk to this clodhopper of a lawyer. He knew who it was just by earring the far too sharp voice of this incompetent. Matthew was his name and he was an abomination, bringing opprobrium to his respectable profession. 

"Richard !"

Turpin halted at once and turned towards Matthew with a severe look, one that only the Judge Turpin has the secret of.

"Yes Matthew," he hissed, ready to tear out the eyes of the poor man running behind him with a little spoon. 

"Richard !" said again Matthew when he eventually reached the Judge.

If he said my name one more time, I would judge him for anything suitable would come to the mind of The Beadle, thought fiercely Richard.

"Yes ?" said Richard frowning his eyebrows with disgust at the view of the reddened pudgy face of his non-beloved colleague.

"I need to talk with you. An urgent matter."

"No more case today, I adjourned the court, I have some important business to attend to."

Without waiting for an answer, Richard began to walk again but Matthew held him back by grabbing his sleeves.

It asked Richard all his masterfulness not to slap the poor lad in the face. After all, he was a respected judge, always controlling his emotions. He was the fucking Death's Judge fucking Turpin, he thought vehemently. 

"Richard, believe me, you want to hear it." told the little man, totally oblivious to the anger which was boiling into Richard.

"Well, what is the matter ?"

"Not here. It is too personal. Come to my office."

"No, mine !"

His command doesn't leave any room for an objection from Matthew but the joyful man wasn't offended at all by the behavior of Turpin. After all, his reputation preceded him and the young lawyer wasn't easily deterred from his optimistic good mood.

"Well, I listen really attentively to you," said Richard once he had closed the door of his office. 

He sat gracefully on his chair, denying the right to do the same to Matthew by not inviting him to do so. 

"Richard, I don't know how to say that," began the lawyer taking a seat anyway.

Turpin sighed inwardly, more than annoyed. Yes, definitely, this young fella was in to lose his eyes.

"With simple, short words and in a very economical way. No more than three or four words," said Richard without an ounce of sarcasm.

He wanted to go home and read the new book he had made come from India. 

"You have a daughter," said straightforwardly Matthew.

If Richard was caught off guard, he didn't show any signs of it. 

"I beg your pardon ?"

He didn't know if he should laugh or keep his straight face while threatening the man in front of him with an upcoming hanging. His hanging !

A bit taken aback by his bluntness, a thing he didn't know he was able to, the lawyer fidgeted on his chair for the biggest displeasure of Richard.

"Boy, I don't have the day. If you have something to say talk, otherwise leave me alone !" thundered his voice.

"Richard. I am serious. I have been called last week to acknowledge the will of a dying woman in a poor house in the outskirts of London. The woman claimed that her daughter is yours."

"Well, if a dying woman has claimed that her bastard is mine, then it is certainly true," he responded sharply, "are you really as daft as you come across when one's meet you the first time ? Even though you come across to me as stupid and incapable each time I have to process a file in which you are working. You are nothing of a lawyer," he chided severely, his nostrils almost spitting fire.

“Yeah, actually I was forced by my father to follow his steps, however, I wanted to be an art…”

“Matthew !” Cut off Turpin, his anger threatening to erupt any time soon.

“Yes, sorry,” answered the poor man, putting himself together before going on. 

“Well, the lady, plagued with a terminal disease, asked me to draw up a will. She didn’t owe much but the few jewels have been entrusted to me to be handed out to her daughter in due time. She was afraid to have it stolen by the nurses after she would have passed away.”

He stopped, waiting for any reaction from Richard which comes with a gruff comment. 

“I don’t care about the pieces of jewellery. Who was the so-called lady and what about her bastard, who she claimed to be from my seed.”

“Yes, yes, to the point Matthew,” tried to brace himself the lawyer who began to flicker under the unyielding piercing eyes of Turpin, “her name was Elena.”

Turpin went pale. It was a long time since he had heard this name. Seven years, almost eight to be precise. He couldn’t deny having known this girl as he had almost married her. But it was another story. A sad one.

After having lost the only one he has ever considered as his soulmate, he had set his sight on a girl named Lucy, the barber’s wife of the poorest quarter of the town. He was desperate to forget Elena and he thought getting that pretty little thing would help him to get rid of his sorrow. 

