#that would absolutely be the energy he brings to the courtroom

[waitineedaname]

oh my god. wait. modern au wei wuxian where he went to prison, and when he gets out he works his ass off to become a defense attorney. he's smart as hell and loves finding loop holes and calling people out when they're breaking their own rules. he'd be a fucking menace in the courtroom.

[batsarebetterthanpeople]

BTS!! Don't Hurt Yourself

BTS: Write a dvd commentary about a passage from the fic (I cannot pic a fav so I'm just gonna give any old passage, I chose this one because I have a fun backstory about when I wrote it)(Full disclosure I own dvds but its been so long since I watched dvd commentary that I don't really remember what it's like so I'll just talk about the passage and how I made the decisions I did and how it came about, you know, the making of the passage.)

Spicy. alright I can do spicy.

Stede had always thought that a desire to hurt another individual out of malice or hatred was something that was intended to be done without their consent, that it would be dampened by the thought that the other person was into it. He was somewhat surprised to find that Izzy’s openly asking for it did not cheapen his own sadistic pleasure in giving the bastard what he deserved.

And he did deserve it, Stede decided as he pressed the head of his cock into Izzy’s tight, wet cunt. Izzy deserved to get smacked around and spat upon. Not just for the stunt with the blow job and the secret phone call, but also for calling Edward a whore, and a twat, and every other unkind derogatory thing he’d said in that courtroom and out, and for being generally an unpleasant, nasty little man that no one wanted to be around, and for causing Ed so much grief.

First of all, Bonnet, you are also causing Ed grief by fucking his husband but I digress

anyway. Backstory: This is from Chapter 7 of Don't Hurt Yourself. A chapter which I slaved away on for I think about two months, because I had written up to the point where Stede and Izzy Yaoi prat fall onto each other and Stede ends up with Izzy's tit in his hand or whatever, and I had no idea where to go from there ie how to get Stede's cock in Izzy's cunt in a way that was at least realistic enough for me to be satisfied with it.(emotional realities not physical realities, as is my right as an ofmd fic author, David Jenkins school of writing ect.) It's a problem I have with writing both Jack/Stede and Izzy/Stede, I have to seamlessly bring them from bitching at each other like they do in the show to fucking each other. Its not as easy as it sounds.

The breakthrough of the writers block came for me the same night I did magic mushrooms for the first time. My dealer told me that they would take about 3 hours to kick in (they took half that amount of time) and I was like, well I have three hours to spare so I might as well try to bang out a couple paragraphs. (it was the day I posted "why is it so much easier to write when the edible is about to kick in" It was not an edible I was waiting on. Idk why I said edible I regularly admit to drugs on here lmao.) So I managed to write a lot of the dialogue and then these two paragraphs. But the shrooms kicked in as I was finishing up the last paragraph, which meant that I ended it with some absolutely inebriated drivel about the word fuck and how it's used to convey both hate (e,g. shut the fuck up, fuck you) and sex that I had to delete when I was sober and I very rapidly lost the ability to write after that.

Anyway now that the fun back story is out of the way let's actually talk about what's happening in these two paragraphs. Stizzy hate sex! Stede and Izzy are sometimes hard to make fuck because Stede simply does not think about him, but they're also incredibly fun to make fuck. Muppet vibes off the charts especially when they're doing bdsm (which is the only kind of sex Izzy knows how to have). Miss Piggy slapping Kermit energy but they're not married.

I also tend to think Stede has a dark side. He's as mean as he is nice and he's real fucking nice. I love it when he's evil, because I'm horny about evil men. I think if Stede would think about Izzy long enough he could get dark with it (a vibe which is not incompatible with muppetry broaden your horizons for the possible.) and I think the only way to make him think about Izzy long enough is to have Izzy wrong Ed and make it clear to Stede that Ed was wronged and put Izzy in Stede's direct line of sight.

Basically, I want Stede to have hate sex and I want him to realize he's a sadist. I tried to convey that here. I think that Stede as a character has the capacity for so much love and so much hate. It's an important balance to strike when writing him, if you go too far in one direction you turn him into an unrecognizable monster (which I've seen certain people do) but if you go too far in the other he becomes an unrecognizable woobie baby which is so fucking boring dude. I hope I got across his sadist awakening well. he still needs a second one where you learn you can do it to people you like tho...

The ask meme

[solarwriting]

guns and gifts

carl gallagher x fem!reader

request: Hey! I hope I can send you a request for Karl Gallagher of Shameless. Maybe Karl and y / n were a couple before jail, and after leaving jail he came to her to ask her for forgiveness. y / n doesn't forgive him and he starts giving her gifts and apologizing every day. Then everything is at your discretion. Happy ending please💛 from @powerpuffluuvv

genere: fluff + angst

word count: 2.1k

warnings: swearing, ooc carl

posted on april 18, 2021

puppy love. thirteen year-olds holding hands and sharing stolen kisses. it was a sweet relationship that could’ve grown and matured with the two teens as they did. instead carl found himself a job on the corner and when he got caught y/n was done. fiona tried to get through to the boy, asking him to apologize but he brushed her off.

“can i please just talk to him? maybe he’ll listen to me.” y/n pleaded with the lawyer.

fiona stepped in, “it wouldn’t hurt to try it.”

“five minutes.” the lawyer relented.

y/n thanked him and rushed into the room where he sat. he squinted at her through the glasses fiona gave him. “i’m not fuckin’ sorry. i wish i was smarter about it. i wouldn’t have used chuckie as a mule.”

“you know what. if you don’t tell that judge you’re fucking sorry and that you’ve learned from your mistakes i will never speak to you again.” y/n exited the room quickly letting the ultimatum hang in the air as the door slammed behind her.

during the hearing her eyes were trained on the back of his head, hoping she could somehow will him to do the right thing. she kept her arms crossed as she leaned back. kev and v were sat next to her, waiting anxiously to see what he’d say.

“i’m going to make juvie my bitch.” as soon as he said those words, y/n sighed, getting up from her seat, shouldering her back and slipping out of the courtroom as they hauled carl away. he caught her eye before she left, she froze for a moment before shaking her head and making her exit.

time passed and she still spent time with the rest of the gallaghers, she lived across the street so it would have been hard not too. she helped take care of liam when needed and she got a job at patsy’s with fiona’s help.

the day carl came back had been a surprise for everyone, y/n was helping fiona with making dinner after a shift at patsy’s. the front door had slammed shut and, thinking it was debbie, fiona asked if she got a message about hamburger buns. y/n’s eyes shot up when a much deeper voice responded, “nah, it’s just me.”

excited, fiona rushed towards the boy, wrapping him up in a hug. hugging back, he looked up throwing a wave to y/n who was rooted in place, “hey, y/n.”

snapping herself back into reality she lurched forward wiping her hands and grabbing her things, pulling her bag over her shoulder and gripping her keys tightly she looked back at the boy as fiona fussed over his new appearance. “fuck you, carl.” she spat, slamming the back door shut behind her.

y/n managed to avoid carl at school the next day, he was too busy with “his boy” nick and his new white boy carl personality and selling illegal weapons in the bathrooms to bother her anyways. she rushed to patsy’s as soon as school ended and began her shift.

she spent the afternoon rushing from table to table, taking orders, passing out food, and pouring coffee. she was pouring coffee for a couple sitting near the front door when the bell twinkled, signaling a new customer.

her back turned to the door and her focus pointed and the coffee she was pouring she greeted the customer quickly, “take a seat anywhere and i’ll be right with you darling.” she smiled at the couple before turning around, finding herself face to face with white boy carl himself. “get the fuck out.”

y/n rushed away from him, pouring coffee for a man sat at the counter. carl followed, “please just talk to me, y/n.”

“she doesn’t want to talk to you, man.” the customer spoke up as y/n placed the coffee pot on the burner.

“what the fuck did you just say to me?” carl asked the man.

he stood up, “i told you she doesn’t want to talk. so leave.”

y/n stepped in before a physical altercation broke out, “thank so much, sir, but i can fight my own battles.” she pushed carl towards the door, “out.” she kept pushing him despite his protests, “get the fuck out. go.”

the door slammed behind them, and carl began to speak, “no, you’re going to shut your fucking mouth and listen. i don’t want to listen to you. i don’t want to talk to you. and i don’t even want to see you but that last one might be a little fucking impossible since we’re neighbors and i work with your sister so i’m going to be civil towards you but i will only acknowledge your existence when it is absolutely necessary. clear?”

carl began to protest but y/n cut him off, “are we fucking clear?” carl grumbled an agreement and y/n sighed, “good, now get the fuck out if here. i have to go back to work.”

y/n rushed back into the diner, throwing herself back into work. hoping she looked busy enough to keep the nosy man from before to leave her alone, she poured more coffee, took orders, passed out plates. until her shift ended and she could finally take the l back home.

the next run in with carl happened two days later, she was walking home from school, thankful for the day off from work when carl and nick pulled up on a bike. “y/n! wait!”

sighing, y/n whipped around, “i thought i told you i didn’t want to talk to you.”

“i have something for you.” carl explained as he got closer, y/n ignored him and started walking again, the bike quickly catching up with her. “here.”

y/n scoffed, eyeing the bag, “whatever it is i don’t want it.”

“it’s a book, debbie told me you wanted to read it.”

y/n sped up, “no thanks, already read it.” she didn’t care what book it was, she didn’t want anything from him. she took this moment to cross the street, the passing cars making it difficult for the boys on the bike to follow.

she entered the gallagher house hoping carl would be too busy to come home for a few hours while she watched liam. “i get off at nine, if anyone else comes home you’re welcome to leave but i plan on bringing something back for dinner if you want to stick around for that.”

“of course i’ll stay. me and liam are going to have a great time. isn’t that right liam?” y/n asked the toddler who nodded enthusiastically. fiona thanked her and rushed out the door.

y/n put on a movie, which liam fell asleep watching about thirty minutes in. y/n got up and stretched when the movie ended, adjusting the blanket she threw over liam when he fell asleep. she walked in the kitchen, stiff from sitting for so long. she pulled out a can of pop from the fridge and leaned her back against the fridge, using to stretch her body more.

the door swung open and carl walked in, “good you’re hear, i have something else for you.”

“whatever it is, i don’t want it.” y/n sighed into her drink.

“it’s a necklace, here.” he opened the velvet box to show her an expensive looking necklace.

she turned away from him, “no thanks.” walking back into the living room. “go somewhere else please, i have to watch liam.”

carl sighed before exiting the house with nick, who had been hanging back by the door during the exchange. he nodded to nick and the two rolled out to go do god knows what.

that night fiona came home with food, the entire gallagher clan plus kev and v enjoyed. there were enough people that y/n managed to avoid speaking to carl the entire evening. every time he tried to speak to her she’d find someone to talk to, she talked lip about something she had to do for school, ian told her about trevor, and her and debbie talked about anything.

v even pointed out the strange behavior when carl was left looking slightly dejected to fiona, who just shrugged in response.

“thank you fiona, goodnight everyone.” y/n called as she stepped out the back door. she crossed the street quickly and made it home, which as usual was empty, the rest of her family nowhere to be found.

she sighed, grabbing a beer from the fridge and kicking of her shoes as soon as she made it to her room. she threw herself back on her bed yelping when she collided with something hard. she jumped up only to see the jewelry box and book carl had bought her. she set her beer down and pulled the box open, smiling at the necklace. it was gold, with a small tear shaped pendant that held some sort of crystal or diamond.

she set the box next to her beer, which she grabbed and took sip of as she grabbed the book. it was actually something she’d been wanting, she rolled her eyes before opening it to the first page.

the next fee days followed a similar pattern, carl would stop her at school and work and even his own house to offer her gifts, which she would refuse, which would always end up on her bed at the end of the day. on a particularly rough day, y/n had enough. she was walking home from school, carl (who was alone this time) behind her, like clockwork offering another gift.

“carl, please just leave me alone. i don’t have the energy to deal with you.” y/n said not stopping. carl made a comment and y/n snapped, “god i’m not going to forgive you because you chose to go to juvie. you could have just apologized and gotten parole but that didn’t happen. and i’m not going to be your girlfriend again because i don’t even know who you are any more, this thug personality doesn’t look good on you.” y/n sighed rushing away before he could answer.

she was suddenly thankful for the day off, deciding to spend it all alone at home. it was a friday and her weekend was also free so she spent the next few days home alone. her family was gone of course, they only only seemed to show up once a month just to leave again the same day.

sunday evening y/n laid in the couch watching what was on tv when there was a knock on the door. y/n groaned, getting up to answer it freezing when carl was revealed on the other side. he looked small, he was curled into himself and he looked sad. his braids were out, soft curls in the place. “hey, y/n.” he said softly. y/n wordlessly moved out of the way to let him in.

“i’m done. no more sell drugs, guns, anything. something happened, with nick and i don’t want that to be my life anymore.” his voice cracked and y/n instinctively wrapped him into a hug, squeezing protectively. he cried into her shoulder, holding her tightly, scared to let her go.

“hey,” y/n spoke softly, running her fingers through his hair, “you’re okay. i got you.” once carl calmed down, he pulled away but y/n held onto him, hands on his face.

