#litany trial

[songofwizardry]

they should invent a roomba that cleans whiteboards

[lulublack90]

Prompt 1 - Trick

@rosekillermicrofic April 1, word count 601

Wolfstar series part 1

This is a spin-off series for my ridiculously long Wolfstar series. I hope you all enjoy reading. Lulu xxx

“So long, Burger face, you fucking bitch. I hope you rot!” he’d shouted at her as she was put in the back of the police van to be driven to prison. There was no trick involved, that was it. She was gone. 

We did it, Reg, he thought to himself, raising his head and letting the warm sunshine sink into his skin. It was over. Walburga was in prison, convicted of ordering Regulus's murder amongst a litany of other transgressions. He’d never see her again. He spit on the ground where she’d walked and that was that. He refused to spend another second wasting precious thoughts on her. He was done. 

That night he snuck out into the Potter’s garden. He lay in the slightly damp grass and looked up at the stars, easily finding the star he was looking for. So much brighter than it was in the city. “You’re shining brighter tonight, darling. Are you happy?” He sighed as he fished out a cigarette, the flame from his lighter blinding him as he tried to light the damn thing. 

“Those things will kill you, you know?” a voice in the darkness spoke. Barty yelped. He thought he was alone. His cigarette slipped from between his fingers and landed on his chest. He yelped again as the lit end burned through his t-shirt. 

“Do you mind? I just want a minute alone with Regulus,” Barty turned his attention away from Evan and back to the star twinkling above him. He heard the sound of a door closing and guessed Evan had gone back inside. It opened again and Barty had to bite his tongue to stop the spray of venomous words he wanted to spit at Evan from escaping his mouth. 

“Hey, Reggie,” Barty instantly relaxed, it was Sirius. 

Sirius lay down on the grass beside him and pinched his cigarette, taking one puff before passing it back. He let out a puff of smoke. It spiralled above them before fading to nothing, Regulus’s star shining through it the entire time. 

“I think he’s happy now,” he told Sirius, keeping his voice to a whisper. Speaking at a normal level seemed wrong somehow. 

“Yeah, I think he is,” Sirius sighed as the star gave a brighter twinkle. “Don’t worry, Reggie, I’ll keep an eye on him,” Barty had to blink away a few tears. He knew Sirius meant it. He’d had no idea how close they’d become in only a year. He didn’t know how he’d have survived Regulus's death if it wasn’t for Sirius. They stayed out there for a long time, swapping stories about Regulus. It felt good. When it got so cold that Barty was sure if he stayed outside much longer his bollocks would fall off, he went up to bed. 

He opened the door as quietly as possible, letting in only a slither of light from the landing. He stripped down to his briefs and trying not to wake Evan, he lowered himself onto the squeaky air mattress on the floor. Evan began snoring, his soft snores filling the room. Barty sighed, he’d need to apologise to Evan again in the morning for being rude, again. He’d had a spark of lust for the man when they first met, but that was long gone. Evan was a stuck-up bastard and Barty had had his fill of those. Even with Evan’s snores, he still managed to fall asleep easily, exhausted by the trial inside and out. What now for me? He thought as his heavy eyelids drooped shut. What do I do now that we’ve won?

Next part

[aniimamundi]

New tiny chapter for my Drarry fic!

Synopsis: Draco awaits trial while under house arrest at Grimmauld

Link to chapter 1

Chapter 22: Interrupted

“Everyone thinks you’re some sort of saint. But you’re malicious. Malevolent even.”

“Depraved.” Harry snorts, tickled by his character assasination.

“Vicious, like an animal.” Draco tugs at his hair.

Draco is sitting up on his bed, back against the headboard, legs pulled up to support a novel. Harry lies perpendicular, staring at the ceiling, his head resting on Draco’s feet. They’re nice feet, the nicest he’s ever seen – clean, soft and fine-boned.

Draco has been complaining that his head is too heavy, hence the litany of unflattering adjectives.

“Ugh,” he grunts. “Get up, you brute!”

Harry chuckles and presses his head harder against the bridge of Draco’s foot.

“Owwww!”

“You’re such a drama queen!”

“I'll show you drama!” Draco pinches his nose shut.

“Stop … sto …” Harry gasps between fits of laughter. “You're like a fucking crab.” He pulls at Draco's arm, trying to get free.

They wrestle before ending up entangled, Draco on top. His lips, right there. Just the twitch of a movement away.

Harry can't breathe. Ever since Draco mentioned wanting to be kissed, in that flippant way of his which left Harry befuddled as to its sincerity, all he has been thinking about is kissing Draco.

He lifts his head a bit and Draco stops laughing, his focus transferring to Harry's lips.

Harry takes a breath and closes his eyes.

A loud bang on the window shatters the moment.

“Ignore it,” Harry pleads, but Draco is already getting up.

“That's my solicitor’s owl.”

Next chapter>>

[littlestuffstohide]

AA Fic Rec

I've sunk on AA so bad. I have such a long list. Almost 100 on my bookmarks. Here is my attempt to organize my bookmark list. I know I created a list before But this is better. I'll start of with my general AA WrightWorth List fic recommendation I've bookmarked since I sunk into this rabbit hole. Buckle your seats because this post is going to be reaaaally loooong. I tried to clean it as much as possible. So if you guys are looking for some AA WrightWorth treasure trove, this is it. I'm sure there are some I've read and missed. I will update my list as much as possible. My summary is literally bare to none and just my spoilers and hints what I love about it so mmmuuuch!

all there is - by sunsmasher. Narumitsu oneshot - A mix of bad Krisnix and goodness Narumitsu.

Summary: Phoenix and Kristoph during the seven year gap, Phoenix and Miles after it.

love most definitely requited - by The_Eclectic_Bookworm

Summary: cute hananaki au that of course involves confession in an unexpected way.

Pressure - by ApprenticeofDoyle

Summary: A different view/ canondivergent AA with the Feys. My ALL-time favorite AA fic of all times. AA with dash fam on Feys/Wright. It also has some great wrightworth pinning. And you will love the flow of wrightworth. There are still a lot of feels on this. It would be a crime not to read this. There is, like 4 parts on this. This one is complete. Read it! Here's the link for Pressurverse series.

if i woke up (next to you) - by ApprenticeofDoyle

Summary: Post Engarde Trial based on Pressureverse post Engarde Trial if that make sense. An canon divergent on pressure fic.

miles edgeworth's terrible, no-good, very bad week - by ApprenticeofDoyle

Summary: AAI but with Phoenix. Everything with Phoenix on AAI. Like I love it for many reasons. The WrightWorth is there but this is juuuuust so good. I'm low-key hoping for part 2 to have Phoenix altho that's least likely to happen. I juuuuust want Phoenix interacting with uncle Ray yknow!

a lie like a litany, cold and reformed - by fictitiousregrets

Summary: Where Miles bluffs about being engaged, gets engaged, gets married, and realizes they're in love and married. One of my favorite rom coms of all times. Really Wrightworth insanity.

Happier Than I Deserve - by KrisseyCrystal (IceCreAMS)

Summary: Pride and Prejudice representing Miles and Phoenix. Need I say more? This is going to be one marathon of wrightworth. Binge yourself on this monster fic. And really worth it to read.

where the heart is - by chameleonwrites

Summary: How Phoenix's home charmed Miles? Spanning from childhood until they move together, Real cute. I love for any Miles POV.

Trust Issues - by chameleonwrites

Summary: Phoenix sees plane tickets. Cue the angst. Wrightworth trying to make you cry.

The Catch-up Game - by theacegrace

Summary: Post AA6 Phoenix character study. Real good fic that's utterly sweet. It had lovely moments to angst moments, great confession to some wright family antics. A sin not to read. Never fails to tear me from the confessions?

Childswap - by theacegrace

Summary: WrightWorth switching children for a day. Real cutiiie fic! This never fails to put smiles on my face.

reading between the lines - by The_Eclectic_Bookworm

Summary: Another tearjerker. It starts tearing you to pieces then sweetening you with the fluff. And the last chapter is worth all the angst! A roller coaster fic. Basically Miles spanning from the horror of Manfred to Phoenix to great Franzy and Miles sibling love and back to Phoenix! Spanning the first 3 games.

Legal Partners - by Miggy

Summary: Oh boy. Another monster fic that's just so worth it. Fluffy and ansty and fluffy. A betting game between Klavier and Miles on who can show their? defense attorney how much they appreciate them as a legal partner. Quoting Phoenix in this fic a pissing contest between the two of them. Has some Kpollo but really more of Wrightworth goodiness. Anyone who hasn't t read this is a crime.

It Would Feel So Good To Make You Mine - by hi_its_ellis and lowbatteryhealth

Summary: Love is War but WrightWorth style. Literally flirting contest, knowing all the rules without talking and just driving the entire LA crazy while they both wait for the other to confess. My all time favorite WrightWorth rom com insanity. I don't feel bad at all. It will make you laugh so much.

A Fool for You - by bluemoodblue

Summary: Engaged but at the same time did we get married 4 months before the wedding? And it's not Vegas! This is just so romcom and just so good and sweet. I won't say anymore!

The PlayWright - by WingSongHalo

Summary: Miles visits a local theater where he meets a very intriguing actor who seems so much like someone. Really, really good. This is just one of my favorite WrightWorth fics.

Project: Matchmakers - by WingSongHalo

Summary: Literally everyone shipping Wrightworth and a club shipping WrightWorth and trying to get them together. Really adorable. Many cute parts. It has 3 parts found here. You will love the proposal on part 2 and part 3 is cute and lovely due to many reasons.

time goes by so slowly (and time can do so much) - by ohallows

Summary: AU AA magical universe Miles being a caseworker featuring Phoenix! Phoenix director of orphanage of magical pips. Really good!

Out of Order - by canolacrush

Summary: Falling in love backwards Phoenix style. Phoenix is sooo seduced that he runs from his husband who suddenly looks 100x hotter.

Chicago Noël by canolacrush

Summary: Mafia Miles and Baker Phoenix. This is also ooone monster fic. It's adorable and lovely in so Many levels. You will love the switch in roles for Miles and Phoenix. One of my fave fics! Forgot to tag this. I'm sorrry!

Earning it - by thebigeish

Summary: WrightWorth except Miles is his sugardaddy. It just hits me in a cute way.

all the ways to love - by hi_its_ellis

Summary: where Phoenix has his gay awakening and he figured it out late? Some internal homophobia. Really close to my heart.

Written - by Limey

Summary: Where Phoenix finds Edgeworth's fanfic.

The Opposing Counsel's Proposal - by the acegrace

Summary: Where WrightWorth tries to propose to each other with mix results. Really funny and you will love every second of foolishness of these two competitive dorks.

The Defense’s Proposal, Post Facto - by Kantayra

Summary: Where WrightWorth decided to get married during lunch because the paperwork drove them nuts. They pretend to try to be convinced but we all know how eager they both are.

The Perenial Pursuits - byDeiRyuu

Summary: Larry misunderstanding that whenever anything Phoenix related happens, Miles is the speed dial.

justice vs state - by sinkburrito

Summary: Apollo running errands for Phoenix and Miles over an envelope. Apollo at the same time being oblivious. Poor Pollo. Basically WrightWorth involving Apollo for their feud.

Sick of Leaving - by Jodalyn

Summary: WrightWorth sickfic. Miles POV. You would want to read this. It's adorable! Just wants to make you hug their sweetness.

they'll never love you like I can - by Jodalyn

Summary: Chief!Miles College Phoenix. Time Shenanigans. Miles meeting Phoenix. I'm so weark to Chief Miles meeting Baby College Feenie.

despite everything, it's still you - by orphan_account

Summary: AA novelization with analysis on how Phoenix and Miles view each other. There are a few aspects in this fic I could never forget which is just my favorite thing. Read it. You will love it. Spanning from childhood through Post AA6 I think.

Myths We Don’t Believe In - by hi_its_ellis

Summary: Cue Chief Prosecutor invites current BF and his not really exBF in the same room, in the morgue. Miles did this to himself. Sorry for langworth Miles. And Miles lost any braincells he had. Cue Jealous Miles.