As a matter of course, the barber’s wife didn’t accord him even a glance and, mad with rage and grief, he had almost perjured his honourable position as a Judge by charging his husband with a false crime on the purpose of sending him away in a barren land called Australia, but he came back to his senses just in time, releasing the barber and swearing to himself to never ever falling in love. Women were nothing else but suffering and betrayal. 

“Elena,” repeated unconsciously Richard.

“Yes, Elena Bryant. She must have been a really beautiful lady when she was at her best because I could notice the beauty of her fine features even with the illness making her face break out.”

“Yes, a real beauty, indeed,” whispered Turpin.

“Her daughter is nothing short of a beauty herself. A real little doll.”

Turpin shook his head, retrieving his mind.

“My acquaintance with this girl doesn’t mean I am the father of her undesirable burden. And believe me, this woman was nothing of a lady. She came from a poor family with no proper upbringing. It was a miracle that she could read and her writing was as awkward as the one of a young kid.”

“Yeah, well, apparently she wasn’t too dull because she taught her daughter to read. She is a lively child, intelligent and so on. She has been sent to an orphanage nearby here.”

The lawyer stopped, gauging Turpin who stayed totally indifferent or at least he guises himself to look as if, yet inwardly his mind was racing.

“How old ?” He suddenly asked.

“What ?” asked Matthew, puzzled.

“How old is the girl, Matthew my patience lay thin !” said Turpin with a thunderous tone.

“Oh, six years. Almost seven. Quite soon, actually.”

Richard could have fainted with how his head was spinning. Six years, almost seven. Was it possible ?

“Her name is Catherine.”

Turpin grabbed the edge of his desk with so much force that is knuckles turned white. Catherine. He had told Elena once that should he have a little girl, he would like her name to be Catherine like his late and beloved grandmother, the only person in his life to have shown him genuine affection and taught him what love was, at least until Elena. 

“And what will be the destiny of the little bast… of the little girl ?” asked Turpin between clenched teeth.

“The mother would like you to have her custody. After all, according to her, you are the father.” 

It remains unproven, thought bitterly Turpin. After all, after having left him, she went from one man to another, living a depraved life, selling her body to earn a living. Richard knew it as a fact after having had a glimpse at her beloved Elena while he frequented a well-known brothel. The sight of her disgusted him through his bones and he had to keep his nerves under check not to drag her outside by her hair and require an explanation for her awful betrayal. He had reasoned himself, reasoning his injured soul that doing that would give the girl too much importance. An importance she didn’t deserve even less now than she wasn’t more than a disgusting whore. 

The daughter could be from any moron but him. Yet, now was ingrained in his mind a slight doubt. 

“What should I do ? For the little girl ?” asked Matthew.

Richard thought for a long time before answering that The Beadle would take care of it. Matthews acquiesced, uncertain if he was satisfied with Turpin’s answer, but he wisely kept his mouth shut, leaving the Judge’s office with a nod.

The next day, The Beadle was assigned the task to find the girl and… well, make a report. Turpin didn’t want to spread out the rumour he could have a bastard in the nature and even if The Beadle had his trust, he preferred to wait before taking action.

“Sir,” echoed The Beadle’s voice.

Startled while he was deeply lost in his work, Turpin acknowledged his presence with a nod and a frown eyebrow.

“I have seen the little girl,” he said carefully.

“And ?” growled Turpin.

He was almost expecting The Beadle to tell him she was his spitting portrait, that even if he didn’t know why he had to meet that child he had immediately understood when he saw her. Unfortunately, his answer was quite disappointing.

“She is very short for her age but she has a pretty face. A little doll, a future beauty,” said The Beadle with a glint of envy in his eyes.

The Judge felt the urge to threaten his assistant to put him under arrest for talking like that of a little girl but he retained himself, instead, he asked him to tell him more.

“She is a polite little darling, not really interesting due to an obvious lack of education.”

The Judge nodded, not quite satisfied with the report of The Beadle.

“My lord, may I enquire why this little girl has caught your eyes ?” asked honeydly the rat-face man.

“No,” was the cold answer of The Judge.

What was the matter of having an assistant if he had to do the work himself ? He thought angrily. Yet, after all, one was better served by himself than by someone else.

And so, the next morning, his carriage hit the road for the orphanage. The venue was a gloomy old building almost in ruins. The roof was leaking, the windows let the wind go through the immeuble and the floor was dirty. 