“i really miss you y/n. and i know i was awful before but all i want to do is be with you. i love you.” he sighed, his hands holding her wrists.

y/n pulled him closer, “i love you, too, idiot.” carl gave her a lopsided smiled before surging forward to connect their lips in a hot kiss. y/n stumbled backwards before backing into the wall behind her. carl bit on her lip softly causing her breath to catch in her throat. she tugged on his hair and he squeezed her hips. she pulled away for breath, pressing her forehead to his, “my room?” breathless carl nodded pressing a quick kiss to her lips before they rushed to her room.

the next morning the front door slammed opened, “y/n! i’m going to kill fiona!” debbie stormed through the house bursting into y/n’s room where she was laying next to a topless carl, wearing only his t-shirt, “oh my god! ew!” debbie shielded her eyes from the sight before her.

“hey, debs.” y/n mumbled, sheepishly.

debbie groaned, “just get dressed, we have school.”

[mystic-faraday]

UTIL WATCHES “TURNABOUT SPOTLIGHT”

- Collective Loosing it when Edgeworth enters and exits at the beginning

- Loving Larry Butz Hours

- Pure Joy upon Oldbag returning

- “I don’t ship Narumitsu, I ship Edgebag”

- POP OFF GUNSHOE (Gumshoe’s actor B-boying)

-Edgeworth: Gets knocked the fuck out “The Prosecution Rests” “Literally”

- Loosing their shit over Phoenix’s Japanese name

-Lots of love for Maya’s actress & costume design

- “(Maya) calls (Phoenix) Kun which means she either thinks he’s baby or that he’s less than her” “I mean Phoenix is baby, and Maya does also have the audacity, so it checks out”

- Much love of Buffalo Chikusa

- (I had to leave for a few minutes)

-“Get this man some ergonomic Desk Pads”

- “Phoenix Screamed so loud the screen went black and the captions froze” “Hylia abandoned us”

- “Bring your relationship issues into the courtroom” “As you do.”

- “Wendalyn, put the gun down” “Did you just call Oldbag Wendalyn?!”

- “Maya with a spear, what crimes will she commit” “All of them”

- “Phoenix doesn’t know the meaning of ‘Do Not Touch’” “Phoenix would look at lava and go ‘hmmm soup’”

- Entire chat relating a bit too much to the tech crew characters in the show.

- “(Phoenix) really does just touch everything”

- “I love those two (Maya and Oldbag) Together. The unhinged energy. They should hang out more”

- Judge Voice: I Do Not See It

- “I think about the fact that the more I hang out with you guys doing this, the more i’m unlikely to be picked for jury duty”

-“ The biggest fear of anyone in this universe is having Phoenix on the defense” “Or Edgeworth on the prosecutions” “God having a trial with both must be a fucking nightmare”

-Edgeworth Voice: Get on the fridge Phoenix Voice: This courtroom is a fucking nightmare

- “The world does not deserve Will Powers” “Yeah.” “Absolutely”

- Complimenting the brilliant way of doing a flashback and connecting the dots

- Phoenix accuses someone else “Isnt this the third time we’ve done this?” “That’s just how Phoenix Wright works”

- “Whats the purpose of the judge?” “To look pretty?” “To look pretty and bangs the gavel” “The Judge is a Himbo and I love him so much”

- Gumshoe: The Anti-Cop “So Gentle that you can’t help but melt in his arms”

- “Our Gay little producer is a Gay Little Criminal” “When we say ‘Be Gay Do Crime’ We didn’t mean this” “At least have a cooler crime. Like Arson” “Like burning down the police station”

- “I love how the list of defendants kept growing” “New bitches every day”

-Freaking out over the celebratory Glitter

- Edgeworth: Hmph

“Edgeworth is really like ‘Get out of my courtroom’”

“‘Alright Honey, See you at home let me know what you want for dinner’”

-Larry get his ass kicked Phoenix: Get his ass

- Collectively loosing our shit over how cute Wright and Edgeworth’s actors are during the curtain call.

[rosesisupposes]

Objections, Your Honor

Two lawyers are across the aisle in open court once more. But today something is off, and no one is happy with the result.

read on ao3

characters: mainly Logan & Janus; background Virgil, Patton, Roman, Remus, Remy, and Emile

pairings: soulmate Loceit; QPP Analogical; QPP Moceit; romantic soulmate Royality; romantic soulmate Dukexiety; romantic soulmate Remile

content tags: non-traditional soulmate AU; courtroom drama; arophobia and acephobia; shameless self-pandering with legal arguments about the MCU; gushing about QPPs; couples therapy

reader tags: @royally-anxious @jemthebookworm @arandompasserby  @sparkly-rainbow-salt @astral-eclipse​ @thelowlysatsuma @adorably-angsty @max-is-tired @almostoveranalyzed @potestessemagishomosexualitatis  @mariniacipher @vintage-squid

word count: 10,386

⁂

The day it happened was no normal day for Logan. But not, of course, because of that.

He cared because it was a trial day. Months of motions back and forth, weeks and weeks of preparation, and today was oral arguments. He normally avoided open court, particularly against such an opponent, but nothing could be done.

His case files were impeccably arranged in his padfolio, his grocery list of arguments annotated in precise writing, blue ink dotting the page with emphases and connections, his notepad prepared at his left.

He glanced to his right out of the corner of his eye at his opposing counsel. He didn't want them to see him looking. But he sneered internally at the haphazard stacks of papers spreading across the table and the garish gold ink that looped and curved across sticky notes.

The judge finally came out, and Logan stood, crisply buttoning his tailored jacket as he did so. At the signal, he identified himself clearly. "Logan Finch for the appellant, Your Honor." 

And then, from his right: "Janus Alighieri for the appellee, Your Honor."

Logan rolled his eyes internally. Janus was, unfortunately, a very familiar foe at this point. But then, they were two of the most respected lawyers in their state, with opposing specialties and reputations for innovative tactics.

Logan was self-aware. He had another reputation, too: as a black-and-white thinker, unshakable, unalterable. He preferred to think of it as a particularly strong conviction. Versus "The Snake" against him, who coiled and twisted the facts of his cases to benefit his clients.

And of course, that was the issue today - Logan strove to show that his client had a straightforward, airtight argument that should clearly prevail, while Janus found miniscule details that he said should be enough to distinguish the case at hand and make it different from previous decisions, enough so to allow the case to be decided in his favor. He'd charmed the jury at trial, and now argued against Logan's appeal.

Logan prided himself on keeping a cool head, but listening to Janus' speech just got under his skin. His neat handwriting started to get messier and messier as he furiously scribbled notes of counterarguments and responses to his opponent's points. Then Janus turned slightly, just enough to see frustration's color burn in Logan's cheek, and he smirked.

Logan barely heard the gasp from the observers behind the bar, because he'd just snapped his pen in his grip.

He looked straight ahead, somewhere slightly to the left of the judge's head, but he saw very little, his furious thoughts too loud to allow any else to be processed. But the audience was murmuring and talking, far louder than any judge usually allowed - what was going on?

A clerk from behind him hurried up to the judge's dais and whispered urgently in her ear. Logan had yet to look around, but he was slowly coming back to himself, enough to be confused at this disruption in normal procedure. He refused to look over at Janus' probably-still-smirking face.

The judge cleared her throat. "Counselors, we will recess for the day. Please join me in my chambers now."

Logan frowned, but cleaned up the broken pen and gathered his file neatly back into his leather briefcase. He didn't look over, but he heard the flurry and crinkling of papers as Janus threw his notes into his own bag. Without glancing over, Logan followed the judge to the small office at the back of the courtroom.

"Mr. Finch, Mr. Alighieri. I do hope there's a good explanation for this breach in propriety, not to mention the code of conduct," she said sternly as they both stood before her heavy desk.

"Breach, Your Honor?" Janus asked. He sounded just as confused as Logan felt.

"As barred attorneys, you are expected to know the code as well as I," Judge Kasel said severely. "No soulmates may be involved in a trial together, except as co-counsel."

Logan's ears roared. "Your Honor, I apologize, I must have misheard. Soulmates? How is that relevant-"

"Mr. Finch, don't play dumb with me - the entire courtroom saw!"

"Saw what?" Janus asked. His voice was oddly distant and strained from its normal silky tones.

Judge Kasel stared at them in disbelief. "You mean to tell me you both managed to not see that? I'm quite certain the entire county saw the glow just now, through even the back of your suits!"

"Glow?" Logan asked. His chest was suddenly very, very empty, a vacuum of air or substance, and had he not been sitting he was sure he would have fainted.

"Yes, glow, both your marks on your shoulders. Given your mutual surprise, I will assume that this was indeed unknown, and will not declare this case a retroactive mistrial. But you will both need to send in replacements from your firms."

Janus spoke up, his voice tinny. "Replacements, Your Honor? I should think even in light of this- development, only one of us would need to withdraw-"

"Mr. Alighieri, while I appreciate your dedication, I will not delay this trial for the entirety of your bonding. I will give you both 3 days to propose counsel to take over, and scheduling will proceed with them."

Oh fuck. Bonding, Logan thought, unable to speak. That absolutely ridiculous expectation.

The clerk poked her head in. "If they need to speak privately, this side office is empty."

"Yes," Logan responded robotically. "Yes, I believe we need to speak."

They filed into the small room. The clerk closed the door behind her, whispering "Congratulations!" as she disappeared.

Janus sat in one of the chairs heavily. Logan remained standing, staring blankly at the bookshelves built into the wall.

"I can't believe this," Janus said finally. "We've known each other for years, how could we possibly be...?"

"Soulmarks frequently emit a barely visible glow from proximity alone, particularly when located on skin that is generally covered. Heightened emotion or situations with high levels of stress lead to brighter glows that were invisible or unnoticed previously," Logan recited dully.

"Oh yes, how could I forget, I'm talking to Encyclopedia Brown," Janus said, rolling his eyes. "Of course you've memorized that too." He unbuttoned his suit vest dexterously despite his trademark yellow gloves, slumping forward in his chair as he threw his vest over the arm carelessly.

"At least one of us actually has a factual basis for this event, rather than us both being in the dark," Logan snapped back.

"Yeah, your vast knowledge of facts really helped! Did your misguided quest to know everything somehow miss the detail of who's your fucking soulmate?" Janus said, nearly whisper-screaming.

Logan whirled to face him, a fiery reply already on his lips, when he suddenly saw a blue light showing through Janus' white shirt, bright enough to glint off the polished chair back and off the glass of the picture frames on the wall.

He closed his eyes, breathing out slowly. "Yes. That was a detail I had not learned. It felt trivial, unable to affect my work. But now that it has, we're better off resolving this."

Janus deflated too. "Yeah. We should. If we can just get through this part, at least we'll stop glowing like horny teenagers."

Logan focused on a tiny flag displayed on the desk as he spoke, not looking over. "I know of a very respectable landlord who rents bonding apartments in the city. Nothing overdone or kitschy, no 'honeymoon' suites, just furnished apartments for indefinite stays."

"Fine. Not like we can't afford it, whatever the price."

"I have some arrangements to make at home-" Logan began

"As do I, unless-"

"Unless what?"

Janus took a breath. "How would you feel about living with a snake?"

"I rather thought that was the entire idea," Logan replied coolly.

Janus shot him a withering glare. "I mean a python, you absolute cotton-headed ninnymuggin."

"Ah, my mistake," Logan said calmly. "That should be fine. A pet, I assume? Or your chosen co-counsel?"

"Let's get one thing straight, Finch," Janus said, rising to his full height, looking down at his infuriating opponent. "I don't like you. I don't expect or particularly want you to like me. We are going to be residing together up until, and only until, our illogical marks have decided in their weird cosmic energy to stop lighting up like neon signs whenever we experience strong emotion in each other's company. I fully expect to be pissed off the entire time, which will make figuring that out easier. But you do not get to speak to me that way, or I'll-"

Logan looked up to meet Janus' eyes. "Or you'll what, Alighieri?"

"I'll report you to the bar for breaking the code, and convince them you already knew," Janus replied smoothly. "And you of all people should know- I am very persuasive."

Logan's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "Fine. And yes, you may bring your python. I'll be leaving my cat at home, however."

"Fine with me," Janus said curtly, deflating back into his normal slouch.

"I will send you the details of the landlord I mentioned. I can make the arrangements within the hour."

"Sure. Wait-"

"What?"

"How are you going to send me the details?"

Logan paused. Their only real contact over the years had been in person or by professional communications. He could hardly use a process server or subpoena to give Janus his key. "Ah. Right. Your contact information, then?" He pulled out his notepad.

Janus pulled out his gold pen and scribbled his phone number at an angle, entirely crossing the college-ruled lines. Logan cringed but took it.

"I will contact you shortly, then. And I will may sure to look for pet-friendly apartments."

Janus nodded. "Right."

"Right."

They both paused.

"Uh. See you soon, then," Janus said, and left the room abruptly.

⁂

Janus had to hand it to him - the apartment was all Logan had promised. Clean, sleek, and spacious. The landlord had even left a spare heat lamp, so Janus' sweet Monty would be comfortable.

Best of all, there were several separate rooms in the suite - two bed, two bath, and two offices.

The kitchen was also well-furnished, and came stocked with staple foods. Logan had arrived, however, with extra bags of groceries.

"I brought my own additions," he said. "The landlord is a friend, but he doesn't buy from the shops I prefer."

He proceeded to pull out several large jars of kimchi, what looked like at least a gallon of soy sauce, and various bright packages that Janus couldn't read.

Janus resolved to take pictures and look up what these things were later. Not while Logan was standing here, glaring up and over as if daring him to comment.

"I've picked the smaller bedroom," Janus informed the shorter man calmly. "Monty is set up in there, so if you're weird about snakes, just avoid it. Actually, feel free to avoid it anyway. I've got a brief to write."

Logan made a noncommittal sound in response.