Anytime, Anywhere, Again - by hi_its_ellis

Summary: Part two of Mythes We Don't Believe In. This is literally Phoenix roasting Miles on his decision. I love this one.

(confetti) (smile) (heart) - by lvl99arsene

Summary: Just Phoenix FINALLY upgrading his phone. This was just so cute and Phoenix being a menace! Feat Sugar Daddy Miles.

Change in Perspective - by chameleonwrites

Summary: Maya and Franziska having a betting contest on which brother is pinning for the other. Feat. Miles being the biggest victim of this spectacle. All betting fics are sooo fun. This is also one you shouldn't miss. Just feel sorry of Miles as the victim.

Phoenix von Karma - by Otoshigo

Summary: Canon Divergent AU where Phoenix had been declared all dead until He comes back with no memories and as a Prosecutor. One of my all time fave. If you want a german speaking Phoenix, read this! I love this for many reasons. Sadly, expect no Apollo or Trucy on this.

i can bring you to bathe in the river - by oredatte

Summary: on of my fave AUs. My fave trope for WrightWorth. To adopt Trucy, our lovable pair gets (platonically) legally married, moving in together, co-adopting an eight-year-old, and keeping it all a secret.

Of Haircuts, Pocketwatch Chains, Other Uninteresting and Undesireable Things, and Generic Wholecloth Christmas Magic - by ribbontype

Summary: Back to romcom WrightWorth gift-giving competition. One of my favorite fics due to how said men drive each other nuts.

Fixer Upper - by poodlepunk

Summary: Miles getting Phoenix's help to renovate his house. Renovating houses is just my guilty pleasure in fics. Domestic WrightWorth.

Tomorrow - by marttyyriroskis

Summary: From 7 Year gap through Spirit of Justice. There is so much angst here. Also cue the fluff and drama on AA4. You will love the way the writer handled the mess capcom made. I just love this fic due to some special moments. You will not regret reading this monster fic. Prepare all the tissues!

where are you going? (i've been looking everywhere for you) - by whackamacka

Summary: Kimi no Na Wa except WrightWorth style? This is it! Setting is between 3-1 to 3-4. feat BratFeen.

abracadabra! - by ohallows

Summary: Kay and Trucy shenanigans making WrightWorth dads panic. ahahah.

now i don't hate california after all - by ohallows

Summary: Kay and Trucy gossiping and plotting. Kay and Trucy are literally born to be sisters.

parallelogram - by zombiekittiez

Summary: A cute but nicer BratFeen Fic. Canon divergent au featuring Defense Attorney Miles and theater major Phoenix. It's Miles who Dahlia meets instead.

ticking time bomb in their chests - by harmony

Summary: Timetravel fic just so Phoenix finally gets the realization he needs. We all love time travel fics!

The lies we tell ourselves - by Danypooh80

Summary: A retelling of AA except of a surprise OC in this fic. I melt for this fic for all the time. You will love every second of this!

Everything Changes - by Danypooh80

Summary: More of a Edgeworth-Wright family fic? Direct sequel of The lies we tell ourselves. A must read for part 1. Just expounding on the first fic with so much fluff you will melt with the fluff!

Turnabout Ideals - by felicia_angel

Summary: AA but a magical AU? It's full of feels. Way too many Phoenix angst. This is part 1 of 6 Currently. Part 5 is my fave! Read all to understand the universe. Nulls and Voids series - series link!

Set Sail and Cannonballed - by Almod

Summary: WrightWorth navigating the beginnings of their relationship in their very busy life. Something about this fic hits me with how much I love it!

The "B" in Butz stands for "Bondage" - by JajaLala

Summary: Larry wants to learn bondage. Miles runs away, Phoenix appreciates the art. I love this for hilarious reasons.

bear trap - by ghostcatamount

Summary: feat Omega Phoenix. Were it not Phoenix, this would just be creepy about his pre-heat. SInce this is our fave Phoenix, he is just not so subtle and Miles being the oblivious Alpha is such a treat!

by the book - by zombiekittiez

Summary: Drunk Miles barging in at book clubs to confess. Miles being drunk is always a treat.

Rise from the Ashes, again and again - by theinkhiddenwithin

Summary: Romantic fairy tale featuring fated paired Miles and Phoenix. This is it!

Happy Accident - by Jodalyn

Summary: Phoenix had a rough day except Miles bought the wrong paint but Phoenix turns it around by changing his canvas.

we sleep and set fires - by fictitiousregrets

Summary: Dreamsharing WrightWorth. This is one beautiful incption like fic.

a crow's trial - by Charrelous

Summary: role reversal au featuring defense attorney Miles and Prosecutor Phoenix. one of my fave aus. Also my guilty pleasure tropes.

Through Time and Space - by Northernflicker

Summary: time traveler Phoenix and immortal Miles? You will love this, spanning through different eras of history.

Should be Pretty Mundane - by KrisseyCrystal (IceCreAMS)

Summary: Phoenix makes a discovery about himself that he is so embarrassed about. And Miles, of course, figures it out.

One step at a time - by OuterWilde (foreveraugust)

Summary: Post AAJ. Phoenix plans to reinstate himself as a lawyer and confess to Miles. Real cute lovely fic! Phoenix also being oblivious about how good he is as a lawyer.

take it like a man - by tudoo

Summary: Literally Phoenix is dramatic about suit shopping. Spanning 2 decade events. I love how dramatic Phoenix is and how endearing Mia and Miles are here.

co-signed - by tudoo

Summary: WrightWorth goes house hunting until angst ensues. Reaaaally adorable with a splash of angst.

Shear Luck - by TopazEstrella

Summary: Legit Pianist Phoenix and Barber Miles. The post-apocalyptic barbershop AU that no one asked for but we all secretly needed.

it's only love - by Jodalyn

Summary: Miles and Phoenix marriage through the eyes of Gregory Edgeworth. Makes you tear up!

Phoenix is Out of the Loop - by Living_Death

Summary: Miles decides to take up knitting until it drove Phoenix nuts! It's sooo adorable. There's literally a knitting club plus Apollo and Miles.

Change of Heart - by actual_goblin

Summary: Miles had an operation and Franziska and Maya happened.

Eavesdropping - by SapphireWine

Summary: Miles asleep and eavesdropping on Maya and Phoenix post Engarde trial. Quick and short but we just love how comfy Miles is in using Phoenix as a pillow.

Maybe In Time (you'll want to be mine) - by YourAverageBystander

Summary: Time loop shenanigans. aka: Phoenix's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad, 2,400 hour day. What something Phoenix picked up on is my fave part of this!

where there is a flame (someone's bound to get burned) - by Samioli

Summary: Love lessons by Phoenix. It's good but these two constipated lawyers are pinning while having these sessions. Cue the angst.

An Anniversary Like Any Other - by Kantayra

Summary: Married WrightWorth just banter through anniversaries til they reach their old age.

Drunk on Kisses - by Zhuletta

Summary: Miles 5 + 1 drunk on kisses and he admits it on the last one. Real cute and adorable!

Turnabout Dishwasher - by zuzsenpai

Summary: Trucy asking Miles to keep an eye on her dad while on a trip around the world. Very dialogue AA style. You will love it! literally 3 fics in 1 fic if that makes sense. Turnabout Exchange Chapters are other pairings basically. There are a lot of pairings in this fic!

Texts & Turnabouts - by YanagiKana

Summary: explored AA love. really lovely shots. While WrightWorth here being my favorite, there are other tons to love here.

the bookstore at the corner of 14th and fen - by kbots

Summary: feat bookstore owner Miles and Single dad Phoenix. Reaaaallly fluffy and adorable on so many levels. Artist Phoenix creeps up. Extra Cute Trucy is here!

New to the Neighborhood - by paxton1976

Summary: Literally Phoenix and Miles being neighbors except the noise drove Miles nuts. Composer/Pianist Phoenix. AA but without the crazy drama? Very domestic life!

Seeing Is Believing - by paxton1976

Summary: Miles gets new glasses and he finds Phoenix 100x beautiful. Miles realizing how he also loves Phoenix and also somewhat obsesses on Phoenix too.

The Wooing of Phoenix Wright - by crayoncompanion

Summary: We've seen lots of fics Phoenix chasing after Miles. This is where the opposite happens. It's literally the title. Expect some angst tho. And some tear jerker moments but worth every tissue. You will love it!

The Art of Seduction: Is for People Less Attractive than Miles Edgeworth - by crayoncompanion

Summary: feat Sexy/hot Miles dropping all the hints for Phoenix to make a move but he sort of waves it off and acts ignorant about it? This is sooo funny on so many levels. It never failed to crack me up.

Love, Lust, and Libraries - by crayoncompanion

Summary: library au. It's soo good feat Miles and Phoenix clashing so muuuuch before they get each other. How can library AUs not be fun?

Angel of the Screens, Demon of the Courtroom - by JustNerdyThings

Summary: AA1 but Phoenix as a famous actor who became a lawyer. All good stuff. Where there is smol range of death for AA1. Pure gold comedy. Famous celebrity Phoenix is a riot having that Feenieness to him with money to spare to drive the world mad. Mia and Miles are the best worsties at law.

Guilty As Charged - by JustNerdyThings

Summary: Our wrightworth is mooning, everyone is trying to matchmake but it's not really needed? Another gold comedy wrightworth fic. Or Just torture Apollo with matchmake shenanigans that's really not needed.

Of Unravelled Knots - by Ekat

Summary - Very wholesome? Some really angsty in some parts only at the start majority. This fic is stuck to me because Miles narrative is hilarious to me and everyone literally roasting his house and I love how much of a BI Phoenix is on him and the times he decides to be petty.

Miles Bunworth Petitioned Bunshot Extravaganza - Ophelia_Writes

Summary - Everyone petitioning Miles in a bunnysuit. A part of A Brief Rest for the Defense fic. Loosely. Only need to know Miles messed up and Maya and Franziska happened. Somewhat post AA3.

[sitp-recs]

hello! do you know drarry fics where draco goes to prison for part of the fic or is just gettingout of prison? thank you so much1 you are a superstar

Hi anon! I do know a couple of prison fics, listed below. You might also enjoy this list with fics in which Harry takes Draco in. Happy readings!

Litany by thistle_verse (M, 7k)

With the wizarding world on lockdown due to a magic-draining pandemic, Harry is stuck in Grimmauld Place, bored and alone—until the ghost of Draco Malfoy shows up to haunt him.

Death Dreams by @writcraft (E, 9.5k)

Draco likes to keep things casual, or at least he did before Harry Potter barged back into his life.

any day now by @oknowkiss (E, 17k)

Draco supposes he should be grateful. The rehabilitation centres were the Minister’s idea, or that’s what the Prophet said anyway. Their stated objective is simple: to provide a safe space for low-tier Death Eaters and high-tier sympathisers to reconsider the entirety of their life choices.

One Thousand Bars by @lqtraintracks (E, 19k)

And I will hold on hope / And I won't let you choke / On the noose around your neck / And I'll find strength in pain / And I will change my ways / I'll know my name as it's called again

Vortex by @xanthippe74 (T, 20k)

Ten years after that conversation, the idea of perfectly-matched soulmates feels more like a curse than a blessing to Draco. Who would want a soulmate who was a schoolyard bully, a Death Eater, and a convicted felon? Certainly not Harry Potter. And Draco is determined to take this secret to the grave.

Collapse Amongst the Dying Stars by Writcraft (M, 26k)

After the final battle nothing is quite as Harry expected. Death Eaters remain unaccounted for, Malfoy is in prison and there is something rotten in Azkaban. Banned from assisting the Aurors, Harry keeps himself busy with regular visits to Malfoy and works to bring light to the darkness of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Fearful Trill by @vukovich (E, 29k)

Harry should have come out and met someone when he was younger. He should have seen a doctor about the pain in his hip while youth was still on his side. Now, he's made his peace with dying young, but maybe not with dying alone.