The headmaster of the orphanage, a hunchbacked old woman with a severe face, which could have matched Turpin’s straight face, wasn’t agreeable at all but when she recognised The Judge, she became nothing more than kindness and bowing. Unimpressed, Turpin asked for Catherine. 

While walking along the corridors, he noticed the famished children, filthy and wearing rags. The old woman stopped in front of an almost unhinged door.

“The girl is here. Doesn’t speak a lot. In need of a good beating if you want my opinion.”

“No, I don’t,” answered Turpin without paying more attention to the headmaster.

The Judge knocked at the door then, as no answer was coming, he entered. Sitting on the bed with what looks like a stuffed wolf in her arms. His stuffed wolf ! The one he had as a child and he had offered to Elena at the beginning of their relationship for the girl having him at her side every night. 

“May I sit next to you ?” asked Turpin to the girl who hadn’t looked at him yet.

She nodded, keeping her head low and didn’t even moved one toe when Turpin took place beside her.

The tiny room, which was more a cupboard than anything else, was as filthy as the rest of the orphanage. The sheets were filthy. Probably they haven’t seen water for ages, thought Turpin.

“What is your name, girl ?” asked Turpin even though he already knew the answer.

“Catherine,” whispered shyly the girl.

“Quite a pretty name.”

If she had heard him, she didn’t acknowledge it. Apparently, being silent was her biggest skill.

“I have been told that you were a well-behaved lady but let me tell you that a lady looks her interlocutor in the eyes when she is talked to.”

And for the first time, she tilted her head up, her awfully beautiful green eyes meeting The Judge’s. And he knew. 

Richard had thought he would know if the girl was his only if she had a bit of him etched in her face. The truth was she wasn’t looking after him at all. No hooked nose, hazel eyes or even blond hair. No, she had the black curls of her mother, the small button nose of her mother, the magnificent features of her mother and the eyes, the incredible, beautiful, unforgettable beautiful eyes of his Elena. Definitely, she didn’t look like any Turpin he knew, but deep inside him, deep into his heart, he knew. The girl was his.

He left the room without a word, asking his coachman to go to the courthouse fetching Matthew and at the end of the afternoon, the girl was officially under his protection. 

She wasn’t very talkative but the truth was that she was rather impressed by the charismatic presence of The Judge. On the other hand, Richard didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t used to talking with a child even if the said child was his and he shouldn’t feel nervous around her. 

However, he wasn’t sure if he was in front of an innocent child. Her mother sold her body, what her daughter could have seen ? But he had something worse rattling his mind. Does Elena could have committed the sin of selling her owndaughter ? Richard didn’t know how to broach such a topic without shoking the child, even less should the girl be utterly oblivious of her mother's profession.

“Where are we going ?” asked a little voice, interrupting his running mind.

Sitting on the bench in front of him in the cramped carriage which was bringing them back to Richard’s house.

“Turpin’ Manor.”

“You live in a Manor ?” asked Catherine, whereas she was trying with all her will to not sound too excited.

“Yes, dear. And you too now,” answered Turpin with an amused look on his face. “You are going to live a very different life now. You will get a proper education, food thrice a day, a warm, clean bed, proper clothes for a little lady in your position and a name. Believe me, you will want nothing in your life from now on.”

He could see the flabbergasted expression on the girl’s face at the mention of a warm bed and food put every day on the table. Unable to hold it anymore, he asked the question that was burning his lips the more diplomatically he could.

“What did your mother do to earn money ?”

Catherine shrugged indifferently.

“When a lady is asking a question, she must at least acknowledge her interlocutor and at best give him an answer,” he scolded gently, yet with a growling tone. 

“She was a waitress,” answered the child without looking at him. 

“A waitress ?” repeated Richard.

“She worked at night for a rest… rest… I am not sure of the pronunciation,” confessed Catherine, fixing her gaze on his.

“A restaurant ?” suggested Richard.

She nodded while hugging tighter her little wolf.

“And who was looking after you ?”

“No one,” whispered the girl, her eyes filling with tears. “I was alone every night from 6 in the afternoon until 8 in the morning,” she added, crying now.

“Hush, hush, no need to cry child,” said Turpin, holding out his large hand to squeeze awkwardly the small and almost fragile one of Catherine.

“Why are you crying now ?”