Hours later, Janus emerged from his office to eat something. His brief was finished, sent off to his senior partner. He hadn’t yet told the firm about the day’s events- only that the appeal would need to be handled by another partner with his associates’ help, he needed to take emergency leave, and he would let them know soon how long he expected to be unavailable. H

e found evidence in the kitchen that Logan had prepared, eaten, and cleaned up dinner for himself.  That was fine by him. He made his own food, grabbed a bag of candy, and retreated back to his room.

The next morning, he woke up at his normal late time, stretching in the sun. The kitchen once again showed evidence of Logan's presence- particularly the currently-soaking coffee pot.

When the sun started to descend once more and Janus had yet to see his new roommate, he grumbled. Guess he'd have to be the fucking practical one.

He blew Monty a kiss for good luck and stumped down to the rooms Logan had claimed. He rapped on the door. "Finch. We need to talk."

He waited. There was silence, then a slow drag of a chair. The doors cracked open.

"Yes? What about?"

"No. We need to talk. Or, fuck, I don't know. Be in the same room occasionally."

Logan sighed deeply, and opened the door more. "Fine."

Janus went to the living room and sat on one side of the couch. Logan followed him and settled on the chair facing him.

"So." Janus began.

"So what," Logan replied flatly.

"Sew buttons," Janus replied automatically.

"What?"

"Just something one of my friends says," Janus muttered.

"Ah. So what was it you want to discuss?"

"I don't know!" Janus snapped. "But I'd really like to get back to my life, eventually, and that can only happen if we bond." His lip curled.

Logan sighed heavily. "And how, exactly, do you propose we do that?”

Janus fell silent. He had very few ideas. Pop culture made it very clear that bonding was an extremely romantic event. First kisses. Proposals. Or, in the less sappy movies, it seemed to consist purely of falling into bed together. None of which appealed in the least, particularly not with Logan.

Logan stared expectantly. "Nothing? You just pulled me out with no ideas?"

"If you're the fucking brilliant one, you come up with one then!" Janus spat out the suggestion with a glare, but then he saw it - a soft gold glow shining through Logan's tee, reflected in the tasteful mirror behind him.

They both deflated again, glows reducing down to hidden beneath their clothes. 

Logan adjusted his glasses. "I. Ah. Apologize. I realize you are attempting to resolve this issue."

"But you're right. I have no idea how to," Janus admitted.

Logan took off his glasses to rub his eyes. "Unfortunately, neither do I. Perhaps just coexisting will be enough."

"How long will that take, though?"

"I haven't the foggiest."

They lapsed into silence.

Finally, Janus suggested, "Maybe we can do our work in the same room. Set up in the dining room with all our stuff. Coexist but in proximity."

Logan glanced over. "That seems relatively painless. Let us make an attempt, then."

⁂

Logan had not had any particular expectations for how well they could share a work space.

And yet, it was still far worse than he'd expected.

Janus talked to himself. As he read, as he wrote, as he researched. Not loud, but a constant stream of soft muttering, disjointed words and full sentences. 

It was the most distracting thing Logan had ever been suffered to experience.

"Will you please be quiet," he said tightly, after an hour passed with no signs of letup. 

"What do you mean?" Janus asked.

"That infernal whispering, please, could you stop?"

Janus looked at him quizzically.

"You're talking under your breath," Logan said. He felt a headache coming on. 

"Oh, am I?" Janus asked. "Sorry. I'll be quiet."

It lasted all of half an hour, and then the muttering started again. "SCOTUS said yes but that was a city sidewalk, 2nd says no but that was Lincoln Center, hm, decoration, use, separation, intent?" 

"You're doing it again!"

Janus looked slightly guilty. "It's barely conscious, it's how I process things. Could you just wear headphones?"

"I need silence."

"Noise-canceling, then?"

"Fine. Do you own a pair?"

But the headphones didn't help. The sensation was too odd, of being closed-in, and he kept bumping then as he went to lean against his hand. Finally, Logan stood. "I'm going back to my office. This experiment has failed."

Janus' eyes narrowed. "Well, thanks for deigning to sit in my presence for a full three hours before giving up."

"I'm not giving up, this is just not tenable!" Logan insisted. 

"Well, you asked for ideas, and I came up with one. If it's not working for you, you come up with a better one. Come find me when you're done thinking, I know it could take you a while."

He stood and grabbed an apartment key, and stalked out to walk off his frustration.

As he walked, he called his best friend.

"Hey Pat, it's me."

"Jan! Hi buddy, how are you?!"

He sighed heavily. "I want to go home."

"But you only just got there?"

"Yeah, and it's going shi- I mean, badly. Really badly."

"I'm sure you'll work it out," Patton said confidently. "You're a brilliant and wonderful human, and anyone smart enough to argue against you will be able to see that!"

"Thanks, hun," Janus said. "The fact remains that I also don't like him."

Patton hummed tunelessly. "It doesn't have to be instant, Jan. These things usually take time."

"Unlike you and Ro."

"Well, yes, but that's because we were meant to be!" Patton soft, his voice taking on that soft, besotted tone it always did when he talked about his soulmate.

"Isn't the whole point that all soulmates are meant to be?"

"Well, yes..." Patton faltered. "But it doesn't have to look like us, we're just hopeless romantics!"

"I know. How's wedding planning going?"

"We started watching movies for inspiration and got distracted with a Disney marathon," Patton said fondly. 

"But you had fun?"

"Absolutely!"

"Good," Janus said, meaning it. There were very few people, in his opinion, who deserved happiness the way Patton did.

He was quiet for a moment, then asked, "Pat- what if it was a mistake? What if we just have defective marks or something?"

"I'm sure that's not true!" Patton insisted.

"It just seems like - I mean, we're not even friends. Most people get to start from strangers at worst, but we've been antagonizing each other for years, what if, I don't know. Neither of us had a soulmate and so they glitched out?"

"You just need to find some common ground," Patton said confidently. "You can't both be so passionate about being lawyers without something more in common. I believe in you, buddy!"

Janus sighed. "Thanks, Pat. Say hi to Roman for me, tell him Monty misses him."

"Will do, nephew! Call any time you need, okay?"

"Love you, Pat."

"Love you tooooo!"

Janus realized he'd circled the block and was back at the apartment entrance. He steeled himself, then went back up. He repressed the petty urge to bang open the door to disturb Logan's quiet as much as possible.

Logan wasn't in the common spaces, but emerged not long after Janus returned.

"I feel I must apologize," he began. "It wasn't my intent to denigrate how you work. It is just clear that sharing a workspace is not going to be preferable for either of us."

"Yes, I'm aware I had a bad idea," Janus said, overly patient. "Kind of an odd apology, but I accept. Can I have lunch now?"

"Yes, of course. May I join you?" Logan asked.

Janus raised a distrusting brow.

"The idea of spending time in the same space was a good one. I thought we might try a context in which we don't need to focus."

"Fine."

They prepared food around each other, both managing to bite their tongues when they needed the same counter space or cooking implements, which Janus was proud of himself for. They ate in silence.

Janus heard Logan sigh in exasperation and braced himself for yet another snippy comment. Instead, he heard an unexpected question.

"Do you enjoy superheroes?"

"To eat? No, they upset my stomach," Janus replied drily.

"I mean to watch. Superhero movies and shows."

"Occasionally, yeah, why?"

"Perhaps we could watch one this evening. At the same time."

"Sure."

And they parted to continue working on their own.

⁂

Logan had been correct that, as far as superhero movies went, the MCU was a safe choice.

In retrospect, though, perhaps Civil War had been... less so.

It had started when Steve first objected to the Sokovia Accord plan- and Logan had scoffed.

Quick as a cat’s pounce, or an adder’s strike, Janus’ head whipped around. 

“You disagree?”

Logan glanced over briefly, screen light blinking off his glasses. “Well, of course. Didn’t New York and Sokovia show that some control is needed? Lawlessness leads to more civilian casualties.”

“And yet, if supers are controlled so much that risk of liability keeps them from acting at all, casualties would be just a tad higher, don’t you think?”

Tony and Steve’s voices raised on the screen as Logan replied, “What would the difference be of the villains and heroes if they all act with complete impunity?”

“Oh, I’m sorry, did we lose mens rea when we switched over into Marvel-land?” Janus asked, voice clipped. “Isn’t the entire basis of our modern penal system based on culpability, not just the act or harm done?”

Logan looked down his nose. “Of course culpability matters. But you well know that one of the factors for absolute liability is when an act is inherently and extremely dangerous. Say, for instance, displays of superhuman force in a densely populated area.”

“So you don’t think there can be any space for personal judgment on the heroes’ behalf?” Janus asked incredulously.

“Look what that space did already! Does the name Ultron ring a bell?”

“So of course, the one who made a terrible call is the one who now wants to be restricted? That sounds like asking for the global government to save him from himself instead of taking responsibility.”

“Better that those with actual accountability be the ones bearing the responsibility!”

“Oh, yeah, and we can definitely trust this government’s judgment! A Hydra infestation was all part of the plan!” Janus’ voice was raising, far louder than the movie that still flickered on, ignored.

“There still needs to be rule of law! Steve wants to abandon it all for one person, and a war criminal at that-!”

“And that’s incomprehensible?”

“Of course!”

Janus fixed his supposed soulmate with a glare. “And you mean to tell me that there’s no one, no one, that you would be willing to burn the world down for?”

Logan opened his mouth to respond, but Janus continued quickly before he could. “No one who won’t fight for themselves, because they think they’re not worth it, but you know they’re so worth it that you would be willing to kill for them?”

Logan, about to spit out an impulsive reply, paused, momentarily speechless. As clearly as if they were sitting on the edge of the couch next to him, his best friend from childhood filled his mind. Virgil, who never believed their worth no matter how many times Logan and their soulmate Remus told them so.

Janus saw the pause and continued softly. “I’m not saying rule of law isn’t important. But the trouble with laws is they’re only as tailored as legislators make them. And they’re human, and therefore fallible. We need exceptions, for those situations that they didn’t imagine.”

Logan struggled for moment, then replied, just as quietly, “You’re right.”

Janus’ mouth fell open in shock, but just as he did, the tv’s faint blue glow throughout the room was washed over with two beacons in blue and gold, blazing from their backs.

At the sight, Logan’s face went from contemplative and open to stony. He stood abruptly and stalked off into his room. The door closed behind him with a decisive click, and Janus was left staring at the wood in confusion and anger.

⁂

“I just don’t get it!” Janus whisper-screamed into the phone. He was power walking through a nearby park, moving so fast he’d passed a skateboarder and a particularly leisurely biker. “Does he want to keep on glowing forever? What is his problem?!”

Patton made sympathetic noises in response, quite familiar with the sound of Janus in full rant mode. Roman was lying with his head in his lap, listening on speaker, so Patton was settled in to be as receptive to his friend’s complaints as he needed.

“I mean, we finally agreed on something, besides the fact that we want to get this fucking resolved, and then he just, what, shuts me out? Literally and figuratively? I literally can’t even catch him leaving to the kitchen for food now!”

Patton winced. “Not since? But it’s been two days!”

“Two and a half, yeah,” Janus replied. His voice suddenly sounded weary. “I can’t keep doing this. The trial’s going on without us anyway, I might as well just give it up and make sure I never have to argue against him again.”

At that, Roman sat bolt upright. “Janus, my dear esquire! You cannot abandon your quest! This is your soulmate!”

“Yeah, well. Maybe some soulmarks are broken. Or we just met at the wrong time. Maybe if we’d met in law school we would have been a team, but now it’s too late.”

Janus sounded contemptuous, but Patton could hear a distinct note of regret.

“Maybe...” he started, but trailed off, thinking.

“Maybe what, Pat?”

“Well, it’s just that I’ve heard of soulmates who, you know, take an abnormally long time to bond, or manage to un-bond after years together, but they can fix it. Do you remember my old roommate?”

Janus wrinkled his nose. “Patton, are you suggesting couple’s therapy? I’m fairly certain that only applies to couples.”

“Well, you’ve kinda been forced to be one, right? At least to figure out bonding? They could probably help, or at least let you know if it’s not worth the effort.”

Janus sighed. “No, you’re right, it’s a good idea. I just have no idea how I’ll get Finch to go along with it.”

“Might I make a suggestion?” Roman asked politely. 

“Sure.”

“Perhaps try calling him ‘Logan.’”

Janus rolled his eyes. “Worth a shot, I guess. Love you both.”

“Love you Jan!”

“Best of luck with the love of your soul!”

 Back in the apartment, Logan was pacing in precise squares in his bedroom. He half-expected the rug to be worn down by the repeated impact at this point. 

“L, I don’t know what to tell you, buddy,” the gravely voice on the phone said. “You really have only two options here: find a way to avoid him forever, which will probably involve having to turn down cases you’d like-“

“I bet he’d stay on them just to force me off,” Logan interrupted, growling. 

“That is a possibility,” Virgil replied, their voice overly patient. “The other option, though, is to work this out,” they continued. 

Logan scoffed.

“Lo, that doesn’t mean you’ve gotta turn into a Hallmark movie! But it’s clear this isn’t just going away, and it’s not like you’ve got nothing in common.”

Logan groaned. “Virge, I don’t-“

“I know, man. I know. But you can’t just hide in your room until he just decides to move out, which means you’re gonna have to talk to him at some point.”

Logan didn’t reply, just continued pacing. 

“You know I’m right, Lo,” Virgil said patiently. “You don’t have to say it, just promise me you’re not going to keep being a hermit, okay?”

Logan sighed. “I promise.”