At Evening's End by manixzen (E, 31k)

When the dementors are removed from Azkaban, a compromise has to be made for the prison to remain secure and wizard-kind to feel safe. Harry and Ron find themselves assigned to a rotation as guards during their first year as Junior Aurors as a part of the new system. Harry finds his values challenged in the harsh environment, but an unexpected friendship may carry him through this difficult year.

On One's Knees by pir8fancier (E, 34k)

The war is over and to the victors go the spoils.

The World Starts Here by @bafflinghaze (T, 63k)

Three years in Azkaban is more than enough time for Draco to be certain that he doesn’t want to be like his parents. And the moment he gets out, Draco will make his own mark on the world and he’d do it single-handedly if necessary.

The Azkaban Letters by @romaine2424 (E, WIP)

Harry and Draco’s lives are headed in two different directions. One is destined for death or glory, while the other is going to Azkaban. Harry needs answers, and he goes to visit his Slytherin nemesis while being held for trial. The meetings in a barren, white cell changes Harry’s life. He learns the beginnings of his rich family history that had been denied him. And that there's much more to fight for than just ridding the world of Voldemort. HBP compliant.

[c-m-li-s-fanfic-corner]

But the Fall wasn't Fatal Like it was for Me

(AO3 LINK)

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: DCU (Comics), Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Rape/Non-Con

Relationships: Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Dick Grayson & Jason Todd, Dick Grayson & Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain & Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown & Dick Grayson, Stephanie Brown & Cassandra Cain & Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne, Dick Grayson & Original Female Character(s)

Characters: Dick Grayson, Tim Drake (DCU), Stephanie Brown, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Cassandra Cain, Original Female Character(s)

Additional Tags: Dick Grayson-centric, Post-Spyral (DCU), Domestic Violence, Past Domestic Violence, Past Child Abuse, Dick Grayson is Nightwing, Bad Parent Bruce Wayne, Abusive Bruce Wayne, Jason Todd is Red Hood, Tim Drake is Red Robin (DCU), Damian Wayne is Robin, Stephanie Brown is Spoiler, Cassandra Cain is Black Bat, Good Sibling Tim Drake (DCU), Good Sibling Jason Todd, Good Sibling Damian Wayne, Good Sibling Stephanie Brown, Good Sibling Cassandra Cain, Dick Grayson Needs a Hug, Dick Grayson Gets a Hug, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Past Rape/Non-con, Warning: Catalina Flores, Nightwing Volume 2 Issue 093, Bad Friend Barbara Gordon, Dick Grayson has a Medusa Tattoo, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Dick Grayson is Damian Wayne's Parent, Romani Dick Grayson, Multilingual Dick Grayson, Same Story Different Font, Protective Siblings, Judicious use of bird metaphors, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Post-Lazarus Pit Jason Todd, Grief/Mourning

Summary:

Dick Grayson's life has been a litany of trials and errors. Mistakes and miscommunications, body blows and fatal falls, but he always got back up and he took each insult and injury as a lesson on how to better protect others, how to better shield his family from the heartache that he had already faced.

But then a single punch that he can't hide blows everything wide open and his family shows that his efforts hadn't gone unnoticed.

See below for my casting choices:

[kjack89]

Dial Drunk

5 times Enjolras bailed Grantaire out of jail, and one time, well...

The door of the holding cell clanked open and as one, the nine men sitting inside glanced up. “Alright,” the booking officer said in a bored tone, glancing down at his clipboard. “Bail’s been posted for arrestees Bahorel, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Enjolras, Feuilly, Joly, Lesgle and Prouvaire. You’re free to leave after you sign out at the front desk.”

There were a few grumbles as the men started to get to their feet, but Enjolras remained resolutely seated, his brow furrowed with a frown. “What about Grantaire?”

The man in question chuckled darkly, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell. “Is that actual concern for me that I hear, Apollo? I could die happy.”

Enjolras ignored him. “Pontmercy was supposed to post bail for all of us,” he said instead, aiming his words at Courfeyrac as if the man was somehow still responsible for the actions of his former roommate some five years after they had stopped living together.

Courfeyrac just shrugged. “Don’t look at me,” he said. “I mean, we all know Marius is a bit of an idiot, maybe he miscounted.”

Combeferre shook his head. “I’m probably wrong and should defer to the lawyers amongst us but I thought I remembered reading something in one of the articles about reforming pre-trial detention that an individual can only post bail for 8 detainees at a time.”

“And so I must’ve drawn the short straw,” Grantaire sighed. “Story of my fucking life.”

Bossuet clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder. “On the other hand, you could take it as a compliment that Marius thinks you’re the one most likely to survive an extended stay behind bars.”

Bahorel snorted so loudly the bars of the cell almost rattled. “Sorry but literally not a single one of us would survive an extended stay behind bars.”

“Speak for yourself,” Feuilly said. “I know how to whittle.” At the blank looks he received, he huffed a sigh and added, “So I can make a shank. No wonder none of you would survive in jail.”

“This is making our goal of prison abolition seem oddly self-serving,” Joly murmured in an undertone to Jehan, who stifled a laugh.

Combeferre cleared his throat. “Not that I’m not sympathetic to Grantaire having to be stuck in here, but I’d just like to remind everyone that since Marius posted bail, we’re technically now here voluntarily.”

“Yeah so GTFO,” Grantaire said with a grimace masquerading as a smile. “Let me rot in peace, etcetera.”

Enjolras looked like he wanted to argue more, but Combeferre muttered something in his ear and he made a face before filing out of the cell. “Serious miscalculation on Marius’s part with this one,” Courfeyrac said brightly as he followed everyone else out. “Because God knows you’re going to complain about this for the rest of all time.”

Grantaire gave him the finger and Courfeyrac winked as the officer closed the cell door behind him.

Sighing again, Grantaire sat upright, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck before settling back against the bench. “You need anything?” the booking officer asked.

Grantaire shook his head. “Nah,” he said dismissively. “Not my first rodeo. Hopefully I won’t be stuck overnight, but I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Oh, yeah?” the officer said with mild interest.

Grantaire nodded. “Central booking at the 16th Precinct is a piece of shit,” he said brightly.

The officer barked a laugh. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He gave Grantaire a long look. “Should I ask what you were picked up for previously?”

Considering the answer to that question was a vast litany of misdemeanors (and felonies reduced to misdemeanors) that the boys in blue tended not to appreciate, Grantaire hesitated. Thankfully, he was saved from having to answer at all by the crackle of the officer’s walkie-talkie. “Just a moment,” the officer told him, heading out of the booking area and Grantaire let out a sigh of relief as he slumped on the bench.

“You’re free to go,” the officer said upon returning, and Grantaire looked up, surprised.

“Really?”

The officer nodded, opening the door to the holding cell. “Bail was posted. So I guess you’ll have to save your rap sheet for the next time you’re in here.”

Grantaire snorted a laugh. “I’d say there won’t be a next time, but…” 

He ducked out before the officer could respond to that, making his way to the front desk, stopping in his tracks when he saw Enjolras leaning against the desk, clearly waiting for him. “What’re you doing here?”

Enjolras straightened. “It didn’t feel right leaving you in there,” he said with a shrug that didn’t quite come across as nonchalant as he’d probably intended. “And I happened to have some cash on me, so…”

“Between this and being worried about my welfare, you’re gonna give me the wrong impression,” Grantaire said.

“Guess that depends on what impression you’re getting,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire’s eyes flickered to his and away again, feeling suddenly tongue-tied. Enjolras cleared his throat, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. “Anyway, we should get to the Musain to debrief.” He glanced at Grantaire. “Unless you’ve got something better to do.”

Grantaire just shook his head, and gestured for Enjolras to lead the way. “After you,” he said, his voice low, and together they walked out of the precinct, their arms just brushing against each other as they headed to meet their friends at the Musain.

— — — — —

“Jesus Christ,” Enjolras muttered as the booking officer removed the handcuffs from a sheepish-looking Grantaire. Well, as sheepish as a man sporting the beginnings of a pretty impressive black eye could look, anyway. “Here,” Enjolras said roughly, holding an ice pack out to Grantaire. “I posted your bail as well.”

“Thanks,” Grantaire muttered, taking the ice pack and wincing as he pressed it against his eye.

Enjolras pursed his lips as he gave him a once-over. “Any other injuries I need to worry about?” he asked.

Grantaire just shrugged. “Nothing that won’t heal on its own.”

“Because that’s reassuring,” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his forehead, but when he looked at Grantaire again, there was something almost soft in his expression. “You didn’t need to do that.”

What he could see of Grantaire’s expression tightened, just slightly. “You didn’t hear what that guy called you.”

He said it calmly, evenly, but his hand automatically balled into a fist at the memory. Enjolras reached out automatically to rest his hand on Grantaire’s fist until it relaxed. “It doesn’t matter what he called me,” he said, his voice low. “I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” Grantaire scoffed. “But that doesn’t mean you should have to.”

Enjolras just shook his head, running his thumb across Grantaire’s bruised knuckles, a testament to the fact that despite the black eye, he’d emerged from the fight victorious. “I should’ve brought another ice pack,” he murmured.

Grantaire just half-smiled, twisting his hand so that he could lace his fingers with Enjolras’s. “It’s fine,” he said softly. “It doesn’t really hurt at the moment anyway.”

Enjolras cleared his throat and looked away, but he didn’t try to untangle his fingers from Grantaire’s. “Well,” he said, “we should, uh, get out of here.”

“Before they realize you have about a half dozen outstanding warrants for your arrest?” Grantaire asked with a smirk, his voice quiet enough that only Enjolras could hear.

“You’d be amazed what having a multi-million dollar settlement pending against the city will do to the police’s willingness to bring you in,” Enjolras said with a smirk. “Not that I want to test that, of course.”

“Liar,” Grantaire said, grinning. “But better safe than sorry, I suppose.”

He started toward the door, pausing when Enjolras didn’t immediately follow. “Thank you, by the way,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire glanced back at him.

“Anytime,” he said simply. “Thanks for bailing me out.”

Enjolras gave him a look that was half-amused, half-exasperated. “Just don’t go making a habit of it,” he warned. “One day I won’t be here to bail you out.”

“Only because you’ll probably be locked up with me,” Grantaire said.

“Well,” Enjolras murmured, not quite able to stop his smile, “you’re not wrong.”

— — — — —

Grantaire rested his elbows against the bars of the holding cell, his arms dangling into what was technically freedom on the other side. The booking officer, some new guy he didn’t recognize, gave him a look but didn’t say anything, which he took as a small victory, and he allowed himself a small smirk.

A smirk that faded as soon as he saw Enjolras, escorted by another officer. “No dice on bail?” Grantaire asked, seeing the look on Enjolras’s face.

Enjolras shook his head. “No, they’re going to go through the whole arraignment rigamarole. I’ve already let Pontmercy know.” He made a face, casting an irritated look at the booking officer who was pretending not to listen to their conversation. “Apparently they take battery of a police officer pretty seriously these days.”

“Can’t imagine why,” Grantaire muttered. Enjolras sighed and Grantaire gave him a look. “Don’t even start,” he warned. “This wasn’t about you not being able to take care of yourself—”

“That wasn’t what I was going to say,” Enjolras interrupted, his voice tight. “I’m well aware that cop would’ve bashed my head in if you hadn’t intervened.” He shook his head and sighed again. “I was going to say thank you.”

“Oh,” Grantaire said, managing a tight smile. “You’re welcome.”

Enjolras just shook his head again. “You still shouldn’t have done it,” he continued, “because honestly, I’m not worth all that—”

“You are, though,” Grantaire said, in a tone that brooked no argument. Enjolras scowled and Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Fine, then why don’t we make a deal?” he said. “I’ll stop defending you when you stop bailing me out.”

“At the rate you’re going, I won’t be able to anyway,” Enjolras said sourly. “Not without putting up some major collateral.”

Grantaire shook his head. “And I’m definitely not worth that,” he said.

Enjolras’s eyes met his. “You are, though.”

For a moment, it looked like Grantaire might argue. Instead, he reached for Enjolras’s hand, bringing it up to kiss his knuckles through the bars of the holding cell. “No touching,” the booking officer barked, and Grantaire rolled his eyes as he reluctantly let go of Enjolras’s hand. 