“It was frightening, being alone every night. I hate being in the dark but mom couldn’t afford us to let a candle burn all night.”

Turpin’s face softened. Catherine was so mature and skilful in her way of speaking that he had almost forgotten she was only 6, almost 7. 

“Well, you will have all the light you need during the night. No one will mind. Stop crying now.”

“You promise ?” asked the girl with bright eyes.

“Yes, I promise. A servant will kindle all the light you need in your room to sleep well far before your bedtime,” said Turpin, trying to mask his irritation. 

The happiness of the child for such a little promise made his previous irritation fade away and he could almost feel his heart melt at the view of a so genuine gratefulness.

“And… did your mom have a husband ?”

He swallowed his saliva with difficulty, hoping to have a definitive answer about the innocence of his… of Catherine.

“No. I have never seen a man in our house. Mommy told me she would never bring a man in our house because her heart was broken and she couldn’t love anybody else but me.”

“So never had a man lay his hand on you ?”

“No. Mommy would have killed anybody who would have hit me.”

Richard let out a sight he didn’t know he was retaining. So, Elena had at least succeeded in protecting the child from the depravation of the world. Of her world.

“And I would never let anyone hurt you in any way,” said Richard, the promise of a terrible fate for the one who would dare to just stare at the little girl.

When the carriage stopped, Richard stepped out before helping Catherine to go out. He held her without difficulty in his arms to put her on the ground. She was far too skinny, thought Richard. She weighed nothing in his arms and he had felt her bones protruding through the meagre fabric of her dress. Something that wouldn’t last now that she was living at Turpin’ Manor. She would be fed properly and never where he would tolerate to see her shiver because of a gust of wind. She will have all the clothes she needed to stay warm. Definitely, the life of Catherine was going to change for the better. 

After a quick introduction to the staff, composed of a cook, a butler and only two maids, he made her visit her new house, jubilating when the girl gawked at his impressive library and then laughing genuinely at her happiness to discover a huge, beautiful, warm and already lit room. Her own room was far more bigger than the dilapidated house where she had lived with her mom.

She sat on the bed, her wolf still in her arm, looking at Turpin with a mix of gratitude and something else he couldn’t decipher.

“Happy ?”

“Yes,” was the simple answer of Catherine but her eyes were telling so much more.

Thank you, I feel safe, I am happy, I think I know who you are. 

“Good. You will have your own maid who will help you to get dressed every morning and night. She will do your hair and starting next week you will have tutors teaching you everything a lady should know and even more. I expect your best behaviour and assertiveness in your study, understood?” said Turpin with severity.

The girl nodded once before biting her lower lip.

“Something amiss ?” asked Turpin, frowning an eyebrow.

“How should I call you ?”

Father was is first thought but he could be a bit overwhelming for the child. After all, she didn’t know yet and he didn’t want to rush her with the truth. First, he wanted to win her trust. Maybe even her love. 

“Well, my name is Richard and when it is only the both of us, you can call me so. In public, you will call me Lord Turpin like a proper lady should do.”

The girl didn’t answer him, instead, she looked intensively at him as if she was trying to discover the secret of his soul, which he hoped, she would never be able to do so.

“Are you my father ?” she asked abruptly.

Caught off guard, Turpin gawked at the boldness of the child, impressed by her perspicacity. Lying would be stupid but saying aloud the truth was overwhelming for The Judge who was still trying to proceed with the novelty of his paternity and the fact that he had now a child living under his roof.

“Your wolf… has it a name ?”

“Merlin. Like the wizard.”

“Well, Merlin was mine when I was your age.”

He hoped this answer would be enough but Catherine was only a child and the subtlety of the world escaped her.

“So I am right, you are my father ?”

Richard swallowed with difficulty and almost shocked when the girl took his large hand into her little one, her eyes bearing hope and gratitude.

“Yes kid, I am your father,” he eventually answered not without emotion and a mix of new feelings invading him deeply through his heart and soul.

Catherine offered him the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. 

Definitely a Turpin smile, he thought proudly, recognising in her smile his. 

“Yes, I am your father and from now on you will be known as Catherine Elena Victoria Turpin.”

Catherine squeezed his hand and weren’t he so awkward and reserved about his own emotion, he would have hugged the child. His child. His daughter. 