“There we go. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

About to hang up, Logan heard a voice in the background and Virgil asked him to wait.  Then, “Reme wants to say hi.”

Logan let out an exasperated sigh, but he was smiling. “Fine, I’ll allow it-“

“Loooogggyyyyy! How’s the soulmate boning going? Have you figured out that you’re a power bottom yet?”

“Hello, Remus. I take it you’re well.”

“Let’s just say I’m glad you’re my brother-in-law because I may have some need for a lawyer soon.”

Logan couldn’t conceal the grin from his voice as he replied, “As I know you know, I am not a defense attorney, nor would I ever be so unwise as to take you as a client.”

“Aww, you’re such a smart cookie! And by cookie I mean a snack, because mmmm-MMMm you’re a snacc!”

“Always glad to know I’m appreciated,” Logan replied drily. “Goodbye, Virgil. Goodbye, Remus.”

“See ya, L.”

“Byeeeeeeeeeee!”

⁂

When Janus returned, he was a bit taken aback to see Logan sitting in an armchair, reading. At the sound of the door, he looked up. 

“Ah, Alighieri. I- I wanted to apologize for my behavior.”

Janus paused. It was a good sign, but still so unexpected as to be unsettling.

Logan cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have left you in a lurch. You did not cause this situation anymore than did I, and you have not been unkind. I have a suggestion for how we might move forward.”

Janus winced internally, thinking of another disastrous attempt at a movie or workspace. “I actually had a thought on that as well, but um. What was yours?”

Logan cleared his throat again. “Well, since we have been... brought into this situation together, but as a pair are struggling to adjust, it seems logical to consult with an expert, much as we would in our work. Therefore, we should consult a professional on personal relationships.”

“Oh, thank god,” muttered Janus. “Yeah, I was gonna suggest a couples counselor too. I think that would make sense. And I actually have a personal reference to a very experienced therapist.”

That settled, they found the earliest possible appointment, only two days later. 

“I do need to warn you-“ Janus said as they walked up to the office. It was their first time out of the apartment together, and it had been a very quiet walk over. “The methods of this therapist are- unorthodox. But they are highly acclaimed in their field.”

“Oh, are they an enby?” Logan asked. 

“Yes and no,” Janus replied. “You see, there’s two of them.”

“Two?”

“Yeah, they’re a couple therapist that is also a couple.”

“I don’t- well- I mean, that’s odd, right?”

Janus grinned. “Yeah, odd is a common word to describe them. But they’re highly praised and like I said, they were recommended personally.”

“Right,” Logan said, squaring his shoulders. “An open mind is helpful for effective therapy, after all.”

“That’s the spirit! I think,” Janus replied, holding the door open.

A gothy receptionist showed them to a private room with a comfortably large couch. Logan looked around in trepidation and slight alarm at the decorations. There were countless Funko-Pops, posters, stuffed animals, and an alarmingly high number of travel mugs from what looked like every single cartoon that had ever existed.

Janus was slightly more prepared then Logan, but he still jumped out of his skin by the sudden singing coming around the door. A deep voice was booming, “Duhhh duh-duh-duh-duh-da-DUH!” in a building crescendo that went on and on, until both lawyers were staring in a mixture of confusion and irritation.

Then a tall, lanky man slid in the door and lowered his glasses to wink at them both. “Hey babes. Welcome to therapy.” 

The singer followed him through the door, their bright pink hair a sharp contrast to their warm brown skin. “And thank you as always for the intro, honey!”

They smiled, big and toothy. “Welcome indeed! I’m Dr. Emile Picani, pronouns they/them, and this tall drink of coffee is my partner, Dr. Remy Picani, pronouns he/him! And you are Janus and Logan, correct?”

Logan looked a bit stunned still, so Janus took the lead. “Yes, I’m Janus Alighieri and this is Logan Finch, pronouns he/him for both. And I was referred by Patton Corwan-Augustus.” 

Emile smiled even bigger, if that were possible. “Oh Patty! Best roommate ever, I still miss his brownies. It’s lovely to meet you both!”

“Best roommate? What am I, chopped liver?” Remy asked, hand pressed to his chest. 

“Best friend, best coffee-maker, best of men and best of husbands,” Emile replied, and said husband immediately blushed.

Logan coughed politely. “Have you been married long?”

Remy smiled, still pink around the edges. “We’ve actually been married almost 10 years. The minute we graduated university, actually, when we knew our parents had not a shred left of financial control. We went through our PhDs together, which is why, of course, we’re qualified to help out other couples, because let me tell you, would not recommend.”

“Which brings us, of course, to you two!” Emile said brightly. “What is your goal in coming to therapy?”

Janus and Logan both began speaking at once.

“Well, it started in court-“

“It was completely unexpected, we’ve known each other for years-“

“-dreadfully embarrassing, not to mention the professional ramifications-“

“-it just feels like something’s missing-“

“-really want to just sort this out-“

“-just want to figure out the disconnect-“

“-and we can forget about the whole thing.”

“-want to make this work.”

They looked at each other, shocked, as their words both sank in.

Emile was tapping their Powerpuff Girls pencil topper steadily against their lips, eyes wide behind their pink-framed glasses. 

Remy, at their side, leaned back and took a long, loud slurp of his iced coffee, rattling the ice around until the room’s attention was on him. Then he looked up and said, “Hoooo-wheee.”

“So I’m getting a lot of differing goals here,” Emile said delicately. “Let’s start with you, Janus. Can you expand, please?”

Janus tried to speak, but felt like his voice had dropped into the cold pit that was suddenly his stomach. “I, um,” he started with a shaky breath. He barely noticed when Remy pushed a cup of ice water into his hand, but a sip steadied him somewhat.

“You can look just at me, if that helps,” Emile said softly. “Or at my buddy Kaa here.” They gestured to the stuffed snake on the shelf behind them. 

He looked like a fuzzy little Monty. That would do. 

“Thank you, Doctor,” Janus said, acknowledging the water from Remy. “So. We’ve been rival lawyers for years, because we’re both the best at what we do. It was shocking, to suddenly be glowing in open court, but I thought we just needed to find common ground that’s not arguing. That’s why I’m here, at least.”

“And Logan?” Emile asked, still in that kind voice. Logan wouldn’t meet their eyes, though, or anyone’s.

“I thought- we both seemed so upset by the news. Or at least, I was, and perceived you to be as well.” He didn’t look up as he addressed Janus, but his eyes shifted over and took root on Janus’ polished loafers. “My plan was to spend whatever time was needed to stop glowing, then get back to our respective lives.”

“Do either of you have a question you’d like to ask of one another?” Remy asked. “It can be as large or small scale as you’d like, serious or frivolous.”

Both men looked up at the lanky therapist, who’d actually removed his dark glasses, revealing slightly foggy-looking irises. “Logan, it looks like you have one.”

“Oh- yes. So, Alighieri- I mean, Janus. To be clear- you were not upset by the news?”

Janus took a breath. “I mean, I was shocked, and upset to be removed in the middle of a case. But not about the soulmate thing, specifically. And I have a question too?” He looked to the therapists, who both nodded.

Janus looked over, and saw the Logan was watching him in his periphery. “When you say you were upset about the news- was it about the soulmate thing, or about me as your soulmate?”

Logan actually sat up, looking shocked. “Oh, goodness gracious. Absolutely about the concept of ‘soulmate’ in general, not personal in any way. Did I-?”

“Well, yeah, a bit,” Janus said.

“I am- I am so sorry. I would have absolutely have been equally upset, no matter who I found to be an accidental soulmate.”

Janus felt his stomach unclench just a bit.

“Logan, what about soulmates in general upsets you?” Emile asked.

Logan’s mouth pressed into a thin line, and he stayed silent for a moment, then two. Finally, he said curtly, “I never asked for one. And no one asked if I wanted one, either.”

“No one asked if I wanted to be trans, and yet here I am,” Emile said with a cheeky grin. “We don’t always get a say over the circumstances of our birth.”

“But Emmy, you’ve found self-acceptance and happiness deriving from coming out,” Remy put in. “Logan, were you content with life before this reveal?”

Logan nodded. 

“So there was no sense of dysphoria prior, or absence of a euphoria that was gained since.” 

Again, Logan nodded.

“Couldn’t-“ Janus began. His throat felt a bit stuck. “Couldn’t there be something to be gained, though?”

Logan picked up a small figurine of Dexter from the table next to the couch, and fiddled with it in his lap as he spoke. “It’s not impossible, there could certainly be gains from a better acquaintance with you. But that’s not what a soulmate is supposed to be, is it? They’re supposed to complete you,” he said, his voice dripping in disdain. “Because you were incomplete before. Because you weren’t enough, alone, you were just waiting for the One. And of course, you can’t be trusted to find them yourself, some cosmic force determines it for you.”

Remy rested his hand in his hand, elbow propped on his knee. “Spill it, sis.”

Logan stared in confusion. 

Remy smiled. “It means, approximately, ‘continue, you’ve got something good to say’. I’m getting a lot here- but a lot of the frustration seems to be with the idea that forces you can’t control are messing with your life, is that fair?”

Logan shifted. “Well, yeah, but that makes me sound like a control freak.”

“Not at all,” Janus interrupted. “Of course you don’t want something incomprehensible to make decisions for you. That’s not controlling, that’s perfectly understandable and human!”

Logan managed a small smile in response.

Emile beamed. “I couldn’t have said it better myself!”

“But I am def gonna poke some holes in your thought bubble,” Remy said cheerfully. “Starting with this: what do you mean when you say a soulmate is intended to be The One?”

Logan stared in disbelief. “Come on. Really? Look at, I don’t know, any piece of media ever. Or at you two. Or at my- friend and his husband. Or any other pair of soulmates!”

Janus added, “I mean, that’s what’s intended, right? With the whole ‘marked from birth’ thing?”

Emile looked at them both very seriously. “Did you know that Remy isn’t The One for me?”

“But he’s your soulmate?” Janus gasped out.

Emile nodded gravely. “He is my soulmate. But he is not my only soulmate.”

“I was designated female at birth to very traditional parents. They wanted me to marry my soulmate at 18, like they had, and they assumed he’d be a man. But my other soulmate was a girl, and I loved her with all my heart. And when I realized I wasn’t a girl, I thought my parents might accept us more. I was wrong.” They took a breath. “We were separated. I don’t know what happened to her. But it was enough to know that my parents didn’t care about my happiness, soulmate or no.”

“I’m so sorry,” Logan said quietly, and Janus nodded, swallowing a lump in his throat. 

“I was lucky, though,” they continued. “I found Remy only two years later. And he accepted me as I am, both my gender and my other soulmate. And the cartoons, of course.”

“I never got to meet her,” Remy said. “So we will never know if she was my soulmate, too. I choose to believe she wasn’t. I think she could have been Emile’s one and only, had they been able to stay together. And that doesn’t make me feel any less lucky to be Emile’s husband, nor any less loved by them.”

“And not to shock you even more, but not all soulmates are romantic,” Emile said. “I know that’s the media portrayal- but well, the media is also pretty straight. And cis. And white. And neurotypical. And-”

“What they’re getting at,” Remy interrupted, “is that common portrayals miss a lot of the variety and complexity of humanity as a whole, let alone the complexity of relationships.”

Logan was sitting very still, and not speaking. Janus was trying to wrap his mind around this, and spoke with uncharacteristic uncertainty as he asked, “So- for instance, um, you could have soulmates who are, uh, queerplatonic partners?”

Logan’s head snapped up, staring at Janus with wide eyes.

Remy grinned. “Yes, of course! I was worried I was going to have to do a vocab lesson, but you both seem to know what that is.”

“But-“ Janus began, brows furrowing.

“But that means-“ Logan muttered to himself.

“Why isn’t he my soulmate?” Janus asked, at the same time Logan asked, “Why aren’t they my soulmate?”

Lit by the twin glows reflecting against the wall, the therapist couple exchanged a pregnant look. Emile reached out and took a hand of each patient. “I know this is a lot to process, but I really want you to keep something in mind: a soulmate is not the only way we can love someone. It’s not the ‘best’ way or only valid way to love someone. The same way the platonic love you clearly both hold for a significant person in your life is no less valid than romantic.”

Remy sat up straight. “I want you both to think about this when you go home. Your love for your QPPs is wonderful, and worth cherishing. And I know you are both lawyers, so here’s a question for you to brief. We cannot know the actual intent of whatever force gave you marks that respond to each other. So I want to you look for what evidence there might be, in each other, for your connection.”

Emile added on, “You have a link, and it’s worth exploring. It doesn’t have to ever be more important, more meaningful than another connection you have. But understanding it is critical to bonding successfully.”

“I think we should wrap there, for this week,” Remy added. “But you can talk about this, of course, without us.”

Janus and Logan nodded, and left. The walk home was as quiet as the walk there had been, but this time the air thrummed with thoughts and ponderings.

⁂

Janus and Logan made dinner with relatively little talk, only quiet asks to pass a spice or a cooking implement. It wasn't an uncomfortable quiet, but one where their minds were far too loud to vocalize just yet.

Janus quietly suggested putting on TV, and picked the game show network as a neutral, unobjectionable option.

They ate as they watched, still burdened with their own thoughts, but slowly started to murmur the correct questions under their breath before the Jeopardy contestants were able to.

Final Jeopardy, as luck would have it, was on Latin - but specifically, Latin as used in law. Both attorneys chuckled at the contestants' answers, some of which weren't even close to correct.