“Will you be at my arraignment?” he asked.

Enjolras shrugged. “Someone’s got to post whatever bail amount the judge decides,” he said.

Grantaire half-smiled. “In that case, I’ll be the one in the front.” 

“Pretty sure that’ll be the judge,” Enjolras murmured, grinning when Grantaire rolled his eyes. “I’ll see you tomorrow. I promise.”

“It’ll be the only thing that gets me through spending the night in here,” Grantaire told him, and it was Enjolras’s turn to roll his eyes, though there was obvious affection in the motion.

“Pretty sure Bahorel was right,” he said. “You definitely wouldn’t survive in jail.”

Grantaire just shrugged. “Only if you were in there with me.”

Enjolras shook his head, reluctantly backing away toward the door. “Still time,” he said, and Grantaire’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t you dare do anything stupid while I’m locked up in here.”

Enjolras just smirked. “See you tomorrow,” he called over his shoulder as he left, and Grantaire sighed, though there something strangely content in the noise, despite, or maybe because of, the circumstances.

— — — — —

Grantaire didn’t meet Enjolras’s eyes as he rapped his fingers impatiently against the front desk at the precinct, waiting for them to bring him his personal effects. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Enjolras asked, his voice tight. Grantaire looked pointedly at the conspicuous clock on the wall and Enjolras’s scowl deepened. “Exactly, it’s 2 in the fucking morning. I have a 7 o’clock meeting, which you knew damn well, so why you had to go pick a bar fight with some guy twice your fucking size—”

“So sorry to be an inconvenience to you,” Grantaire drawled, slurring his words just slightly. “Can’t imagine what it must be like to have made plans that get interfered with by someone else’s priorities.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “Are we really doing this here and now?” he asked.

Grantaire just jerked a shrug, not meeting his eyes. “Do you have something better to do?”

Enjolras sighed and scrubbed a tired hand across his face. “I’m sorry that I had to cancel tonight,” he said, with as much patience as he could seemingly muster, considering the circumstances. “But I needed to get this proposal done ahead of the meeting tomorrow, and I don’t really see what the big deal—”

“You never do,” Grantaire interrupted, still not looking at him. “That’s the problem.”

“You knew going into this—”

“Just like you knew going into this that I’m a drunk and a disaster,” Grantaire interrupted, finally looking at Enjolras, his expression hard. “Well, congratulations, Apollo, it looks like we both knew what we were getting into and yet somehow, we’re both still disappointed.”

Enjolras just shook his head. “I’m not,” he said tiredly. “I’m not disappointed, Grantaire, because that would require me to actually expect better from you, and I learned my lesson on that a long time ago.”

Grantaire just grinned, a horrible, twisted grin. “Right back atcha.”

The officer returned with Grantaire’s belongings, and Grantaire grabbed his phone, wallet and keys, returning them to his pockets. Enjolras took a deep breath, but whatever he clearly wanted to say seemed to stick in his throat, and he looked away. “C’mon,” he said instead. “Let’s go home.”

Grantaire nodded once, shoving his hands in his pockets as he slumped after Enjolras, neither man touching the other.

— — — — —

“He’s not technically under arrest,” the cop told Enjolras as he led him back to the holding cell. “But that’s because we couldn’t really mirandize him when he was passed out.”

Enjolras eyed Grantaire, sprawled across the bench in the holding cell, and sighed. “So once he’s coherent, he’ll be charged with, what, drunk and disorderly?”

The officer nodded. “Yeah.” He glanced at Enjolras. “Look, it’s not my place, but, uh, maybe look into getting your friend some help?”

“Yeah,” Enjolras murmured, his expression drawn. “Maybe.” He sighed and turned. “Guess I’ll go preemtively pay his bail—”

“Apollo?” Grantaire croaked, and Enjolras sighed again.

“Give us a moment?” he asked the officer, who just shrugged.

Enjolras crossed to the bars of the holding cell, his arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. “Tell me,” he said, his tone clipped, “were you trying to get hit by a car by passing out in the street, or would have just been a fun little side effect of this spectacular attempt at blowing up your life?”

Grantaire groaned as he forced himself into a sitting position. “Honestly don’t remember if it was deliberate or not,” he muttered, swaying slightly as he blinked unfocusedly at Enjolras.

“There are easier ways of killing yourself,” Enjolras said.

Grantaire managed a small, sharp smile. “Don’t worry, I’ve considered those as well.”

Enjolras’s expression tightened and he looked away. “You used your one phone call for me,” he said.

Grantaire shrugged. “Didn’t know who else to call.”

“Probably anyone besides your ex.” Grantaire flinched and Enjolras sighed before telling him, as firmly as he could manage, “This is the last time. Do you understand?”

Grantaire barked a dry, humorless laugh. “If there’s one thing I can promise, Apollo, it’s that this won’t be the last time.”

“Maybe not for you,” Enjolras said. “But I’m done. So the next time you get picked up for a bar fight or public intoxication or whatever suicidal shit you decide to get yourself into next time, call someone else.”

He didn’t wait for Grantaire to answer, just turning on heel to leave him in the holding cell while he went to go pay his bail.

One last time.

— — — — —

The phone rang, and rang again, and Grantaire’s grip on the phone tightened. “Come on,” he muttered to himself. “Come on, pick up, pick up.”

But the phone just rang until the tinny, robotic voice informed him that no voicemail had been set up for this phone number, and he heaved a sigh as he hung up, a headache blooming in his temples that had absolutely nothing to the better part of a handle of whiskey that he’d worked his way through that evening. 

“Nothing?” the booking officer asked, and Grantaire ground his teeth together at the fake sympathetic tone.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’, and he scrubbed a hand across his face before heading back to the holding cell.

The booking officer trailed after him. “Do you, uh, want to try calling someone else?”

Grantaire just shook his head. “No,” he said, crossing his arms in front of his chest as the officer opened the door of the cell for him. “I’ll try again later. He’s probably asleep.”

The officer glanced up at the clock that showed it was barely 10pm, and he shook his head as he closed the door after Grantaire. “Your choice,” he said with a shrug.

Grantaire sighed heavily as he slumped down onto the hard metal bench, his fingers twitching as if he wanted to reach for an absent glass or bottle of beer, or else for a hand that used to be his to hold. His throat felt tight and he swallowed hard, tilting his head back to rest it against the wall of the holding cell.

He closed his eyes against the tears that he could feel prick in the corners of his eyes, though he honestly didn’t know if he was crying because Enjolras hadn’t picked up, or because there was a part of him that still thought that maybe, in the morning, he would. One more time.

[oriental-sea-witch]

"Italian Thoroughbred"

1990 Beretta 92FS (Italy) 9x19mm

As the 1970's drew to a close and a disastrous war in Vietnam slowly vanished in the rear-view mirror, the United States military sought to replace the aging .45ACP cartridge they had been using since the First World War. As other nations began to adopt and standardize high-capacity double-stack 9mm pistols, the US military organized the Joint Service Small Arms Program in 1979 to hold trials for a new standard sidearm in tests that would eventually become the "XM9 Program" between 1979 and 1985.

The requirements would be daunting, as all submitted pistols would be subject to a level of torture and testing the likes of which had never been seen before in military pistol trials. Phase one testing to narrow down the top competitors involved a 12,000 round endurance test, which only two of the pistols survived. Of the eight pistols submitted, one alone would rise to the top during phase-two testing with a seemingly impossible level of accuracy, reliability, and durability the likes of which had never been seen in a military sidearm.

The Beretta Model 92's rugged frame and ingenious split firing-pin safety allowed it to survive a litany of drop-tests, its 180° ejection port allowed it to beat all mud and debris tests, and its solid construction allowed it to go an average of 35,000 rounds between parts failures; far exceeding the original requirement of 6,000 rounds. The Beretta 92 would be officially adopted by the US military as the M9 in 1985. In a hilarious example of companies behaving like sore losers, there was enough of an uproar and demand for a rematch that the tests were conducted a second time in 1988 as the "XM10 Program." Much to the chagrin of the challengers, the Beretta 92 came out on top again.

Adopted formally under the designation "M9", the Beretta would go on to serve all branches of the US military favorably from 1985 to the present day. Though it is in the process of being phased out for a more modern "modular" handgun, those who carried one into combat (like my father) swear by its accuracy and reliability in harsh combat environments.

[venomwrites]

Can I ask for a Caitvi fic where Caitlyn apologizes to Vi for what she did to her at the end of act 1, and Vi accepts her apologies and forgive her?

The air is too clean. 

Irrationally it pisses Vi off. It feels squeaky in her lungs. It makes it damn hard to breathe properly. It makes her think of her gas mask. It’s the same air that’s outside, just pulled through an endless series of gears and filters and spat out in a way that is hard to inhale. It’s the same air, just dressed up so it looks clean and untouched. 

Just like everyone in this fucking room. 

“Bring out the Guilty!”

She digs her fists into her thighs as everyone turns. Enforcers snap to the side as they lead Caitlyn in. The whole trial they’ve put her back in that Enforcer dress Vi first saw her in. Parade dress, Caitlyn explained once. She is on display, they don’t let her have the dignity of her usual uniform. They make a spectacle out of her. 

Caitlyn wears it differently now. There’s a hardness in her shoulders and a coldness in her eyes that wasn’t there before. It’s been weeks of her sitting silently looking ahead for hours on end. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t even ask for water as she listens to testimony and agrees to charges. Aside from the words, the only sound in the courtroom is the occasional sob. 

Even the chains around her wrists don’t make a sound. 

They do now as she walks forward. She’s still the most dignified person in the room. Today they seem intent on changing that. The chains are now around her ankles too. They clink as she moves forward, still managing to look dignified. Even though they put the hat on her. 

Even though they’ve fitted a muzzle around her mouth. 

Mel has assured her that Caitlyn’s not going to be sentenced to death. When the battle came, she fought on the winning side. That seems to count for a lot more than Vi thought it did. Or maybe Vi’s just used to being on the losing one. The people still need a pound of flesh. It’s a litany that has followed her every time Jinx comes up. 

“For your crimes against these peoples, we pass the following,” the voice continues, “House Kiramman will be stripped of its Council seat and its holdings. You will be stripped of you rank,” Vi grits her teeth, maybe that will be all, “you are sentenced to thirty lashes.”

The court erupts into shouts and chaos. But Vi can barely move. Her eyes find Mel who shoots her a look full of sympathy before her face goes blank again. Vi feels sick. Thirty is the best Mel could get them to. Vi doesn’t even want to think about what that must have taken. Caitlyn lowers her head but doesn’t otherwise react. Or maybe she does and the muzzle just hides it. 

There is a bang from the high bench and the courtroom goes quiet. 

Caitlyn is led out first. She looks straight ahead as they leave, never once do her eyes stray from the back of the room. Immediately people start scrambling and Vi realizes that they are doing this now. And everyone wants to get a good view. She scrambles along with the crowd. They’re shouting for justice but all Vi can do is bob through, trying to keep her eyes on the cart that pulls Caitlyn to the clearing. 

The crowd swallows her up. By the time Vi makes it anywhere near the barricade, her chains are being wrapped to a frame in the center. They’ve already removed her muzzle but her lips are pressed together so tightly they may as well have left it on. Of course they wouldn’t. They want her to scream. Vi looks around for anyone who seems like they might be willing to do something. But she can find no allies here. 

No-one is coming to stop this. 

Vi wants to scream. She thought someone, anyone would put a stop to this. Caitlyn’s eyes are tightly shut as she tries to brace herself for what is to come. The Enforcer behind them continues to coil the whip for the crowd, building them into even more of a frenzy. It’s just a sea of cheering, moving bodies. Vi thought it was good cover. Now it’s just an obstacle to shove to the front of. 

“Cait!” 

She cups her hands around her mouth to try and make her voice travel. But it’s too loud. Someone behind her revs something. That sound is unique enough to make Caitlyn’s eyes fly open. 