“Everything will be fine now, daughter of mine,” he whispered as an everlasting promise. 

[ghostyattheblogg]

If Phoenix Wright and Miles Edgeworth were a couple.

..

This made me ugly laugh so hard LMAOLOL, I can imagine if they fight in court, it'll take the battle to another new level, aka, personal. Watch :

Phoenix : OBJECTION ! As you can see, this proves that the suspect is NOT Guilty.

Edgeworth, on the verge of trying to commit a war crime : OBJECTION ! If you look at the CCTV Camera's, it is shown that they are the murderer !

Phoenix : Really, Edgeworth, are still jelaous of me eating your last box of chocolates ?

Edgeworth : This doesn't have to do anything with that ! Don't get me started during our summer vacation-

Phoenix : WHAT DID I DO WRONG ?!Edgeworth : YOU TOOK THE WRONG TURN AND REALISSED IT 2 HOURS LATER, WE NEED TO TAKE ANOTHER TWO HOURS TO MAKE A TURN, THEN WE ARRIVED AT THE VACATION HOUSE 7 HOURS LATER DUE TO TRAFFICK !!

Phoenix : YOU DIDN'T EVEN BOOK THE HOTEL!

Edgeworth : I WAS BUSY WITH A CASE !

The Judge : M-Mr. Edgeworth, M-Mr. Phoenix..

Them both : NOT NOW ! (continuing the banter)

The suspect who is in the middle of the banter : (on the verge of crying)

In the end, the case was adjourned for the day and the couple didn't talked to each other for atleast a month- and they have to change Edgeworth with Franziska von Karma.

Conclussion : Never ever pick Phoenix Wright now Miles Edgeworth for court if the oponent is their husband.

[fullmxtal-elrich]

This was it, everything came down to this moment. The hearing had lasted for three hours, and after another hour of recess while the courts mulled over every piece of proper paperwork, every little detail and everything they had gotten submitted to them, before finally calling everyone back in again.

Ed stood tall at the podium, with the support of all of his friends and the family he had found along the way by his side. Even if they were just in the audience, he knew that just having them there was more than enough to give him the confidence he needed to stand up straight and face the judge head on.

The judge looked kindly down at Edward from where she stood, offering a rare but genuine smile.

"Mr. Elric, the courts have reviewed your case in detail, and based upon the evidence given, have made our final verdict. Before we give our verdict, do you have any closing statements?" She asked, to which Edward gave a soft shake his head.

With a warm smile, the gavel rose, and the judge's voice boomed over the courtroom.

"After careful review of the case, and much deliberation, the Domino City Court System has ruled to award full custody of little Nina Alexander Elric over to Mr. Edward Elric without contest. Mister Elric, you have proved yourself to be a hardworking man and, based on every testimony here today along with the paperwork you have submitted, a worthy young father despite your age. I can tell just how dearly you love your daughter and I feel that she shall thrive within your care. Congratulations, and court adjourned! Mr. Elric, you may take your daughter home with you."

The entire court room, which until then, became an explosion of happy cheering, clapping, and people rejoicing as Ed immediately ran to scoop his daughter up into his arms, joyous sobs being torn from his lips as he held her tight. Warm kisses were pressed to her cheeks as he reveled in having her back in his arms again, he didn't think there was a better feeling in all the world.

"Come on Nina, let's go home!"

[nicnak20]

Beyond Reasonable Doubt:

*Lawyers on the opposing sides of the courtroom have to play enemies in front of the court, but behind closed doors, when they see each other at the local bar where they discuss their clients, they have anything but hatred for each other.*

The courtroom buzzed with a muted tension, the kind that precedes a storm. Nicholas, with his warm brown hair neatly combed back and his brown eyes reflecting the sterile fluorescent lights, adjusted his tie. He straightened his shoulders, adopting the professional posture of an attorney ready for battle. Across the aisle, he saw her. Yn. Even from this distance, even with the professional mask firmly in place, she radiated a quiet strength that always managed to both intimidate and intrigue him in equal measure. Her dark hair was pulled back in a severe bun, emphasizing the sharpness of her features, but Nicholas knew the softness that lay beneath that sharp exterior. He’d seen it.