Janus directed a cautious smile in Logan's direction, and found it reciprocated. But as he saw that familiar glow start to reflect off the walls, he tensed, waiting for Logan flee once more.

For the first time, though, he didn't. His eyes widened as he took in the lights, but he didn't move to stand or leave.

"About today-" Logan began. "I don't know that I am quite ready to discuss it all, but I did want to once again apologize for my handling of this situation, and its emotional impact on you. It was entirely unintentional, but I regret causing you distress."

"Thank you," Janus replied softly. "And thank you for being willing and open to go to counseling. I learned a lot today, all of it important."

"I'd like to talk about it tomorrow, if you'd be willing," Logan added. "There are some additional details I need to share, but I don't think I'm able at the present moment."

"Sounds good," Janus nodded. "I'm going to turn in for the night. Sleep well."

"You as well."

But despite feeling tired, Janus found he wasn't at all sleepy. He ended up sitting up until the wee hours of the morning, stroking Monty gently and thinking a great deal.

⁂

The next morning, Janus woke up much earlier than his usual habit, but he needn't have worried - Logan was clearly waiting for him in the kitchen, sipping coffee and idly solving the entire Sunday crossword.

He looked up at the sound of Janus' door, and indicated the mostly-full coffee pot with a nod. Janus gratefully filled a mug for himself and lightened it thoroughly with cream, drinking deep as he stood angled so that he could offer critique and suggestions on the crossword.

"No, shush," Janus said, though Logan had not spoken. "It's gotta be White. Y'know, Betty? C'mon. Most-loved Gold? It's obvious."

Logan just smiled and penned in “White” in the horizontal boxes, immediately able to fill in the Down clues crossing them.

Once the puzzle was complete, Janus refilled his coffee and sat properly at the kitchen island. 

"So, if you're amenable-" Logan began. "I believe I'm prepared to discuss yesterday in more detail."

Janus nodded. "Did you want to start off?"

"Yes, I think I must. Because there was one detail that I wasn't quite prepared to share that I think will be quite helpful in securing a full understanding."

At Janus' encouraging nod, Logan closed his eyes to take a breath, and said, "The truth is, I'm an aromantic asexual. That's why the concept of a soulmate was so upsetting to me, particularly because up until this week I had assumed I didn't have one."

Janus looked down. "I'm ace, too, but not aro, and... yeah, same boat, mostly. I thought I wouldn't have one, but when we started to glow, I assumed it must be romantic. But that must not be the case."

Logan tented his fingers together. "So you're not aro, but you do have a QPP?"

"Yeah - I definitely can experience romantic attraction, but what I feel for Patton has always been stronger, and different."

"I'd like to hear about him, if you'd be willing," Logan said softly, and was rewarded by a smile that seemed about to glow as brightly as his soulmark on Janus' face.

"Oh, he's just the best," Janus gushed. "I met him at the perfect time in my life. I'd just been dumped by an asshole because he couldn't deal with the fact that the asexual part wasn't just me being a tease. I was feeling pretty low, post-college, all alone in a new apartment, and then this beam of sunshine turns out to be the kind of neighbor who brings cookies as a greeting. Even though I wasn't exactly receptive, he just kept coming back, even just to check up on me, and soon I found myself looking forward to it, and then inviting myself over in return."

Logan paused. "Wait, your ex broke up with you because you were ace? Was it a surprise?"

Janus rolled his eyes. "No, not in the least. I'd told him, and reminded him, and he'd just been assuming I would 'get over it,' the fucker. Right after the breakup, there were times I wondered if he was right, if I should have just powered through my repulsion to make him happy. But Patton was amazing about that, too. When he heard what happened - oh my goodness, he was so angry on my behalf, he looked like he was going to Hulk out. And then he made it his mission to make sure I was being validated in my identity and knew that I was eminently lovable both in spite of and because of my aceness."

Logan smiled. "That's wonderful. I can see why you love him so much."

Janus sighed happily. "And it hasn't changed even though he's met his allo soulmate. Roman knows that our bond isn't and will never be a threat to theirs, and he makes Pat so happy. They're planning their wedding right now, but they've already signed all the papers and it'll just be a party where they gush about each other in public."

Janus sat for a moment, basking in the glow of his affection for Patton, before he turned to Logan and asked, “You have a QPP too, right?”

“I do,” Logan said, a smile stretching across his face unconsciously. “Their name is Virgil. And they’re also married to their soulmate.”

“Tell me about them,” Janus said, when Logan fell silent. 

“They’re- they are just amazing. They’re my best friend, have been since about fourth grade. ” Logan’s eyes went a bit misty as he considered his childhood. “We bonded over being surrounded by idiots, after a debate simulation where we were on opposing sides.”

Janus smirked. “You mean I’m not your first? I’m heartbroken.”

Logan shot him a glare, but it had none of true anger’s heat.

“I guess we always had the feeling that we weren’t quite like everyone else. Besides the introverted tendencies, it wasn’t really a shock when they came out as nonbinary. They’d been online, discovering new terms, and in learning about their identity I ran into the aro and ace labels. I felt seen, do you know what I mean? And then Virgil just compounded that feeling by immediately understanding and accepting me. They call me a brother, just to explain that our relationship isn’t “just” friends.”

“What was it like when they met their soulmate?” Janus asked. 

“It wasn’t nearly as smooth as your experience seems to have been,” Logan admitted.

“Their husband is... unique. Prone to rather odd fixations and interests. But he’s also demisexual, and like us, had thought he wouldn’t have a soulmate. And part of his defense mechanism against that kind of rejection was, well. Embracing his off-putting side. Being disgusting for the sake of it. Grossing out others before they could judge him for his orientation.”

Janus grimaced. “I know that feeling, all too well. Donning a mask, so that a rejection won’t be of you, just your persona.”

“Exactly,” Logan said, nodding. “I don’t think it helped that both Virgil’s and Remus’ soulmarks were in their hair. They’d both dyed their hair many times over the years, but it wasn’t enough to hide it. And once they had shown up- there was no more pretending.”

“Was it hard for them?” Janus asked. 

“Accepting it was. But then they started actually talking and then it just- clicked. All those macabre interests that overlapped, the mutual obsession with MCR. They fell in love the minute they both let their walls down. And like you said- it never really changed what I had with Virge. They didn’t meet Reme until college, and didn’t get married until last year. So Virge told Reme that I was here to stay, and part of their life, and he accepted it without a blink. He’s a forensic archeologist now, to Virge’s forensic detective, so they’ve actually both been helpful in cases, too.”

“That’s... kind of adorable, in a weird way,” Janus said, scrunching his nose. 

Logan chuckled. “‘Adorable in a weird way’ is the best possible description for their relationship.”

Janus tapped his finger on the island. “That sounds so familiar, though, and I can’t quite place it.” He closed his eyes, murmuring under his breath. “Wait! Is Virgil’s husband an Augustus?”

“That was his surname, yes, though now it’s Angelico-“

“Oh my god!” Janus burst out. “That’s Patton’s brother-in-law!”

“What?”

“Roman Augustus! That’s his soulmate’s name! And he had a twin, but they had a falling out and haven’t been in contact for a couple of years. But he said he’d been in forensics!”

Logan blinked. “Well, it is certainly a small world. Not that Remus has ever talked about his brother, but I knew he had one.”

“That’s kind of crazy. What are the chances?” Janus asked, laughing. 

Logan looked pointedly over. “Do you really want to know? I could calculate them-“

“Thanks, calculator watch, but I’m good.”

They both chuckled quietly, sitting side by side at the kitchen island. 

“Hey, uh- thank you for trusting me, with the other day, and with this,” Janus said softly. 

“I owe you thanks as well,” Logan replied. “I don’t frequently have the opportunity to talk about Virgil in detail and it’s- it’s nice.”

Janus just beamed, returning the sentiment without words. 

In that moment, the sunlight of the room was tinged with colored light, gold and blue overlapping into rich emerald.

Logan hesitated, seeing it, but after a moment lifted his arm. Janus smiled and leaned in, accepting the offered side-hug.

“Hey Finch- I mean, Logan?”

“Yes Janus?”

“I may not be sure yet why we’re soulmates, but I’m definitely not disappointed that we are.”

A beat.

Then a soft murmur replied, “Neither am I.”

⁂

Later that afternoon, Logan returned from stocking up on more food to find Janus lying upside-down on the couch, lanky legs dangling over the back. His face was red enough to show that he’d been sitting there for a while as the blood rushed downward.

“I cannot imagine that is at all comfortable,” Logan commented drily, neatly putting away the packets of noodles and snacks he’d purchased.

“It helps me think,” Janus replied. “Especially when I’m trying to see something from another perspective.”

Logan’s eyes narrowed. “This better not have been a set-up just to make that terrible pun.”

Janus looked over, grinning. “It actually started that way, not gonna lie. I’d been venting to Patton about an oral argument simulation in law school and he suggested this as a joke. And then it actually helped.”

Logan huffed in what sounded suspiciously like a muffled laugh and came to sit more normally in a chair next to the couch. “So what is it that you’re trying to change your perception of so literally?”

“Our case, actually - Gomex.” At Logan’s quizzical look, he replied, “The partners aren’t letting me onto new cases until they know I’ll be back in person. I’m getting bored. So I thought, you know. Why not figure out what I was missing in this one.” He shrugged, an odd contortion for an inverted torso.

“You were missing something? But you won at trial.”

“And I was caught off-guard by your appeal - or at least, the part where it survived my motion to dismiss.”

Logan allowed himself a satisfied smirk. “Surprised you with my impeccable research, did I? All my rock-solid precedent pointing out the clear error in the original jury instruction?”

Janus’ legs kicked idly in the air. “Your research is always impeccable. Of course you were able to find precedent on-point for the general issue, you’re good at this. But the facts of the case are just so different that how could any of those past rulings be definitive?”

Logan leaned back in his chair, tapping the arm pensively. “Wait, so you really believe that? It wasn’t just a tactic to make Gomex feel like they’re getting their money’s worth for your legal fees?”

Janus finally righted himself, sitting upright with a leg balancing on the coffee table. “Well, yeah , of course I do. I don’t take the time and effort to go to trial for bullshit unless the client can’t be talked down from combat mode. Racking up charges for unnecessary trial prep is only fun when they don’t take my advice.” He looked quizzically at Logan. “So you really didn’t see the difference between Gomex and, what, Sourgoutsis?”

“No material difference, no. It’s in the right circuit, it’s recent and binding, and it established a test that clearly applies here.”

“But the test requires knowledge!”

“Knowing includes reckless disregard for the truth, and Gomex had that.”

“Oh, you can hardly say it’s reckless when all the claims were paid without issue for a decade!”

Logan leaned forward, counting off points on his fingers. “The guidance is updated each year. The commentary points out the changes. Gomex has to certify as a company that they accept all current guidance and direction. If they didn’t actually know they were submitting false claims, they should have known, and had a duty to know.”

Janus’ eyes were flashing, but more with excitement than anger. “But even the commentary didn’t clarify that these specific claims would no longer be accepted in the future. Doesn’t the agency have a duty to be clear about changes in accepted policy when the code is so vast and companies used past claims as standards for future approval?”

“But the companies are the experts in their own industries. They should know that these kind of differences are significant and material.”

Janus sat up fully straight, pointing enthusiastically. “That’s it!”

“What’s it?”

“I figured it out! It is a matter of perspective. But not the perspective of side versus side, like I was thinking. It’s time.”

Logan leaned in, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Expand, please.”

Janus nodded, mirroring Logan’s pose even as his hands remained free to gesture. “So you’re looking at this as: company knows their procedures best, they’re the ones making profit off it, so their duty to know details is higher than the public agency. Right?”

Logan nodded.

“Here’s where I’m coming from - it’s not a question of if this company knew or should have known this distinction, or even if this industry has the expertise that the agency lacks. It’s about what this case would do to the Sourgoutsis test for cases in the future. If the agency doesn’t have to clarify a policy change now, why would it ever? If it’s not enough that companies rely on a long history of approval here, when will it ever be? Do you follow, Logan?”

Logan linked his fingers, tapping the tips of his forefingers gently. “So your concern is about using a history of compliance as evidence of good faith?”

“Exactly, yes.”

“But Gomex knew that the change meant the compliant history was no longer relevant.”

“Only because they had insider knowledge of the change process. Not from the public information.”

“Wait, so you agree that Gomex knew?”

Janus grinned sheepishly, baring all his teeth. “Well, we’re both off the case now, so- yeah. They knew or should have known their claims would get rejected and banked on the agency not noticing for just long enough.”

Logan gasped. “But you still went into court and got the jury to agree with you that they didn’t!?”

Janus shrugged pragmatically. “It’s not about Gomex, it’s about the precedent this will set. I’d rather one bad actor get away with it now than have who-knows-how-many claims get screwed in the future for a good-faith misunderstanding.”

“Especially if that bad actor is paying you millions to help them get away with it?” Logan asked with an eyebrow raised.

Janus raised one of his own. “So you’d rather let a bad test become binding because the agency is paying you millions to get it set in stone?”

Logan, about to respond hotly, paused. “I suppose that’s a fair assessment. I didn’t think it was that bad a test until now - I assumed the insider knowledge would be baked into the standard.”

“You gotta think cynically, Mr. Finch,” Janus said with a chuckle. “Picture the worst-faith application and work backwards from there, cause you know it’ll end up happening.”

“Hmm,” Logan said with a quiet laugh. “When you’re right, you’re right.”

Janus fluttered his lashes. “The great Logan Finch thinks I’m right about something. My life’s goal is achieved.”