They find her, even in the crowd. Tears fill them, which only makes the crowd scream louder. The cold metal of the barrier digs into her palms as she stares back at Caitlyn. The helplessness makes her sick but when she goes to push herself over the barrier, Caitlyn shakes her head. Vi is ready to ignore her and do it anyway but Caitlyn turns away. 

Vi jumps with her when the whip falls. 

Vi can’t hear the crowd roaring over the blood pounding her ears. Caitlyn’s going to do this. Vi feels sick. Her facade doesn’t go fully up in the pause between strikes. Her eyes drag back to Vi’s and she is just smoothing her face back out when the whip falls again. Her eyes open and find Vi’s faster this time. All Vi can do is stare back and give her something to look at. 

The fifth strike gets the first cry from her. 

It shouldn’t be audible over the sound of the crowd’s roar,  but Vi can feel it in her bones. Everything in her screams to get to Caitlyn. She can’t be right, this can’t be justice. In her worst moments Vi’s imagined decking Caitlyn herself. She told herself it would feel good. Now it just feels sickening. This isn’t justice. She doesn’t know what the hell this is but it’s not that. 

The tenth lash makes her knees buckle. Vi’s sure she’s going to have imprints of the barrier permanently in her hands. 

Fifteen. 

Twenty. 

Caitlyn looks at her desperately, questioningly. Vi pries her fingers away to tell her how many remain. Caitlyn drags herself up, as much as she can. Sweat and tears paint her skin, but she refuses to surrender the last bit of dignity she has. Vi holds up five fingers and Caitlyn manages to raise her chin. 

Vi’s aware of two of Mel’s guards approaching but she can’t look away from Caitlyn. 

It’s three more. 

Red blossoms over Cailtyn’s shoulder when she stumbles forward. One of the lashes went high. 

Two.

One.

“Keep them back!” Vi yells at them and shoves herself over the barricade. 

Other Enforcers swarm forward. She’s ready to kill all of them to get to Caitlyn, but they rush for the crowd. Not for her. She’s free to tear across the clearing as fast as her legs will let her. It feels like moving through water to get there. It’s been weeks of only being able to see Caitlyn’s profile. Vi’s lied to herself that she’s fine with it. Now every second is torture. 

Caitlyn is shuddering against the frame, face pressed into her own arm. She doesn’t lift her head until Vi is right in front of her, pushing back all the blue hair that sticks to her forehead. Caitlyn jerks her head up, eyes focusing in on her again. Whatever’s left of her facade breaks under Vi’s hands. 

“Vi.”

“Hold on,” Vi says. Her eyes focus on one of the other Enforcers, “She did it, get her out of these!” 

The Enforcer comes closer and Vi can’t stand it a second longer. She smacks the keys out of his hands. The second one of Caitlyn’s arms is free she drags it over her shoulder, ignoring the half sob that escapes Caitlyn’s lips as she jostles her back. 

“Just hold on,” she repeats, getting the other cuff free. Caitlyn’s head tips against her throat, her hot breath panting across Vi’s skin, “I got you.” 

Everything in her just wants to carry Caitlyn out of here. But Caitlyn has clung to her dignity every step of this. And Vi can’t bring herself to be the one to rob her of it. Caitlyn shuffles forward and Vi matches her pace. Step by halting step as the crowd descends into an actual riot.  Vi has no idea how they are going to get away, but anywhere is better than here. 

“Vi! Over here!” 

Caitlyn shudders at the sound of Mel’s voice. Vi hesitates for a moment but Caitlyn sags in her arms. They don’t have any fucking time. Mel tried. She did more than Vi managed. So Vi takes more of Caitlyn’s weight and shuffles them to Mel and her waiting car. The sound of a gunshot rings out and she takes all of Caitlyn’s weight to close the distance faster. Mel is already in the car and helps ease Caitlyn inside. Vi throws herself in after. 

The moment the doors close Caitlyn collapses against her. Vi barely manages to turn them so she doesn’t touch her back. Just the movement of collapsing is enough to make Caitlyn try to curl up. Vi touches the back of her neck and her shoulder, anywhere that’s not bloody and raw. She gets Caitlyn’s forehead on her thigh so she can breathe and lay on her stomach. 

“Try to lay still,” she says. 

“I’m trying,” Caitlyn chokes out around a sob. 

“You’re doing good,” Vi says, the comfort tasting like copper in her mouth. She tries to smooth the baby hairs at Caitlyn’s nape away from the tallest of the lashes. One of Caitlyn’s hands claws up and she grabs it, locking their fingers together, “just hold on—“ she looks over “are we almost there?”

“Almost there, Caitlyn, just keep breathing,” she says, shaking her head to Vi. 

A shiver runs the length of Caitlyn’s body. She’s going into shock. Vi looks around for anything with red on it. Red means heat. She cranks the knob as far as it will go. It’s not like they can put a fucking blanket on Caitlyn with her back like that. But maybe the heat will help. Something has to help. Vi can’t just sit there and hold her hand. 

“Vi,” Caitlyn’s voice breaks around her name. 

“I’m right here,” Vi says, tightening her grip on Caitlyn’s hand, “

“Vi I’m sorry,” she chokes out, “I’m so sorry. I was such a fool.”

The desperation in her tone makes Vi’s chest ache. Caitlyn’s bleeding everywhere but all she’s doing is apologizing to her. Vi tries to shove aside the burning in her eyes and throat. She looks around for anything she can do, anything but just sit here and hold Cait’s hand while she bleeds and squirms. 

“We’re good, Cupcake,” she says, scrambling for anything that will help. Caitlyn just lets out another sob, “Cait, we’re good,” Vi says, surprising herself with how much she means it. They go over a bump and Vi feels Caitlyn cry out against her thigh, “can you be careful?!” 

Mel shoots her a sharp look that Vi is happy to return. Logically Vi knows they are driving through a riot but there has to be something to make this easier on Caitlyn. The breathing against her thigh is getting shallower. Vi knows shit about medicine but she knows that’s not good. 

“Cait, you gotta take a deep breath,” she says. Caitlyn makes a noise but doesn’t change, “come on, breath for me sweetheart.” 

Caitlyn inhales properly and some of the tightness in her chest eases. She looks up to see Mel staring at them both intently. Before she can ask why, the car seems to break through whatever is making them move so slowly. Vi tries to hold Caitlyn steady as the car tips them back. Mel jumps forward and uses her hands to hold Caitlyn’s legs. Caitlyn’s fingers tighten on Vi’s knuckles and her other hand grips her knee. 

“Just hold on,” Vi says, wishing she could figure out something better to say.

“I’m trying,” Caitlyn says but it comes out so desperate Vi wishes she would just go unconscious. 

“I know, you’re doing so good,” Vi says, “we’re almost there.”

“Hold her!” Mel orders as the car takes a turn and then stops. One of the doors flies open, flooding the car with light and air, “Vi we need to step back and let them help her.” 

When she tries to separate, Caitlyn grips her hand tighter. There’s going to be pain either way, Vi can’t bear to pull away again. 

“I can’t,” she says. 

There’s a hushed exchange and then a medic appears near her with a needle. Vi wants to swat him away but she knows this is for the best. It’s going to take away Caitlyn’s pain. At the moment that’s all that matters. Caitlyn stiffens at the contact. 

“Hey, it’s ok,” Vi tells her, “he’s here to help,” she watches the needle push something through Caitlyn’s veins.

“But—“ Caitlyn starts to protest but Vi can already feel her relaxing, “Vi.”

“I’m going to be there,” Vi swears, “soon as you wake up.” 

Caitlyn’s fingers try to squeeze hers but they go limp. Suddenly it’s just Vi clutching her hand. Mel touches he shoulder. Sympathy is painted on her face. Vi feels her fingers slip in between their hands, taking her death grip as Caitlyn’s fingers fall by her side. Medics pull Caitlyn free and onto a stretcher. Everything in Vi screams to follow them but Mel holds her in the car. 

“We need to let them work,” she says. Vi opens her mouth, “Vi, this is how you help her.”

“I promised I’d be there,” Vi says, “I wasn’t—“

“You were. You got her through this,” Mel looks over he shoulder and she grasps Vi’s other hand. Vi can hear a commotion starting, “you will be there when she wakes up.”

“No,” Vi twists. She can hear a buzzing and the doctors shouting, “no—“

There’s a fiery feeling in her elbow and she realizes Mel stuck her with something. Mel moves forward and eases her down. Vi wants to be angry but the stuff is rushing though her. Still she has to hold on. Mel cranes her neck and then focuses back on her. 

“They got her back,” she says, “you’re both going to be fine.”

“I promised,” Vi gets out, though it comes out as a mumble instead of how she intended. There’s a hand in her hair as the world tugs away. 

There’s a hand on her cheek as it comes back. 

She would know that hand anywhere, even before she opens her eyes to meet Caitlyn’s intent gaze. 

Caitlyn’s covered in bandages. Her fingers and face might be the only thing not wrapped in bandages. But they’re both so pale it hardly makes a difference. There’s tubes and monitors everywhere Vi can see. But she’s alive and her fingers are skimming Vi’s face like she can’t believe she’s real. When their eyes meet, Vi can see they’ve got her drugged up. Vi catches her hand and laces their fingers back together. 

“Hey,” is the only thing she can think to say. Caitlyn offers a miserable smile through pale lips, “I promised I’d be here didn’t I?”

“Mel had them put you here,” Caitlyn rasps. 

“Yeah,” Vi says, “but I’m still here.” 

That seems to be Caitlyn’s undoing. Vi has no idea where she can touch her that isn’t going to hurt. But Caitlyn doesn’t seem to care as she grips Vi tighter. It’s like three weeks of hell is all crashing down. Any last vestiges of the person on trial are flowing down Vi’s shirt. All Vi can do it hold her tighter. For the past few weeks she’s just watched Caitlyn and told herself it’s enough. Now with her back in her arms, Vi doesn’t know how she managed to bullshit herself like that. 

“I’m still here,” she repeats and just hopes it’s enough for both of them. 

[dr-demi-bee]

2. Laying on top of each other, kissing shoulders

Oooooohhhhhh I really had to think about this one. It's so cute, but the *height* difference....

Thanks for the ask, Stormy! Here's some fluffy primalweave intimacy for you🥰

There was little Gale loved more than the soft quiet of the early morning spent in their bedroll. Still moments before they must rouse for the day - blissfully free of obligations, muscles relaxed and not yet sore with reminders of battles and exertions of days past. When the gentle rays of the rising sun found every narrow split in the fabrics of their conjoined tents, touching their world in slivers of gold.

He especially loved the way that warm light seemed to caress Miri's sun-dyed skin. After the drudgery of the shadowcurse, seeing the sun touch upon her was like watching the reunion of long-lost friends. She seemed made to receive the love of celestial bodies.

Miri lay curled beside him, half sprawled on top of him, her head tucked into the crook of his neck. The slow, gentle puffs of her breath against his chest was proof enough she was still in peaceful slumber.

Meaning Gale could enjoy a bit more time on admiration yet.

His eyes follow the shimmering paths of her long hair - wine red that dazzles like garnet spun into silk when the sun threads it's fingers through.

But even more than her hair, Gale's gaze lingers on her skin. Soft, copper skin, marked with the story of her life. Trials and triumphs both littered across her skin in a litany of pinks and dips and valleys. Strength and endurance he's seen only a nascent fraction of.

But beauty too - a constellation of soft dark marks left by the kiss of the sun. The paths of which he longed to memorize. To erase the claims of the sun on her skin with claims of his own. Gale wants to kiss every single freckle on her skin.

That skin he can't resist touching, stroking, pressing against his lips. He trails his fingers rhythmically up and down from her shoulder blade to the curve of her neck and Miri sighs softly, nuzzling closer. He can feel her lips against his skin - not quite a kiss, but no less intimate.

If they had time - no, when they have time- Gale will lavish her skin with the attention it deserves. Will spend days if need be, gladly, keeping her in bed and kissing every freckle. Every mark and blemish until all she knows is the warmth of his love. Of his enduring worship.