Today was the culmination of weeks of grueling preparation. The Peterson vs. Davies case. A messy contractual dispute involving millions, egos, and enough paperwork to wallpaper a small town. Nicholas represented Peterson, a lumbering corporation with deep pockets and even deeper stubbornness. Yn, to his professional chagrin, was Davies’ counsel, a smaller but equally tenacious entity fighting tooth and nail.

When the judge entered, the room stilled. The legal dance began. Nicholas launched into his opening statement, his voice clear and resonant, weaving a narrative of broken promises and blatant disregard for contractual obligations. He was forceful, persuasive, as he needed to be. He could feel Yn’s gaze on him, not quite drilling holes, but assessing, calculating. He met her eyes briefly, a flicker of something unreadable passing between them before he turned back to the judge.

Yn’s rebuttal was a masterclass in controlled fury. Her voice, though softer than Nicholas’s, carried an undeniable weight. She painted a picture of corporate bullying, of David against Goliath, of Davies, the little guy, being unfairly targeted by Peterson’s overreaching ambition. She was brilliant, dissecting Nicholas’s arguments with surgical precision, her words laced with just the right amount of righteous indignation. Nicholas, despite himself, felt a thrill of admiration. She was formidable, a worthy opponent.

Throughout the day, the courtroom became their stage. They sparred verbally, citing precedents, dissecting testimonies, objecting with practiced ease. Nicholas played the role of the assertive, slightly arrogant corporate lawyer with conviction, his voice sometimes rising in righteous anger, his brow furrowed in apparent frustration. Yn met him step for step, matching his intensity with her own brand of controlled passion, her arguments sharp and precise, her demeanor radiating unwavering belief in her client’s case. They were enemies in this arena, gladiators locked in a legal battle for their clients' lives, or at least their financial well-being.

But as soon as Judge Thompson banged his gavel, adjourning for the day, the performance ended. The masks slipped. Nicholas gathered his papers with practiced efficiency, but his eyes kept straying to Yn, who was doing the same across the room. Their teams dispersed, the junior associates buzzing with post-courtroom adrenaline.

Nicholas found himself walking towards the exit, and as if drawn by an invisible thread, Yn was walking in the same direction. They both exited the grand courthouse into the fading afternoon light.

“Rough day,” Nicholas said, his voice softer now, the courtroom bravado gone.

Yn offered a small, genuine smile, the kind that crinkled the corners of her eyes and softened the sharp lines of her face. “You’re not wrong. Davies is proving more…opinionated than expected on strategy.”

“Tell me about it. Peterson practically had steam coming out of his ears when I suggested a slightly less aggressive approach during cross-examination.” Nicholas chuckled, a warm, genuine sound that had no place in the courtroom just moments ago.

“Sounds about right,” Yn replied, her smile widening slightly. “Negotiating with clients is half the battle, isn’t it?”

“More than half, sometimes,” Nicholas agreed, falling into step beside her as they walked. “So, truce?” he asked, glancing at her.

Yn laughed, a light, melodic sound. “Truce on what?” she teased, her eyes sparkling. “Between gladiators?”

“Between reasonable humans who need a drink after pretending to hate each other all day,” Nicholas clarified with a grin. He gestured down the street. “O’Malley’s is just around the corner. De-stressor?”

Yn hesitated for a moment, then nodded. “De-stressor sounds…necessary.”

O’Malley’s was their sanctuary, their neutral ground. A dimly lit, cozy bar with worn leather booths and the comforting aroma of aged whiskey and fried food. It was a place where lawyers shed their courtroom armour, where they could be just…people.

They settled into a booth tucked away in a quieter corner. The waitress, Maggie, a friendly, no-nonsense woman who knew their usual orders, approached. “The usual, Nicholas? And for the lovely lady?”

“Please,” Yn said with a polite smile.

“Two whiskeys, neat, Maggie,” Nicholas confirmed. Maggie nodded and disappeared towards the bar.

As soon as they were alone, the shift in atmosphere was palpable. The tension that had crackled between them in court dissipated, replaced by a comfortable warmth. Nicholas leaned back in the booth, his gaze softening as he looked at Yn.

“You were…formidable today,” he admitted, honestly. “That cross-examination of Peterson’s CFO was brutal.”

Yn chuckled, a low, pleased sound. “And you weren’t exactly a pushover yourself. That opening statement was textbook. I almost felt sorry for Davies there for a moment.”

“Almost?” Nicholas raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips.