“Hey, I think you’re correct quite a lot!” Logan objected. “Infuriatingly precise and pedantic, sure, but ultimately right. There’s a reason my firm sends me against you - no one else wants to fight what’ll be a losing battle half the time.”

“Only half?”

“Even you must admit I’ve been correct on more than one occasion,” Logan said with a smile.

“That is true,” Janus admitted. “Knowing that you’re going to be the opposing counsel always makes me up my game.”

“The feeling’s mutual,” Logan said wryly. “I’d never admit it to the other partners, but you make me a better lawyer, Janus.”

The flattered glow of Janus’ grin was immediately dwarfed by two other, brighter bursts of light. Gold and blue pulsed from their backs in a flash, then settled into steady light. The colors lit the stylish room, blending to emerald as they pulsed in time with each man’s heartbeat. Logan looked at the glow reflected on the white couch cushions with wonder as he realized that Janus’ back  was no longer shining blue, but green. He caught his eyes and realized his own glow must have changed colors as well.

The lights pulsed more and more gently until they dimmed and went out, leaving Janus and Logan sitting across from one another just as the last of the sunlight fell below the horizon and the room went dark. 

The silence stretched for several moments, until Janus finally broke it with a bemused, “Huh.”

“So that was-”

“I think so.

“So now we’re-”

“Bonded, yeah. I think.”

“That would be a logical assumption.”

The silence returned, each man lost in his own thoughts. When they spoke again, it was at once.

“Maybe we should-”

“Perhaps we could still-”

“-make sure it’s permanent?

“-take a few days more?”

They shared a grin.

“A couple more days couldn’t hurt,” Janus said. “After all, it could be a fluke. We wouldn’t want to set a standard from a mere fluke.”

“Oh, of course not,” Logan responded with the same tone of amusement. “We want to confirm the integrity of the test.”

Janus stood to flick on a light, then turned as a thought occurred. 

“Wait, Logan - even once we go back, we won’t be able to be opposing counsel anymore. The soulmate code will still be applied, even though we’re not romantic or QP soulmates.”

Logan’s face fell for a moment, then lit up once more as he stood. “Well, we’ve got a couple days at least. I think the two best lawyers in the state might be able to argue that every precedent has an exception, don’t you, Mr. Alighieri?”

Janus’ smile mirrored Logan’s own as he replied, “Why yes, Mr. Finch, I think we might.”

[detectivesvu]

A Long, Hard Road

—

Rafael Barba x Fem. Reader

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 1,283

“Then why do I feel like I didn’t do enough?”

—

Not guilty. The jury convicted him as not guilty. The bastard that you have been prosecuting for almost 4 months was apparently proven not guilty. The last 4 months of your life had revolved around burying this guy and making sure he never saw the light of day again.

Rafael, being very experienced with this sort of thing, had been so patient with the whole situation. It had taken a toll on your relationship, for sure. The long hours at your office and the early morning hearings had dragged you away from your precious long-time boyfriend, and he had not once complained. He was upset that he hadn’t really seen you and he missed you so badly, but he knew how invested you were in this case. And he knew this guy was guilty and the family needed justice.

He had been keeping up with the case (as as well as prosecuting his own) and he knew that today was closing arguments and verdict day. You had actually let him skim over your closing argument and he seemed very impressed with it. He was nervous for you, but had been confident that you would get the verdict you were fighting for.

It wasn’t until he tuned in to the news channel where his heart sank in his chest when he read the headline. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. It wasn’t until a few moments later when he saw the man you had been busting your head to put into prison walk out of the courthouse as a free man. He clenched his fists at the sight. He felt a painful sting in his chest when he saw you walk out of the courthouse shortly after looking defeated and angry.

Reporters swarmed you like flies to honey. They bombarded you with questions (none of which you could legally answer). You left them with one simple statement;

“I displayed the evidence, I presented the strongest argument any counselor could argue, and I fought for justice. As far as I’m concerned, that man is still the same guilty bastard from 4 months ago.”

Rafael sighed heavily. He knew you would get in trouble with the DA’s office for talking to the press straight out of a courtroom. He knew you were upset. You had every right to be. He turned off the TV in his office, feeling that familiar queasy feeling he always felt when a criminal got off the hook. He sat at his desk in silence, until he heard a light knock on his door about twenty-five minutes later. He granted access and the door slowly opened. He was a little stunned to see you enter his office.

He had been planning to see you at home later that evening. But truthfully, you needed to see him. Your face was expressionless, much different than what he saw on the news just a half hour or so before. That spooked him. He looked at you and you looked at him silently. Not even sure of what to say. You closed the door behind you;

“Oh, Rafael,” You said feeling your voice begin to shake, “I lost...”

While he wasn’t surprised by this information, it still broke his heart to hear you say it;

“I know, I saw. [Y/N], there wasn’t a thing more you could’ve done.” He said honestly as he got up from his desk to approach you.

If you had lost a more average case, one that didn’t last nearly as long, you would’ve been angry but eventually get over it after a couple of days. This was evoking a totally different feeling. You had been at it for months. Organizing evidence, creating arguments, bringing witnesses. You hadn’t slept a full night in those long months. You had focused on giving this case everything you had. And it still wasn’t enough.

“I missed something,” You said ignoring his statement, “I had to have missed something,”

“Mi amor...” He began to say but your rambling cut him off.

“I had the most solid, concrete argument I’ve ever had. I had the strongest evidence on my side. It should’ve been a textbook win,” You said feeling your hands begin to shake, “There was something the jury needed to hear or see that would’ve changed their decision. There’s no way I should’ve los-“

“[Y/N]!” He said sternly grabbing your shoulders, “Honey, it’s over. There’s nothing left with this case,”

You sighed heavily feeling the tears well in your eyes;

“I thought I had it.” You said feeling dejected.

Rafael took your hands into his, tears streaming your face.

“We all did,” He said wiping the tears from your cheeks, “You did the best you could do. I’m proud of you,”

You didn’t offer any kind of smile and continued to cry;

“Then why do I feel like I didn’t do enough?” You questioned, your voice croaky and cracked.

He sighed softly. A question that every good lawyer asked themself when losing a case. A question he had asked himself many times before;

“Because you’re damn good at what you do. And honestly, you look like exhausted.” He said truthfully.

You sniffed as you let out a weak laugh;

“Oh, what’s worse than a lawyer who’s a sore loser?” You asked jokingly.

Rafael shrugged;

“A lawyer who doesn’t care.” He spoke gently.

He kissed your forehead softly before you moved to sit in the chair in front of his desk. He was right. You were absolutely drained of any and all energy. This had taken absolutely everything out of you and you knew it would take a little while to get back to normal. He returned back to his spot at his desk before speaking again;

“So, what’s your next move?” He asked carefully.

You rested your head in your hand;

“I have been given strict instructions to take the next several weeks off,” You said flatly; “I’ve already gotten an angry phone call about my little outburst I had in front of the reporters.”

He gave a single nod as he continued to listen;

“Will it make you feel better if I tell you, honestly, that I would’ve said the same thing?” He asked.

You laughed weakly;

“No, but I appreciate you saying that.” You replied.

He smiled sadly, looking down at his desk. You needed time to process everything. It was going to be a hard next couple of weeks.

“I don’t know what to do now.” You said simply.

He looked back to you, getting up, and walking back to your side once more;

“You need rest. You need time to bounce back,” He stated; “Then when the time comes, you’ll be back and you’ll be better.”

You nodded with understanding. A few weeks off sounded nice now that you thought about it;

“Thanks, Raf.” 

“For what?” He asked.

“For being there for me. You always know what to say.” 

He grinned sheepishly;

“I don’t know about that, but I do know you’re going to be okay,” He stated; “I love you.”

“I love you too,” You responded immediately; “I guess now it’s time I make it up to you. I’ve canceled on a lot of dates recently.”

He chuckled and shook his head;

“We can worry about that later. For now, I want you to go home. Get some sleep. I’ll see if I can get off early and we can have dinner at home.” He suggested.

That sounded that heaven on Earth. A bed and a good meal. You agreed to that and you were then on route back to your home. He was proud of you and you deserved a break.

He just wished it was under better circumstances.

[sanders-semantics]

Lies (like fire in my throat)

Also on Ao3!

Tws: self depreciation, food mention, mention of manipulation. Please tell me if you find more!

For Janus, lies came in flavors. Each person had a different flavor. That flavor, just like their name, was a kind of identity: unique and hard to replicate exactly. Small ones could be hard to pick up, but the worst ones were unmistakable.

Virgil’s were a saltiness that burned the roof of his mouth and lips.

Logan’s tasted sour, like they had been left in the heat for too long, festering with no one to notice they were there.

Roman’s were spicy and made him want to cough. They slashed their way into his lungs, clawing at his throat. They hurt physically more than anyone’s.

Patton’s were sickly sweet, like he had used too much sugar to hide the burnt truth.

Remus’ were slightly better than the others, possibly because he rarely lied. They were strong and metallic, something that should never be tasted, yet here they were in Janus’s mouth.

But the worst, even against Roman's, were his own.

One lie at a time wasn’t terrible. It was a twinge of bitterness, always at the tip of his tongue, waiting for an opportunity to escape. Those were white lies. They came easily and without guilt, ready to defend whenever they were needed. He was used to them, and he even welcomed them, especially when he knew that they were only for protection.

Both those were the simple ones.

White lies and sarcasm were shallow, one-off things.

It was always the webs that got him; the messy, uncomfortable traps of mangled truths and desperate lies that made him want to gag. Each word coated his throat in something so vile that it made him want to retch, but he knew he couldn’t. That would ruin the lie, and then it would have all been for nothing.

Janus had always found it ironic that he could barely stomach the biggest lies. Even if his tasted the worst, the others’ still put up one hell of a fight, too, and it could annoy him to no end.

Like at the trial.

Roman had wanted — obviously — to go to the call back. And it wouldn’t have done Thomas any harm. Janus was sure of it. It would have been good for Thomas, good for Roman, good for all of them. There was no use of Roman lying to them all, then, since the lie would have ended badly. And it had.

The burn had started off almost nice. It was so rare that Janus actually had to taste Roman’s lies that it was surprising, but not bad. The burn brought

Roman down to Janus’s level a little, and he privately relished someone actually agreeing with him, even if he knew it was fake.The burn felt good.

The burn meant he was getting his way.

But then it changed.

The verdict was passed, and that little twinge turned into a raging fire. He couldn’t help but scream in frustration because it wasn’t fair. Roman had been agreeing with him, right? Everything was going right, everything was going to turn out fine.

But then that lie.

Roman saying that it would be better to go to the wedding was so wrong and so unnecessary. It wasn’t protecting anyone, except maybe Patton, though it had harmed him in the long run, too.

The pain was for absolutely nothing.

Janus’s pain, for one, but also Roman’s.

It was only hurting them.

Why couldn’t they understand?

Didn’t they see that he was trying to help them? He was self preservation, after all. He was supposed to help. It was his job, his function. It was his purpose.

But then they were all yanked out of the courtroom illusion. Janus let out a strangled scream, partially in anger and partially in agony as he waited for the fire to die down. As soon as he could speak again, he had tried once more to change their minds, once more to make that lie go away because it wasn’t protecting anyone. But Roman had decided, and so had Thomas, so there was no going back now.

He knew that it was going to end badly.

He felt it deep in his bones, deep in his scales. But he could do nothing as the fire roared in his throat, only giving him time to speak when he  breathed through it the best he could. And so he waited for it to die down.

All lies eventually lost their taste. The biggest ones took longer, but only because the biggest ones always got brought back up.

So he waited for it to fade.

It never did.

Janus had barely made it to his bed when he collapsed onto his nest of blankets, pillows and plushies. They made a protective bed, a shelter from the cold of the subconscious that seemed to find a way into every nook and cranny of his and Remus’s prison.

Prison.

The others would never call it that,  but that’s what it was. Maybe not for Remus, since he also had reign of the imagination, but it was surely Janus’s. And even if he wasn’t physically forced to stay there, he still had his obligations to Remus. Neither of them were welcome on the other side of the mindscape.

Still feeling the burning agony,  Janus wondered if he really wanted to be with them, anyway. It was their lies that were tearing him apart, after all. It was their lies that made him writhe, tangling himself up in fabric.

This was their fault.

He had wanted to help, and this was what he got in return?

His mind turned back to not even an hour ago. He had given them his name, something he had never actually expected to do, and they rejected it.

They rejected Janus. A little part of him told him to be logical, that it wasn’t all of them. It was only Roman that had laughed.

Roman, who had, more or less, been on his side just a few videos ago.

Roman, who had always hated him.

Roman, whom Janus had manipulated.

But hadn’t he done it for a good cause?

He had just wanted to help, and that had seemed like the best way to achieve his goal of protecting Thomas. He hadn’t expected for Roman to take it so hard. He truly hadn’t. Janus was simply doing what his instincts told him to do.

So was it really their fault? He had no idea anymore. He just wanted the burning to leave him in peace. He could guess that if Roman would just admit that he regretted not going to the call back, then it would finally fade. But Janus doubted that would quickly— this was Roman he was talking about.

Roman, who was angry.

Roman, who had fallen apart.

Roman, who hated him more than ever.

Janus would not be getting mercy any time soon— no, he had to atone first. He had to pay.

He could almost hear Roman’s voice.

His throat was still burning when a loud pounding came from his door. It was erratic and harsh and unbelievably loud, even if it was muffled by the surrounding fluff. Janus made a low sound that only managed to bring tears to his eyes.