And while they don't have time enough for now - he'll gladly get a head start. First with his fingers. And soon enough with his lips. Lavishing her with affection on each freckle across her shoulders until she stirs with a soft laugh and they get lost in kisses once more.

There will be time enough for everything else the day has in store later. For now, he will cherish these blissful moments of dawn.

[olympeline]

@fireandspiceland’s recent posts made me realise I never knew how much I needed a USUK cardverse/omegaverse combo AU in my life. Well now I do! So have a Situation Involving Them that I just came up with:

The King of each of the four Suit Lands is always an alpha, the Queen an omega, and each kingdom has their own way of choosing their royal pair. In the Land of Spades, the Queen is born with his or her Royal Mark and so taken from their family and raised to rule from a young age. Meanwhile the King gains the Mark once he or she beds the Queen in heat for the first time. This means the Queen is born to rule, but the King can be anyone so long as they’re an alpha. To make sure they get someone worthy, a potential King must face a series of trials. Ending with the most treacherous of all: catching the Spade Queen in the traditional hunting grounds of the Garden of Thorns. Catching the Queen, subduing them, then bringing them back to the castle to be wedded and mated during their next heat. While the Queen can fight to kill, obviously the would-be-Kings can’t. Which puts them at a huge disadvantage right from the start.

The Spade Queen is always a powerful mage so the threat of facing them one-on-one is enough to repel all but the most elite warriors. Nevertheless, there’s usually a new Spade King a year or two after the Queen comes of age. The prize of a kingdom is a big motivator after all. Enough to bring the greatest warriors from all over and make them daring. But - unfortunately for the kingdom - their latest Queen is different. Their latest Queen is one Arthur Kirkland: green-eyed, straw haired, peasant son of a sailor turned Spade Queen-in-Waiting from the moment his midwife spotted the Mark before the cord was even cut. As is traditional, Arthur is a mage. But even for a Spade Queen, he’s not just powerful but stupidly powerful and ruthless with it. He’s also proud, haughty, and absolutely bound and determined that no one, but no one, is going to subdue him. He’s nobody’s broodmare, goddamnit! He’s his own man! Arthur bloody Kirkland is not getting wedded and bedded, not ending up wasting his talents raising litters of babies while some meatheaded brute usurps his place in the kingdom he’s been learning to rule since he was barely more than a babe himself! Arthur has a razor sharp mind and many plans for the Kingdom of Spades. Plans to reform society and make life better for all who live there. Something he can’t do if bound to a Spade King and forced to do his or her bidding. The laws of the land make the King of Spades monarch supreme. The Queen utterly subservient to them and there to birth royal children - Dukes and Duchesses of Spades - who can then be married off to forge alliances with other kingdoms. Excuse Arthur while he seethes at the thought of all of his brilliance being squandered on a life of endless sex followed by birthing royal brats in a nest.

Arthur had his first heat in his early teens and the kingdom officials started the tournaments as soon as he did, confident they’d have a new King of Spades in a year or two at most. Only to grow increasingly horrified as Arthur destroyed every champion brought in to chase him. Most of the time he didn’t even bother to run as a Queen usually would. Instead just calling on his litany of flesh melting, bone shattering spells to finish each encounter in mere minutes. His sixteenth birthday passes, then his eighteenth, nineteenth, on and on. Now the Queen of Spades is close to his twenty-first year and still he’s unmated! Not only that, but his reputation has grown so fearsome that the kingdom officials can barely find any champions willing to face him. The old fossils are close to despair and Arthur is smugger than a smug vendor at a convention of smuggery. He knows if he can make it past his twenty-first birthday then he will legally be an adult and the kingdom’s steward will have no choice but to hand all the powers of monarch supreme over to him. The old King of Spades is long dead and so is the old Queen. Making Arthur the undisputed highest authority in the Kingdom of Spades once he comes of age. Then no one can stop him making himself Queen Regnat, able to rule with no King. Able to change whatever laws he wants. Able to put a stop to these cursed tournaments once and for all and choose his own Spade Prince - not a Spade King, a Spade Prince! Subservient to his Spade Queen! Definitely a Prince - in peace.

He’s so close now, just one more month to go. All the years of training and endless sleepless nights of practicing spellcraft til he keeled over from exhaustion will be worth it. Arthur knows he can do it. He’s powerful now, so, so powerful. Who could ever hope to match the sheer force of his black magic? As far as he knows, there’s only one challenger left who’s been stupid enough not to throw in the towel. A young knight from a minor noble family by the name of Albert or Alfred or some such. Arthur barely listened to the details when Councillor Yao told him he had another challenge coming up. Arthur has practically been through more would-be-Kings than he’s had cups of tea. He’s heard it all before. He’s sure this Alfred or whatever will be no different.

Quite sure.

(This is getting long so end of part 1! Hopefully you guys will be interested in reading more once I type it up. 😘)

[dusk-legion-diplomacy]

Colder

“Grandfather.” Lazaro dipped his head after he approached Cardinal Theodors. The cardinal had just given a rousing sermon to a crowd of hundreds. The cardinal's attendants were following close to him as he left the pulpit, already taking the heavy tome he had been reading from. A few of the lesser deacons were walking with censers through the departing crowds. Some remained in order to meet with one of the clergy for confession or absolution, others because they simply were not yet done with prayer.

There was a tenseness to the air that was more than palpable when Lazaro walked up to his grandfather. The cardinal's silvered eyes briefly looked him over.

“Lazaro,” he said, waving away the acolytes and lesser clergy around him. The cloak that overlaid the rest of his vestments was limned with gold, the hem inscribed with flowing words that were parts of litanies and prayers. It was thicker than his usual garb, reflecting the turn of the seasons. Frost still clung to the windows of the cathedral. “Are you here for our conversation or has something else claimed your mind, boy?“

”I am here to talk, as you asked,“ Lazaro answered. There was a defiance in his posture that was quite unlike him. He had never been a belligerent soul. A dedicated one, yes. Zealous, most certainly. But this? This was new. Theodors wanted to know what had caused his grandson to change.

”Join me for a walk, won't you?“ the cardinal said, extending an arm toward the exit to the cathedral. The cleric gave him a stiff nod, and the two began to follow the throngs of people as they left. The attendants made sure to act as a barrier between the two and the rest of the crowd. Some turned and tried to beg for absolution, but they were turned away for the time being. The cardinal was required elsewhere for now, they were told. Absolution and confession would wait.

Lazaro was clearly put off by the display. There was a small curl of distaste on his face, a wrinkle in his brow. He looked at the people around them with both pity and remorse. Theodors guided him away, reaching an arm across his shoulders to begin guiding him towards the gardens of the city. This time of year, most of the flowers were long since gone, leaving brown stalks behind. The chill of winter was all but descending on the city now.

And with it, came the promise of longer and longer nights.

Once they had sufficiently broken from the crowds, and once the cardinal felt comfortable enough dismissing his attendants, he brought his hands together and looked towards his grandson.

”Do you know why I wish to speak with you?“ he asked.

”I assume this has something to do with Cecurro's trial,“ Lazaro answered. The cleric had his arms crossed. He had worn thicker, woolen clothing, but was not dressed in usual clerical attire. He did wear an overcloak to help protect from the occasional harsh wind.

”Tangentially speaking,“ Theodors said. ”You've changed.“

Lazaro's brows drew together at that. “What do you mean?”

“You've been colder with me. And you've been a bit more defiant as of late. It is quite unlike you,” the cardinal answered. “Llorente assures me that it is no influence of the Great Enemy. I can see plainly that he is correct there. So I wished to see what I could learn.”

The two walked through a brick-laden pathway that had only the remnants of once-full bushes and shrubbery lining it. Frost still clung to some of the benches.

“Perhaps there is nothing to learn,” Lazaro said a bit tersely.

“Something happened,” Theodors said. His voice was soft and kind. Despite outward appearances, the cardinal cared deeply for his grandson. This was something that Lazaro had known and was reminded of when he looked into the unnaturally aged face of the older man and saw a softness in his eyes and concern played plainly across his face. “I wish to understand what.“

Lazaro looked away from him. He went from crossing his arms to hugging himself. A brush of wind blew, tousling his already-perpetually-touseled hair. He got that from his grandmother, Theodors had noticed. He had her smile, too.

”You can tell me,“ he said, resting a hand on his grandson's shoulder. ”Is it because of that paladin?“

”No,“ Lazaro said quickly. ”Arturo and I are doing well.“

”Then, please.“ Theodors allowed a measure of desperation into his voice. ”What has happened to my grandson? Is it something I have done to you?“

Lazaro was quiet for a very long time. He still looked away. Theodors found an answer in the silence.

“You've been… struggling with your hunger, haven't you?” he asked quietly. Lazaro stiffened a little, and Theodors sighed. “I had a feeling. How long have you known?”

“A while,” the cleric answered.

”Do you think I will condemn you for it?“ the cardinal asked. Lazaro looked at him then, a questioning look on his face.

”I-“

”You have not done as your brother has, Lazaro,“ Theodors said, bringing his hands together again. ”I will not condemn you for a sin that has yet to be committed.“

”Yet to?“ Lazaro asked.

“I am not saying you will ever act on it,” Theodors said, putting up a placating hand. “Merely that you have not sinned, thus there is nothing to condemn you over. Unless you have something to confess.”

Lazaro shook his head softly. Theodors let out a soft huff.

“I know you also worry for your brother's sentencing,” he said. “I imagine some of this defiance is moreso out of worry for what will happen to him, especially since I will be presiding over this. You worry that you will be next.“ He shook his head. ”I can assure you, death is off the table for him.“ That seemed to make Lazaro's shoulders ease a little. ”Exsanguination is likely.“

”So he will be offered redemption?“ Lazaro's voice was a bit tense, and he was gripping the edge of his cloak.

”Most likely, yes. We will find a path forward for him,“ Theodors assured. Lazaro let out a sigh of relief.

“Good,” he said. There was still a strange tension in the air.

“You know I care for you,” Theodors said suddenly. “You and your brother. I always have. You two are the only family I have left.”

Lazaro nodded. “I know,” he said, his voice breaking a little.

The cardinal stopped walking. Lazaro did too. They were at the center of the garden, the heart of the rose that it had been arrayed as.

“Does he hate me?” Theodors asked. Lazaro was quiet.

“I…” he blinked a few times, then shrugged. “I… don't know.”

Theodors's lips formed a line. There was another brief silence.

“Do you hate me, Lazaro?”

Lazaro looked at him. His mouth was slightly open, his jaw working wordlessly for a few moments.

“… no,” he said finally.

“Then, please,” the cardinal said, putting both hands on his shoulders. “Tell me what is really going on, here. It cannot be your hunger or this trial alone. If it is because of the paladin influencing you, then-”

“Arturo has nothing to do with this,” Lazaro said a bit briskly. “And I would like you to call him by his name, even if you never acknowledge him as my husband.”

Theodors looked into his grandson's eyes for a long moment after that. He saw hurt, there, and he could still see that unwavering bit of defiance. But he started to try and look deeper, but before he could, Lazaro made his soul ironclad. The cardinal's face softened.

“I just want what is best for you,” he said, taking his hands away. “I want what is best for everyone. That is why I have been taking control while…” he trailed off, glancing around. No one else was close by, but he still lowered his voice to barely a whisper. “While the pontifex is away, for now.” He straightened a little. ”I want to make sure you are safe and happy.“

“I…” Lazaro sighed, a bit in frustration, a bit in defeat. “I know, grandfather. But… but I am happy with him. He makes me feel valued and loved. Isn't that enough for you?”

“Lazaro-”

“If this is about continuing the bloodline just so you can con-” Lazaro stopped himself. Theodors raised a brow at that.

“So I can what?” he asked.

“Nothing. Forget it,” Lazaro said, turning away. “I already made peace with the fact that you don't approve. I have father and mother and the rest of the family.”

“No, no, continue the thought,” Theodors said, walking so that he could look his grandson in the face. Lazaro grimaced. He was unable to meet his eyes. The cardinal's face hardened. ”You've learned something.”

Lazaro did not answer. Theodors closed his eyes, exhaling slowly.