“Almost,” Yn conceded, her eyes twinkling. “Professionally speaking, of course.”

Their conversation flowed easily, moving from the intricacies of the case to the absurdities of the legal profession, to shared frustrations with difficult clients and the occasional triumphs that made it all worthwhile. They talked about their day, yes, but without the adversarial edge. They analyzed arguments, yes, but with a shared intellectual curiosity rather than combative rivalry. They listened to each other, truly listened, nodding in understanding, offering insights, sometimes agreeing, sometimes gently disagreeing, but always with respect, always with a genuine interest in the other’s perspective.

Nicholas found himself completely at ease in Yn’s company. Her sharp wit was tempered by a gentle humour, her intelligence grounded in a deep empathy. He loved the way her eyes lit up when she spoke about something she was passionate about, the way her brow furrowed slightly when she was concentrating, the quiet confidence that radiated from her even when she wasn’t trying to be assertive.

Yn, in turn, found herself drawn to Nicholas’s warmth and easygoing nature. He was genuinely funny, his jokes landing with a lighthearted charm that disarmed her. She appreciated his intelligence, his sharp legal mind, but even more, she appreciated his kindness, the way he listened intently, the way he made her feel seen and understood. She knew, intellectually, that he was supposed to be her professional enemy, but in O’Malley’s, bathed in the soft glow of the bar lights, that reality felt increasingly distant, almost absurd.

As the evening deepened and they finished their second whiskey, a comfortable silence settled between them. Nicholas found himself looking at Yn, really looking at her, noticing the faint dusting of freckles across her nose, the way her dark eyes seemed to hold a universe of untold stories, the gentle curve of her lips. He felt a warmth bloom in his chest, a feeling that had been simmering beneath the surface for weeks, ever since they had first been assigned to opposing sides of this case and fate had thrown them together in preliminary meetings.

“Yn,” he began, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

She looked up at him, her eyes questioning, unguarded.

“This…this whole opposing counsel thing…” He trailed off, searching for the right words.

Yn nodded slowly, her expression thoughtful. “It’s…complicated, isn’t it?”

“More than complicated,” Nicholas agreed. “We spend our days trying to tear each other apart in court, and then…” He gestured around the cozy bar. “Then we’re here, talking like…like friends.”

“More than friends, sometimes, I think,” Yn murmured, her gaze dropping to her hands, which were clasped on the table.

Nicholas’s heart leaped. He reached across the table, his hand covering hers. Her hand was warm, soft, and it didn’t pull away.

“Yn,” he said again, his voice earnest now. “I…I like you. A lot. More than I probably should, considering we’re supposed to be adversaries.”

Yn looked up at him again, her eyes searching his. A slow smile spread across her face, a genuine, radiant smile that reached her eyes. “Nicholas,” she said softly, “I think I like you a lot more than I should too.”

A wave of relief washed over Nicholas, followed by a surge of exhilaration. He squeezed her hand gently. “So, what do we do about it?”

Yn considered this for a moment, her brow furrowed in thought. “We’re professionals,” she said finally, her voice tinged with a hint of amusement. “We can handle this. We can be adversaries in court, and…” She paused, her gaze locking with his. “And…something else, outside of it.”

“Something much better, I hope,” Nicholas said, his thumb tracing circles on the back of her hand.

Yn’s smile widened. “Something definitely better,” she agreed. “But…proviso,” she added, her voice becoming more serious. “No pillow talk about case strategy.”

Nicholas laughed, a warm, genuine sound. “Deal. Absolutely no pillow talk about proprietary information. Just…pillow talk.”

Yn’s cheeks flushed a delicate pink. “Just…” she echoed, her eyes sparkling.

The noise of the bar seemed to fade into the background, the clinking glasses, the murmur of conversations, becoming a soft hum around them. In their quiet corner of O’Malley’s, two lawyers, supposed enemies in the starkly lit courtroom, found themselves drawn together by a connection that transcended professional rivalry. They were still on opposing sides, still bound by their duty to their clients, but outside those courtroom walls, in the warm intimacy of a local bar, they were free to explore the unexpected, undeniable, and undeniably thrilling possibility of something more. The Peterson vs. Davies case might still be a battleground, but for Nicholas and Yn, a different kind of story, a much more personal and promising one, was just beginning to unfold.