It hurt.

He knew it was Remus from the knock, and he knew that he wouldn’t care if he got a response or not. He would barge in anyway, regardless of the answer.

He was right.

In a matter of seconds Remus was at the foot of the bed, bouncing violently on his heels. Janus didn’t bother to look up.

“What’s up, Snakey-Doodle-Dandy? Your little meeting with the Prudes not go too hot?” he asked, voice rough like he had been crying. If he could see him, he guessed that his eyes would be even redder than usual. It took much of Janus’s willpower not to open his mouth and comfort him. He knew that leaving him even for a little while was risky, but he had still made the choice to go.

Looks like Roman wasn’t the only one making harmful choices.

Looks like he had messed up Remus, too.

He had managed to mess up both Creativities.

He had only been trying to help.

Suddenly, he felt a sob tear through his body, forcing him farther into the nest. He barely repressed a scream at the fire that bounced up worse than ever, which made him cry even harder, which made the pain even worse.

And fore a second he forgot Remus was even there. He let himself fall deeper into his bed, finally giving up what dignity he had left. Then he felt something.

He jumped, not expecting it, but he soon realized it was a hand. Sometimes even Janus forgot how gentle Remus could be when he really wanted to.

It was rare, but not unheard of.

He let Remus rub slow, soft circles between his shoulders and down his back, and he noticed with relief how it never dipped anywhere near his waist. It stayed up, trying to soothe his crying. He heard quiet whispers that he couldn’t process but loved nonetheless. He loved how the bed creaked beside him and how a warm body pressed against his.

He loved how every once in a while a finger would swipe some hair from his face as it plastered to his forehead. He loved how he felt his normal clothes melt away, quickly replaced with a T-shirt and sleeping pants.

Eventually he calmed down, but he couldn’t say how long it took. He doubted Remus would know, either. But he finally found himself lying in the mass of fluff, with Remus curled around him, and he would be lying if he said he wanted to get up.

There was a long time of Janus leaning against him silently. The fire had faded slightly when the sobs quieted, but he knew that one sound would set them off again. So for now he was content with letting Remus card through his hair, and he didn’t have the energy to ask where his hat was.

It was Remus who spoke first.

“So, uh, I’m guessing your throat hurts?”

Janus nodded without opening his eyes. Remus made a low sound. Was it a Roman lie? You said those were kinda’ spicy or something,” he said.

Forcing a deep breath, Janus nodded again.

Remus was quiet while he puffed out his cheeks, and Janus could almost laugh.

Almost.

He didn’t dare to, though,

“Would some honey help? I mean, I can’t really make any. You know anything I conjure turns out pretty shitty, and you can’t really make anything solid, but I could go up and steal some,” Remus suggested. “It’ll be like a secret spy movie! Except the honey’s the spy and I’m the kidnapper, which is way more fun anyway.”

Remus did eventually go get honey, returning with both the food and a myriad of new ideas and stories, some much more gruesome than others. But Janus listened to them all as Remus fed him spoon after spoon, and dreamt of them when he finally fell asleep on his chest.

[callmesteve]

dami-centric fic recs

coming back to that anon ask i had yesterday, it’s now sunday, and i Swear that i tried to write a new post with a handful of fic recs, but tumblr deleted it so now i’m going to scream. so. read these:

(see them under the cut!)

We want what little love we hold by AutumnHobbit

audreycritter: somewhere in the Wayne Manor there is a wall of pictures, each with Bruce in a suit and one of the kids in a suit or a dress, standing in a courtroom at the end of an adoption hearing.

___________

So I started thinking, 'how would Damian feel, to come to the Manor with all of his issues, and see a hallway full of photos of his father with his adopted children?'

a little bit of dami & tim bonding, but mostly just dami-centric! very good read!!

Assassins and Animal Crossing by minkspit

In which Damian Wayne doesn't know how to play video games, or be a child, but tries at both. Oneshot.

dami plays some animal crossing and bonds a tiny bit with tim! very cute!!

Just to See You by DawnsEternalLight

Damian is struck blind temporarily and while he is recovering Grayson makes it very hard for Damian to keep his promise to himself not to be a burden and rely on his brother.

literally everything by this author is amazing and id honestly be surprised if you told me you havent checked them out yet?? 

Take Your Child to Work Day by FidotheFinch

The Wayne family must make an appearance at Wayne Enterprise's "Take your Child to Work" Day, but it doesn't mean they have to sit in Bruce's office the entire time. The kids hang out in the daycare center, and Damian meets a child who doesn't belong. His plans to reunite her with her father are thwarted when there's an intruder.

i absolutely love this author’s writing, by the by, and this is a very nice fic!! 

Even Ashes Burn in Wildfires by solar_celeste

Damian Wayne is familiar with being the target of one's apathy, he is friends with despondency and longing. He is aware that people move through life by prioritizing what is most important to them, directing their time and energy into what is most beloved, after all, he often does the same. But Damian also knows he needs to accept that he will never be anyone's priority. A task he is quickly finding is easier said than done, because it is love and acceptance that is the most foreign to him.

~

“Damian was rather well aware that he was hard to love. He wasn’t made to be loved, he had been created with the intent to be used. He had been constructed piece by piece, designed to fulfill missions, to serve a purpose. If he was seen ill-fit, then there was no justification for his existence.”

this is part of a bigger series, and im totally excited to see where they take it!! it’s about depressed damian, but it’s still a very good dami-centric read!

The Nature of Things by FidotheFinch

“Nobody got hurt.”

For a moment it looked like Tim wanted to say something to the contrary, but then he settled on, “Not tonight, no thanks to you. But it has happened, and it will happen again.

“You destroy everything, Damian. It’s in your nature.”

bruce brings home a dog (that they’re not supposed to be keeping) and dami takes care of her for a little bit! it’s a bit of a whole moral-thing with dami, too, but fido’s a really good writer, which is why there’s a second fic here by them!

Bleeding Needs of Acceptance by MashpotatoeQueen5

Damian shows up in the dead of night at Gotham City with swords on his back and a chip in his shoulder, ten years old with blood on his hands and a scowl so fierce that grown men have been known to turn away from it.

He’s on the run, but at the same time not, and he’s not sure what he’s doing but he knows what he’s expecting, because he’s there to see his Father and his Father was surely just like the stories his Mother used to tell; tall and strong and brave, a shadow in the night, the call of vengeance in the streets, a detective in his mind and a warrior in his soul, an experienced and incredible fighter who was and is everything that Damian should ever try to be.

Batman is all these things. Father is all these things. And yet, somehow, he still doesn’t quite match Damian’s expectations.

Nobody does.

(AKA That one fic with the focus on the fact that Damian was trained to be a killer ninja in probably not so good conditions, and that a sudden transition to the crazy Batfam and- more importantly- Dick Grayson, probably wasn't the easiest to deal with.)

ill have to be honest with you, i haven’t read this fic in a while! but! the author writes amazing things and their characterization is always on point in their other fics! plus, i’m pretty sure that this was the first fic i ever read involving dami, and it really drew me into the fandom!

Lost on Aisle 4 by DawnsEternalLight

Damian did not think this would happen to him, ever. He did not think he could possibly lose Grayson like this. Thankfully, his brother can always find him. Even in the maze that is Costco.

dami gets lost and it’s really adorable!

[theultimatenonbinarynerd]

The Soldier Who Carried A Mighty Sword

So I'm back with another one of my post putting others first one-shots. Warning if you're a Roman or Remus stan you're going to kill me. This is pure angst and is one of the only ways I will understand the sides mistreatment of Roman and Remus. So I hope you enjoy and please feel free to leave constructive feedback. All Creativitwin hate is band.

Synopsis: Janus feels horribly guilty for upsetting the twins. Remus and Roman are absolutely shocked when they find Janus in his room crying, holding a picture of King Creativity. After finding out how much the others miss the King, the twin's force Thomas to refuse them.

Tw: Major Character Deaths.

t had been a few hours since the video and the twins knew that they had to talk it out with Janus. Reluctantly Roman walked up to Janus's door and knocked on it. No answer! Remus conjured a hairpin and picked the lock. The creative twins did not expect to see Janus curled up on his bed holding a picture of what looked like the King.

"Jay?"

"What do you want Remus, in fact, why are you even here Roman, I hurt you. Gosh, he would kill me if he saw how badly I treated you both."

"Well, I was just gonna apologise for making fun of your name and hoped we could work things out but it appears your not in the mood right now."

"Do you wanna talk about it?"

"Talk about him, look Janus I didn't realise that I reminded you of him."

"Roman, he was so much like you, your correct. Remus, he had your energy and smile. He was full of wonderful ideas."

"Jay, can you tell us about him?"

"How much do you remember?"

"Nothing I just remember passing out and waking up in Logan's room."

"I remember the pain the agony and then waking up in your room."

"Well then, promise me you won't freak out when I confess to you the truth."

"Pinky promise, with a rotten head on a stick."

"Janus, I promise over my life that I will never laugh at you ever again during a vulnerable moment."

"Well, I um, me and Romulus were in love. We dated for two years before he split. Everyone loved Romulus, he was really close with Logan as well."

"What!"

"Oh my gosh, that makes so much sense now.

"What makes sense Roman?"

"The way you treated me back in the courtroom, you did mean those compliments but it was because I reminded you of him. It makes sense why Logan always clashed with me, now I know why."

"He doesn't mean it in that way Roman, he just really misses him, I really miss him and I truly mean it when I say that I didn't mean to call you both evil. H-he."

Janus collapsed sobbing in Remus's lap. Roman sighed stroking Janus's hair.

"I really am sorry."

"I know."

"Can you tell us more."

"W-well he always used to keep everyone together, thanks to him we dark sides and light sides got along. He was good and bad, he was human. Always looking out for everybody but not himself."

Seeing this made Remus and Roman feel worse. They comforted Janus and tucked him into bed. The twins sunk down and appeared in their usual spot. Thomas flinched almost dropping his video game controller.

"Um hey guys, I wasn't expecting to see you guys again for a while especially you Roman."

"Thomas let's get straight to the point we want you to refuse us back into the King!"

"N-no!"

"I'm sorry what?"

"Thomas we're in the way of you learning to live with grey morals. I mean look at me im just a stinky trash man."

"No your not-"

"We are Thomas today I just learnt that I was hurting you instead of helping you. The wedding hurt you and that's on me. You said I wasn't your hero anymore. King was grey you need him."

"I don't want to lose you."

"Thomas I just showed myself to you recently."

"I don't care if I barely know you, Remus, I'm not refusing my creativity just because you think you're hurting me."

"Thomas im sorry but its time to bring him back."

"No Roman."

"You no longer see things as black and white. This is for the best."

"The others don't like us, they need the King to make them feel happy again."

Thomas broke down into tears, he knew they were right but he didn't want the twins to die. He realised that he could always unfuse the King if he wasn't happy. He cried further pulling the twins's into a tight hug.

"Roman, I'm so sorry for ignoring you were insecure and confusing you so much. Janus never lied you are my hero and it's because of you im where I am today. I'm sorry for putting so much pressure on you and never defending you when the others insulted you.

Remus, I'm so sorry for separating you from Roman. You deserved to work on ideas with Roman and not shoved to the side. I'm so sorry for repressing you, being scared of you and casting you to the side. Both of you deserved a host way better than me."

Remus and Roman, we're both in tears. They honestly didn't know-how

to respond to such heartfelt comments from their host. So they stayed quiet and comforted the distressed Thomas.

Janus woke up from his nap when he heard a knock on the door. He held the picture of Romulus close to his heart.

"You may enter."

When he saw Romulus at the door he was in shock and denial. The picture frame immediately fell to the ground and glass shattered everywhere. Romulus smiled politely, snapping away the broken shards of glass.

"Hello, love."

The End

[ao3theskyisblue]

(Stay) I Need You More Than You Think

Big thank you to @summerfiing for the prompt for this post 😊 I hope you enjoy reading it 🤗

Hopefully this shows up in the tags lmao

Summary: Some days are harder than others.

The life of a first responder never gets easier, and Carlos experiences one of those days.

Click here to read on AO3, the fic is also under the break 😊

There were days that, when the sun showcased its brilliant glow beyond the horizon, Carlos woke up in tune to the new day, the sunlight offering an ethereal glow as the warmth kissed his skin. The comforter would be soft and pliant underneath his fingertips, flowing with the movement as he pushed it aside to sit up.

Spotlights would be created by the shining beams of light, waiting up with him calmly for the alarm to sound, which he would then turn off with the quick press of a button. The floorboards would mold to the shape of his bare feet, allowing him to soundlessly glide to the bathroom to clean up. The kitchen would then welcome him in, sunlight peeking through the gap between the curtains, enticing him towards the coffee machine. He would operate it effortlessly to produce a hot drink that would truly start to wake him up as he made breakfast to get the energy he needed to start his shift.

Even so, days that started with a simple rising of the sun, sometimes didn’t end with the moon graciously offering its light to allow the sun to cast their vivid rays across the other half of the Earth.

Instead of bathing the world with warmth, clouds would populate the sky to present a new dawn, one that did not allude a welcoming atmosphere.

His keys scraped against the lock, the object stubbornly refusing to slide into the allotted space smoothly, instead deciding to give Carlos a hard-felt battle of resistance as he tried, for the fifth time, to unlock his own damn door.

He then proceeded to trip over his own entranceway, feet getting caught in absolutely nothing causing him to grab at the wall to steady himself with a muffled curse. He didn’t really need any light to see where he was going – knowing the layout of his apartment like the back of his hand – but he still fumbled to find a light switch that seemed to have moved from its usual position on the wall.