”I know you went on a Blood Fast while you were in Kamigawa,“ he said. ”I have been meaning to ask what revelations you may have had. I assume this may have something to do with that?“

The cleric still remained quiet. Then, he spoke. ”I know that you care much about continuing the familial line. Arturo's family is much the same. Surrogacy is still an option, grandfather.“

Theodors looked at Lazaro for a few moments. Then, he nodded.

”I am aware,“ he said carefully. ”But I have been told that your…“ he paused. ”Husband,“ he said, forcing down the grimace as he said it, ”is very hesitant to engage in it.“

”Other methods exist. My sons have mentioned them,“ Lazaro said. “I… was meaning to ask about whether they'd be sanctioned or not.”

Theodors's face twitched at the mention of his 'sons'. ”That is something that can be discussed at a later time,“ he said. ”In the meantime I can refer you to some of the older edicts around procreation for your own researching. So long as it is not…“ he paused, lip peeling back in disgust, ”growing them from vats,“ he said, practically spitting the word, ”then there may not be much of an issue.“

”I will discuss it with Arturo, then.“ Lazaro hugged himself again. “I see you have spoken with the Old Thrull?”

“Briefly, through extended letters and missives, mostly,” Theodors said. “The blood he brings is useful for combating the famine and preventing more from falling due to their hunger, but once things are controlled, I think the Church agrees that we will not be permitting the use of it aside from emergency procedure.”

Lazaro nodded. He played with the hem of his cloak. Theodors watched him.

“What did you learn?” he asked. Lazaro did not answer immediately, again.

“I cannot say,” he said. “I… do not wish to say. Not here. Not now. It is not right. I…” he shook his head. “It is something for the trial.”

Theodors frowned. “I would rather hear it-”

“I would rather not say,” Lazaro said. “I am not comfortable in doing so. Not now and not alone. It… it's not very pressing at the moment.” Theodors rose a brow. The cleric sighed. “I do want to warn you that the Betrayer apparently intends to conquer us all by the Darkest Night.”

“That was something we had already been fearing,” Theodors said, nodding. He was going to keep pushing, but saw how Lazaro was holding himself. Shoulders squared, eyes clear and focused, back straight. And so, he did not. “I will get to you the ordinances required for you and your husband.”

“Thank you,” Lazaro said softly. Theodors nodded.

”As I told you, I want what is best for you,“ the cardinal said. ”But you will tell me what is at the bottom of this, won't you?“

”When the time is right.“

”And when shall that be?“

”Soon. Just not now,“ Lazaro answered. Theodors looked at him, searching his eyes.

”Very well,“ he said, nodding. ”Not now.“ He sighed shortly. ”I think this has been a little productive, at least.”

“You seemed to have warmed to my relationship,” Lazaro said.

“I am…” the cardinal paused. “I am… learning, let's say. I know that the ways of my time have passed. Homosexuals are less looked down upon, and it seems as though the rigidity between Legion and clergy is beginning to bend. I still am uncomfortable, but…“ He sighed. “Perhaps it is not such a terrible thing.”

“Thank you,” Lazaro said again.

“I will also say that if you need help with your… more sinful hunger,” the cardinal said carefully, “I can arrange to assist with that. You are a condemner too, after all.”

That made him bristle a little. Theodors caught that aggression in his eye before the cleric could control himself.

“I know,” Lazaro said. “I…” he trailed off.

“If you are worried on whether it is allowed or not, this is the blood of sinners we speak of,“ Theodors pointed out. ”So long as you keep it out of sight and away from the humans?“ He shook his head. "Drinking the blood of the wicked is not heresy. Not in a dire time like this. I'd rather have you sated and strong than starved and weak."

Lazaro looked at the ground. He nodded. ”Thank you.“

”You have nothing to thank me for. You are far from the first to have such impulses. I know your brother shares in them too,“ Theodors said. ”The others had to be dealt with in other means because they could not control it. But you have a very considerable and incredible amount of restraint, Lazaro. If only you could teach it to others.“

”I try,” he said, looking slightly exasperated. “At least with the paladins I've been attached to. As well as the acolytes I am given.”

Theodors nodded in understanding. “Of that I have little doubt. But such things are to be lauded.“ He put an arm around Lazaro's shoulders, and the two continued their walk. ”Besides, I would rather have it so such impulses cannot be exacerbated by the Great Enemy. And keeping that down will not be difficult in a time like this. In fact, it may even prove to be a boon.“

”I have no wish to be an inquisitor,“ Lazaro said, raising his shoulders and pulling in his neck against another bit of wind.

”You would be a natural at it,“ Theodors said. ”Faithful. Devoted. A paragon of restraint.“

”I still have no desire for it. I am content with my usual duties,“ Lazaro said with some measure of finality. Theodors sighed, but nodded.

”If that is what you want, then… so be it,“ he replied. ”But we could use you.“

”I can lend my acumen in other ways,“ Lazaro said. Theodors nodded again, taking his hand away and adjusting his own cloak.

”There are other condemnations I would like you to see to after Cecurro's trial,“ he said. ”But,“ he said, before Lazaro could say anything, “I do also know you wish for a..." He paused. "...honeymoon week. The pal-” he paused again, clearing his throat. “Arturo has already made it quite clear to both his mother and High Marshal Sarria that he will be taking it the moment the trial and tribulations are settled. I am willing to grant it to you, but on a condition.”

“And that is?” Lazaro asked, tensing.

“Your honesty,” Theodors said. “You will tell to me this thing that has created a rift between myself and my grandsons. You will tell me what you learned in full.”

Lazaro looked at him. His jaw worked again. Then, he nodded. ”I was planning on doing that already, but… as you will. I will tell you. Just not now.“

”Between now and then. I will ensure you get your week once I understand what is going on,“ Theodors said. He then looked behind the two of them, towards a clocktower. ”I have a meeting with some of the lesser clergy to discuss a few things. I appreciate you coming to me, my boy.“

”Of course,“ Lazaro said. Theodors then brought Lazaro into an embrace, which the cleric returned. Theodors released him after a moment.

“Give your family my regards,” he said. “I will be seeing you and Cecurro for the trial soon.”

“I will,” Lazaro said. The two gave each other brief parting words before the cardinal headed back into the heart of the city and the cleric went to meet back with his family.

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

After World War II, representatives from the United States, Great Britain, the Soviet Union, and France signed an agreement that created an international tribunal to hold former Nazi officials accountable for their heinous crimes against humanity. These prosecutions became famously known as the Nuremberg Trials. In the end, almost all of the 24 Nazi officials accused of crimes against humanity were convicted--with sentences ranging from years in prison to death by hanging.

The goal of the Nuremberg Trials was straightforward: To punish those who committed these horrific crimes and to deter others from engaging in the same conduct in the future. That is the very reason why Donald Trump along with Stephen Miller, Border czar Tom Homan and DHS secretary Kristi Noem--at the very least--need to be held accountable for their crimes in connection with their mass deportations that have repeatedly violated the law. If what they are doing is not a crime against humanity, then nothing is. We all get that Trump has the power to pardon his regime officials—and potentially even himself. But that pardon only applies to federal crimes--not crimes that could be prosecuted by an international tribunal for crimes against humanity. That is why—as I detail below—we need to be calling for Trump, Miller and others to be prosecuted before the International Criminal Court at The Hague.

Across the country, people suspected of being in the country illegally are “disappearing into the federal detention system without notice to families or lawyers, according to attorneys.” Trump and Miller have intentionally gutted the typical vetting employed by past administrations before signing executive orders when comes to deportations. That means Trump signs orders knowing they may be illegal but believing he is untouchable. The result has been a litany of wrongs that appear to rise to the level of crimes. As Time recently reported in an in-depth article on Trump’s deportations, “Constitutional scholars have alleged Trump’s team is not only abusing presidential power but also breaking laws.”

Examples include Trump regime wrongly deporting people to a prison in El Salvador notorious for human-rights violations. This was the prison that DHS Secretary Kristi Noem despicably poised in front of prisoners housed in that facility. Worse from a legal point of view, the Texas Tribune recently reported the Trump regime “knew that the vast majority of the 238 Venezuelan immigrants” it sent to that prison in El Salvador “had not been convicted of crimes in the United States before it labeled them as terrorists and deported them.” In other words, this was a mass kidnapping of people who were then sent to a “disease-ridden” prison where the Trump regime knew that people are held often for years with no charges and subjected to extreme physical abuse leading to hundreds of deaths. Trump has also deported asylum seekers in the United States to South Sudan despite these people having no connection to the country and knowing that the nation is engulfed in increasing violence, murders, abductions and dire humanitarian conditions.

It will likely get worse from here. As the Wall Street Journal reported last week, Stephen Miller has been yelling at ICE agents to pick up the pace of arrests of anyone even suspected of being undocumented. There is no longer a concern about arresting the “worst of the worst.” Rather, as the WSJ detailed, Miller in late May addressed a meeting at the headquarters of Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) where he told them Trump was not happy with the pace of deportations. Miller demanded that they “just go out there and arrest illegal aliens.” Miller directed ICE to target Home Depots, where day laborers typically gather for hire and 7-Eleven convenience stores. In fact, this speech is likely why ICE against began raiding Home Depots in the Los Angeles area that sparked the recent protests. We can and should call for Democratic Attorneys General to investigate Trump and others to determine if any state crimes occurred in their respective states. However, the best chance to hold Trump and others accountable may be the International Criminal Court (ICC). It’s true that the United States is not one of the 123 countries that are currently members of the ICC. That means the ICC can’t prosecute international crimes that take place on U.S. soil.

But-–and this is big from a legal point of view—the ICC is empowered to prosecute a citizen of a non-member country who commits crimes against humanity on the territory of an ICC member country. That means if Trump and his fellow criminals commit crimes in nations that are part of the ICC, they can be prosecuted by the ICC. The most obvious place this could expose Trump and his other officials to criminal charges is the knowing deportation of people without any criminal records to the notorious prison in El Salvador—given that country is member of the ICC. In addition, the Trump regime has deported more than 100 migrants from various nations—such as Iran, China and Afghanistan--to Panama, another ICC member nation. Some of the people Trump deported to Panama include children who were then sent a dangerous jungle camp as the NY Times reported.

Some member of the Trump Regime-- especially Kristi Noem, Thomas Homan, Stephen Miller, and Donald Trump himself-- should be prosecuted Nuremberg-style for the crimes against humanity they committed.

[lyle-and-erik-menendez]

This is false, not only did Dr Lester Summerfield from which these notes are taken not say this, he didn't even testify at the trial.

Here is a very detail description from Jill Lansing of what Dr Summerfield would have testified to. No where in this litany of events, does the topic of being 'sick' even come up.

Honestly Rebecca and Robert Rand should know better than to spread lies and mistruths in a case that is full of lies and mistruths. Kitty's psychiatrist did testify, Dr Edwin Cox, and he treated her from 1986 to 1987. His testimony can be seen on Court TV

[deluxewhump]

Pride of Princes

4. Forget Your Perfect Offering

Prev Masterlist

CW: medieval fantasy, torture mention, threat of execution, kissing, lightly implied sexual content, bed sharing, arguably dubious consent

As his physical state improved, the prince took him out of castle Blackmuir. Not far, but outside the keep, which he’d never seen since he arrived at night. Aedric showed him some of his favorite horses, who Roan fed cubes of sugar from his hand. He took him to the glass garden, a timber frame structure with walls and a roof of clear glass Aedric had commissioned for his second peaceweaver, Miline, so she could have southerly fruits year-round. Inside was an orange grove, and when Roan admitted he’d never tried one fresh, only dried, Aedric insisted he pull one from a branch and try it right there.

Despite the court undoubtedly knowing all about Roan Barrowfen’s refusal to convert, no one outside the keep gave him a second glance. Some would look at the prince, in his black and silver doublet and his kidleather boots, but that was because he was the prince. The late summer air was soft, and still warm. He thought of the raspberry bushes that grew on the southern walls of his own keep, and how they would be fit for picking now, the fruits ripe and swollen with sunlight.

As they sat on a bench in the grove, Aedric asked him questions about the reaches, about his father’s house. He wanted to know who shared his father’s stalwart loyalty to the Tercet, and who might be more inclined to the old ways. Roan was less than forthcoming, at first. If it was such a crime now, why would he implicate his own countrymen? Prince Aedric sensed the mood had grown uneasy, a little too close to an interrogation. He eased his questions. “I promise I don’t ask for any odious purpose,” he said.

Roan nodded curtly at the clarification. “Thank you.”

Prince Aedric was nothing if not clear. And Roan was starting to think he might be honest, too.

Every night, Roan found himself warm and dry in the prince’s suite, waiting for him to return. He assumed there was a litany of things that kept the prince busy during the day, though he never spoke of what. Only later would he understand what kept him out so late, returning only when it was long past dark and the candles were lit.

To avoid the scrutiny of those inside the keep, Roan took his meals at the table beneath the window in the prince’s rooms. He was afraid of wandering the keep by himself, even though the king himself had granted Prince Aedric full custody of him until his trial. The thought of recognizing a soldier, guard, or even worse, the pale-eyed cleric Alfonsus sent ice through his veins.

Sometimes it was a servant from the kitchens who brought his meals to him, sometimes a girl called Juliana, who Aedric said was Miline’s handmaid. He’d not yet met Esther, Miline, or Aedric’s young daughter, Esti. He supposed he was a prisoner on borrowed time, and it would be easier for them to ignore his presence. Perhaps Juliana was sent by Miline, just to bring back any details or gossip she could about him.

He’d begun sharing Aedric’s bed, but not intimately. He slept on the far right, and Aedric on the left, several feet between them that may as well have been a chasm, and never with the curtains drawn. Aedric insisted he sleep on the bed after he’d spent the first night on a stiff wooden couch. I won’t touch you, the prince had promised, and Roan had balked at the mere mention of intimacy between them, even if it was the lack thereof being mentioned.

But as one week turned to two, and his trial neared again, he began to wonder if Aedric might be sincere in his wish to help him. Roan still could find no ulterior motive behind his actions, unless it was some intricate court plot that was out of his reach. Aedric spoke more poorly of the Tercet clerics as the days went on, and his reasons for distrusting them were sound, even before Roan had entered the equation. This widening gap in power he’d spoken of was troubling him more than ever, and Roan wondered if maybe the stars had aligned to make him a catalyst for the prince acting in his own political best interest. If so, he’d like to curse them.

From across the vast bed, he asked, “did you intend for us to sleep together?”

“When?” came the prince’s reply.

“Before I upset the King, and everyone else. Was that your intention?”

The prince rolled in bed to face him. It was strange still, seeing him in just a loose-fitting, plain tunic. “Yes. But I thought you wanted to come. That has its own implications.”

“And did I meet your expectations?”

The prince grinned. “And exceeded them. I had no idea you’d commit treason immediately upon your arrival and then refuse to apologize.”

Roan huffed softly. He’d learned to take the prince’s jests for what they were—blunt but unserious teasing.

“You wanted a male peaceweaver, though? That was not something pushed on you for someone else’ convenience?”

“I think that would be a difficult thing to convince someone of, if they were not at all inclined,” said the prince. “I was very interested in you, specifically. They sent a portrait with that letter.”

Roan raised his eyebrows. He’d wondered these things for weeks, and it had been such a simple thing to ask, after all.

“What about you?” Asked the prince. “Do you have highly specific inclinations?”

“No. I think I might even have agreed to it, if I’d been asked. If I was not forced to convert, that is. That’s the problem. It’s not you.”

“Thank you.”

“Do you still want me in that way?”

Prince Aedric searched his eyes, a slightly crease appearing between his brows. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Because I might offer.”

The crease disappeared, replaced by a surprised exhale of laughter. “It would be well received, if you truly meant it.”

“How else would I mean it?”

“Mmm.” The prince rolled onto his back and turned his head to look at him. “You might offer it because you think I expect it, or that I will work harder to help you if you offer yourself to me in the meantime.”

“Would you?”

“No. I’m already doing everything I can think of. And some things others have thought of.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t want to tell you. Not because I want you in the dark, but because what you don’t know can’t hurt us.”

Roan’s relative ease curdled into a familiar, weighted dread. “You think they’ll hurt me again? And I’ll tell them things?”

“Not necessarily. And certainly not if I have a say in it. But… do you agree it might be best if I didn’t tell you the details?”

“Yes,” Roan said grudgingly. He was right.

“Did I sour something between us, just now?” asked the prince.

“No.” In fact, he might want it more than before. To bring back that feeling of ease, or the possibility of feeling some comfort or pleasure in this borrowed time of his. He would be shocked if Prince Aedric was rough or inconsiderate in matters of intimacy, especially considering Roan’s wounds from torture. Still, he would proceed cautiously. “How would it be, between us? If I offered?”

“However you wanted.”

Roan tamped down the nerves that wanted so much to rise. His wounds and bruises still pained him, but they were not so immediate and debilitating as they had been a fortnight ago. He could imagine enjoying Aedric’s touch, after spending time observing him, learning his disposition, his humor.

As if reading his mind, Aedric asked, “are you healed enough? Your injuries.”

He meant physically, of course. Though the other part was Roan’s larger concern. He worried his resolve would slip and he would not be able to bear a touch. The word injuries sounded wrong, too. It sounded accidental, and his were anything but.

“Can we try something… noncommittal?”

“Can I come over to you?”

Roan agreed, and the prince pushed himself closer so he was nearly touching him. “I think you’re very beautiful,” he said, and raised his right hand to touch the side of Roan’s face.

The movement was slow. He was prepared for it, and he did not flinch away. Other than the healer, everyone here had only touched him to hurt him as deliberately and strategically as they could. The prince’s hand was warm. It cupped his cheek, thumb stroking slowly near his mouth. “What would you like?” He asked.

Roan swallowed. “Is a kiss appropriate to ask?”

The prince smiled broadly. “Of course. Are you asking for one?”

Roan nodded into the prince’s hand, and was rewarded with a soft, affectionate kiss to his lips. The prince pulled back, still stroking his thumb on his face. “More?”

“Yes,” he said, and was given another, and another.

[mariacallous]

This Tuesday’s election saw the culmination of Republicans’ long-standing effort to attract people of color, with the party tapping into shared feelings of political disenfranchisement and abandonment between working-class Black, white, and Latino or Hispanic voters without college degrees. While diversifying their base was clearly an objective, Republicans also turned “equity” into a dirty word—criticizing diversity, equity, and inclusion initiatives and “woke-ism” to undermine tools Democrats have used to address racial disparities and the inequitable distribution of government resources. 

Meanwhile, racially coded language was utilized along the campaign trial, shocking some voters but rallying others who either appreciated racial tropes or were willing to ignore them in the face of economic plight. Public debates platformed racist tropes such as whether Haitian immigrants ate pets, if immigrants were taking Black jobs, and the dangers rather than the assets of majority-Black cities.

In defeat, Democrats struggled to convince working-class voters of all races that the party’s platform addresses their concerns, likely due to their very targeted focus on the issues of Black and Latino or Hispanic voters. For instance, in the weeks leading up to the election, Vice President Kamala Harris introduced an “Opportunity Agenda” specifically for Black men, including a proposal to provide “1 million loans that are fully forgivable to Black entrepreneurs and others to start a business.” This was in the face of a litany of lawsuits against racially explicit remedies for discrimination. 

Sticking to this brand of identity politics—in which individuals from specific religions, ethnicities, or social backgrounds form exclusive political alliances—may be a reason Democrats lost the race so thoroughly. 

In a social media post, writer Thomas Chatterton Williams wrote, “The fact that so many Americans of all ethnicities, geographies and colors wanted to see Democrats pay a resounding price not just for policy decisions but for a larger circa-2020 indulgence paid to so many deeply unpopular activist perspectives simply has to be taken seriously.” And a pre-election New York Times piece stated that identity politics has lost its influence since the aftermath of George Floyd.  

However, it’s evident that both political parties leveraged identity politics and racism in the 2024 election, particularly with nonracial identities such as educational level. Identity politics is central to our understanding of constituency, so its practice in many forms is not going to go away. So, rather than avoid the topic, reckoning with the racial politics of the 2024 election will help the country move forward.  

What should both parties consider moving forward? 

Through their votes, working-class voters expressed that they’re feeling pain, contradicting economists’ assertions of a supposedly strong economy. Trump already had a commanding hold of white voters at 55% in 2024, and gained significant ground with Latino or Hispanic voters (increasing from 35% in 2020 to 42% in 2024) and Black voters (from 8% in 2020 to 16% in 2024). Much of that gain came from people without a college degree. For voters who never attended college, support for Trump increased from the past election from 54% in 2020 to 62% in 2024.  

People without a college degree are a constituency; they have an identity. People of different races without a college degree—whom we loosely refer to as the “working class”—are ostensibly feeling pain. Factories that left for other countries didn’t just employ middle America white workers—they employed Black, Latino or Hispanic, Native American, and Asian American workers as well. These multiracial workers have been impacted by policies such as North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA), and they share another identity: underemployed, unemployed, and broke. Not treating them as a unified voting bloc is to miss the mark. Trump’s rhetoric tapped into this multiracial community.  

Discrimination is another source of pain, particularly for Black and Latino or Hispanic voters. Bureau of Labor Statistics data show that Black and Latino or Hispanic people face higher unemployment rates compared to white people. This is especially true for women: As of fall 2024, white women’s unemployment rate was 4%, compared to 6.2% for Black women and 5.9% for Latino or Hispanic women. Studies also show discrimination in the justice system, with Black, Latino or Hispanic, and Native American men facing higher arrest and incarceration rates for similar offenses compared to white men. And when they are arrested, they are incarcerated for longer periods: Black men are given sentences 13.4% longer than white men, and Latino or Hispanic men are given sentences 11.2% longer than white men.

Democrats’ rhetoric often treats these policy issues only as a moral ones. But one of the most difficult challenges that we face as a country is understanding how discrimination not only robs specific groups of attaining well-being, but also throttles economic and societal growth for us all. Equity is not a zero-sum game, yet Democratic and Republican rhetoric treats it as such. The proverbial pie can grow by addressing inequity across race and place. 

The quality of our social, economic, and political futures is inextricably linked to how inclusive our neighborhoods, local economies, and schools are and will become. The country can easily slip back into a recession if we’re not careful to maximize the talents of all Americans. Reckoning with discrimination isn’t divisive—it gives us an opportunity to grow as a society. 

The voting public and both parties must demand concrete policy solutions that will make all Americans economically secure. Discrimination isn’t just about hatred. It also commonly comes in the form of abandonment and neglect. Americans need and want a policy agenda that uplifts people of all races who have been denied opportunities to gain economic security to advance their well-being. The voting behavior of working-class Latino or Hispanic and Black men shows they understand this. 

Equity isn’t a dirty word to be avoided. Quite the contrary, it’s a quintessential American concept. Equity is behind the assumed level playing field that is central to the American dream. Our tax system’s ability-to-pay principle—which holds that the tax burden an individual carries should be proportionate to their wealth—is based on equity grounds. Pragmatically, that means researchers and government officials must continue to collect data that examines the distributive impacts of policy to make necessary adjustments. Researchers are often guilty of rolling their eyes at equity matters, opting for macro measures of performance and growth. This is partly why many economists downplay the role prices play in a country’s economic performance, as they often overlook how prices impact various groups differently.  

The branding of equity as divisive or even anti-democratic is clearly a political tactic to distract us from the policies the public wants and needs. Not addressing it is a form of neglect. 

Democrats and Republicans must learn how to use equity as a unifying force. This year’s presidential election is a referendum to ensure that white people in rural Pennsylvania as well as Black and Latino or Hispanic people in inner city Philadelphia have an economy that improves the quality of all their lives.   

The Republican Party may have swept the election, but if they fail to deliver on the referendum for economic security laid down by working-class voters of all stripes, they too will find themselves on the outs. Republicans will learn that avoiding the word “equity” won’t make the pain of not delivering it go away. Just ask the Democrats.