The room was freezing, floorboards sending chills through the soles of his feet causing him to shiver. Forgoing trying to find the light switch, his gaze wandered to the kitchen that was too quiet, almost seeming to be taunting him about his lack of appetite. There was a haunting chill in the hallway leading to the bedroom, and Carlos barely registered the creaking of the floorboards underneath his weight as he carelessly climbed into bed. The comforter was cold to the touch, feeling heavy in his hands as he worked to climb underneath it, the weight encasing his body in a false sense of security. Closing his eyes, arms curling around himself to provide a warmth that didn’t exist, Carlos willed his body to succumb to a world where darkness fed on the deepest recesses of his mind.

Death had taken a little girl today.

He had stood on the sidelines, eyes watching a scene his brain had not caught up to, his senses too slow to respond – standing too far to respond – as an AC unit came toppling down and crushing the girl underneath it. The mother’s screams were a shrilling sound that couldn’t seem to stop echoing in his mind.

Carlos had been in that apartment, had been the one to answer to a complaint about a neighbour that just would not comply with safe placements of household appliances. And even through his many warnings, along with the many others from officers responding to the same complaint on different days, today was the one in a million where something went wrong.

And he couldn’t do anything.

The man had immediately been arrested, this time the police needing no more reason to slap on handcuffs that should have been on those wrists since the first complaint. The scene left a bitter taste on his tongue, as he had watched the man’s head being shoved into the back of a squad car.

Out of everything, it had taken a little girl’s life to cause enough reason for the punishment of an action that shouldn’t have happened in the first place. The man would be getting time in prison, while an innocent child would never again see the light of dawn announcing a new day.

Weighed down by dread, his limbs cried the tears he couldn’t as he lifted the comforter tighter around him, burrowing his nose into the pillow to seek for any source of warmth. There was no clock in the bedroom scarce his phone, thankfully leaving him devoid of its rhythmic ticking.

The rest of Carlos’ shift had gone by in a blur, the flashback of the tiny body being covered by a white sheet in stark contrast with the blood pooling on the pavement making his gut twist painfully. His partner had also been unnaturally quiet, not picking up the usual banter the two often shared between calls.

Carlos’s entire body felt like lead lying on the same sheets that had felt so warm just that morning, now turned frigid as if mourning with him about another life he could not save. Time was merciless – passing by in a manner that he could not quantify, not knowing whether he’d been lying in an exhaustedly restless state for minutes, or maybe hours.

Head swimming with images that only spread further anguish through his veins, Carlos knew that sleep would not come easy tonight. The life of a first responder never gets any easier, and there were some days that caused a sleepless repose in the sheets, physically at rest but mentally in pain. Tomorrow would be a new day, and Carlos would just have to accept the newly added weight on his shoulders and acknowledge that time does not stop to grant healing for the scalding ail of grief.  

Through the muffled pieces of the world Carlos could vaguely make out in the dim lighting of his bedroom, his fingers suddenly twitched in apprehension when rustling noises sounded from his living room.

There were only a handful of people that had the key to his place, and only one who could have heard about what happened and would be paying him a visit.

His body a mere dead weight, Carlos forced himself to roll out of his comforter cocoon that depicted only an illusion of console, feet padding against cold floorboards once more to head towards the living room. Unlike when he first came in, the lights were on, and a familiar figure lifted his gaze from where he had been staring down two mugs of…something, to offer him a small smile.  

“Hey.” TK said softly, his voice quiet, but a welcome sound penetrating through the silence Carlos had secluded himself in. The firefighter made his way to him slowly, hands twitching as if wanting to reach out, but held back at the last second.

“I made some tea. Lemon balm. Would you like a cup?” TK asked, eyes gentle and devoid of judgment at Carlos’ rumpled nature. His hair had to be sticking in every direction from him not bothering to fix it when rolling out of bed, but TK didn’t seem the least bit fazed.

Looking at the openness to his expression, his green eyes staring at him unblinkingly - patiently awaiting his next move, Carlos felt his throat closing at the wave of emotion hitting him at full swing.

Oh.

“Yeah. Tea sounds...sounds good.” It goes to show how out of it he really is when Carlos didn’t even recognize the sound of his own voice. Wincing at how small and shallow it sounded, Carlos opened his mouth to apologize, explain, say something, but TK only gave him a comforting nod and gestured to the couch.

“I’ll bring it over – you go and make yourself comfortable.”

Carlos’ legs worked on autopilot after that, dragging the rest of his body towards the couch. He sank into the soft cushions, shoulders hunching at the invisible weight he didn’t bother to hide now, and that had already piled on without him knowing.

A whiff of something tangy invaded his senses, and Carlos looked up to see TK standing in front of him holding out his favourite mug, labelled ‘eat more hole foods’ with a picture of a donut that had been a gift from Michelle the day he came out to her. The mug pulled out a hint of a smile at the memory, before it faded.

Accepting the hot drink that still had steam rising with the unmistakable scent of lemons, Carlos pressed the palms of his hands against the heat protruding through the porcelain. He didn’t bother removing his hands when the heat started to burn, giving him a welcome tether to the real world.

“It’s my mother’s favourite, the tea. She was always drinking loads of the stuff, claiming it gave her a sense of peace after hours in the courtroom.” TK spoke quietly, and Carlos vaguely registered him taking a seat on the coffee table in front of him, their knees just shy of brushing against one another.

Carlos raised the mug to his lips, carefully taking a small sip. He was immediately greeted with a sharp tang of bitterness, a taste that wasn’t normally accustomed to this type of tea. He couldn’t hold back a wince, nose scrunching up at the bitter taste that slowly faded away after he swallowed, leaving him to stare at the mug in bewilderment. A light titter of laughter ringed in his ears, and Carlos looked up to see TK watching him fondly.

“I may have steeped it a little longer than necessary to give it a kick. Did it work?” TK smiled, lifting his own mug to take a sip of his own cup of tea. Carlos had half a mind to wonder why TK hadn’t recoiled at the taste like he did, and was about to ask, ‘did what work?’ but the words got caught in his throat.

The ache in his chest from earlier, had receded into a dull throb. Blinking away the mist that clouded his gaze, Carlos lifted his mug again, taking a longer sip - this time welcoming the sharp bitterness on his tongue.

The glow from the lights TK had decided to turn on cast a comforting shadow around them, encasing them in a secure bubble of space filled with two mugs of relaxing tea – and one heart carefully cradling another.

The onslaught of feelings he had pushed to the side from earlier cascaded out in a trickle, starting with a stray tear slipping down Carlos’ cheeks. He reached out his fingers to brush against TK’s arm carefully, unsure whether his touch was warranted. Without missing a second, TK placed both their mugs off to the side, getting up from the coffee table to step into Carlos’ arms.

Carlos didn’t waste any more time in wrapping his arms around the other man’s waist, burrowing his face into the soft fabric of TK’s shirt near his stomach. His legs widened their stance to fit TK in between them, his arms tightening around the solid warmth. Carlos shivered as fingers gently sifted through the soft hairs at the nape of his neck, feeling a hand splayed on the muscles of his back, thumb moving in slow circles in an offer of silent solace.

They stayed there, in the built comfort of the living room for a long time. TK hadn’t so much as mentioned why he had decided to come over, solely content in giving what Carlos was willing to take, and never once questioned why.

Slowly but surely, the ice began to thaw in his chest. The living room no longer felt absent and cold, the floorboards turning palpable and grounding, the soft material of the shirt he had buried his face in soaking up his tears in a gentle caress.

Carlos tipped his head up, red-rimmed eyes meeting TK’s gentle ones, sighing softly as the hand that had been running continually through his hair moved to cradle his face, the thumb running along the ridge just underneath his left eye. Carlos leaned into the touch.

“Will you stay?” Carlos whispered hoarsely, hesitantly, giving TK an out if he didn’t want to. It was a little silly, having these kinds of thoughts now. But the day’s events were still raw, and if TK had better things to do than stay with his bleak stature, Carlos would never blame him.

Seeming to understand where his thoughts were going, TK leaned down to press their foreheads together, green eyes filled with nothing but affection as they bore into brown orbs that had lost their usual light.

“Always, Carlos.” TK murmured. Carlos closed his eyes, relishing in the small spark of warmth starting to build in his chest at the words.

“Always.”

[oh-theatre]

Objection!: Chapter 10

Chapter title: Utinam Ne Illum Numquam Conspexissem

A/n:  My bois ™ I love them. I'm sorry this chapter took longer than usual. It was a bitch to write! I actually don't know how I feel about this one, but stuff was revealed so yay!! Ooo what are Rem and Emile discussing... Also, I just love Latin, and Latin phrases...hence the title. Anyway, leave me some comments! I would really appreciate it!

First | Previous | Next

words: 4287

summary: Virgil and Remy must save Roman from a dangerous situation

pairings: Eventual logicality, eventual prinxiety, platonic demus, romantic remile

warnings: Murder mention, child murder, Law and Courtroom, swearing, blood, gun, gun mention, drug and alcohol mention, sweating, hospital, screams

Ao3 Link  

“I warned you Rem, the waiting process is the worst” Emile advises from his desk, Remy paces around the room. Emile sighs looking up from his computer, Remy huffs. “Rem come here” He gestures for the worrisome detective. He joins Emile on the other side of the desk, sitting in the chair.

“We could get married in the time it takes” Remy comments fiddling with the funky pencils in the cup. Emile chuckles taking Remy's free hand.

“Did you just propose to me Remington Nyx?” Emile asks coyly, using his other hand to type some more things on his computer. Remy drops the pencils leaving a cluttered mess, Emile rolls his eyes.

“No, that's not for another month” Remy sighs, Emile blushes biting his tongue. Remy kisses his hand jumping up. “Alright! I can't sit here wallowing! I need to do something”

“Glad to hear you saying that” Virgil slides in through the door. Emile gives him a small wave return, Remy falls back onto the couch soon joined by Virgil. “Is it bad that I don't wanna work today?” Emile shuts off his computer standing up. He makes his way to the chair across the couch, opening his notebook.

“What's wrong?” Emiles voice shifts, Remy stifles a laugh recognizing what he's doing. Virgil rubs his forehead causing a red stain of heat.

“I'm stuck! I really can't do this job, I don't know what's happening” Virgil complains. Remy's smile disappears now, he leans forward, placing a hand on his partner. Virgil shoots him a grateful glance but it doesn't do much, because he's stuck spinning. “I'm just so confused”

“Oh, I felt that” Remy mumbles spreading himself on the couch laying his head on Virgil's lap. Emile smiles sweetly at his partner. “Em, we need therapy, clearly” he gestures dramatically. Emile chuckles, Virgil nods solemnly.

“Alright fine, but you better be paying me for this” He teases, Remy wiggles his eyebrows making Emile shift. “Not like that you absolute dork” Emile chides. Virgil begins fiddling with Remy's hair, twirling and twisting it every which way. Nothing harmful and Remy doesn't mind, it helps Virge calms down. It gives him something to do. “Ok, what's your sleep schedule like?” Emile begins.

“What does th-” A hand quickly covers Virgil's mouth, he looks down at Remy expectantly.

“Dude, just answer the question. He's the professional” Virgil rolls his eyes removing Remy's hand. Emile, who at this point is used to the detective's antics, politely waits. He has to do it a lot, patients tend to take longer to start off a conversation. But once you get them going, it's like rapid fire. Sometimes Emile can't keep up, however, others are less willing.

“Uh, I sleep...I guess…” Virgil grumbles, Remy appropriately yawns. “It's pretty sporadic, never more than like...mmm four to five hours?” Remy snaps in agreement, Emile tries hard not to shake his head. Showing disapproval or disappointment is counterproductive but Remy sleeps plenty, almost too much if you ask Emile. Virgil flicks Remy's forehead causing a mock pout. “You sleep so much it's not even funny” Virgil quips, Emile chuckles. Remy looks to his boyfriend for comfort or support but is instead met with a shrug, as if saying its true.

“Ok, we’re here for Virge, let's get back to him” Remy huffs, Emile nods coyly. Remy tries his best to kick Emile from his position but it ends up looking like he's flailing.

“Right well I mean...Damian keeps me up sometimes” Virgil informs returning back to a more reserved state. A pit of shame formed in his stomach, Emile notices the detective begins to pound his fists rhythmically on his thighs. Virgil's thoughts are cluttered, Damian. How could he think that? How could he say that? How dare he blame his child, his own son. How dare he complain about his job? His life is perfect, he has everything.

Not everything

Selfish, that's what I am

“Virgil? Is everything ok?” Emiles voice somehow makes its way into his head. A fruity intrusion in his echo chamber, his thoughts make way for the question. Pausing just for a moment, so he can look the doctor in the eye. Remy sits up now, growing concern riddles his face.

“Virge, you still with us bud?” Remy waves in front of his face, he can focus on the swift movement. Virgil couldn't really see it much, but it was consistent, it wasn't changing on him. But every time even the slightest thought of something pushed its way into his mind, an uneasy feeling tugged at his stomach. He grabs the hand, setting it down.

“M’fine” He lies, his problems are his own. Obviously, Remy and Emile could see straight through this, but just as impeccable timing goes. This takes the cake. The door swings open hitting the wall quite heavily. Virgil stands soon joined by the other two. Dylan appears his radio going wild, Emile and Remy throwdown in a staring contest. Emile crowned the winner, hopes his message of ‘Do not hurt Dylan, it wasn't his fault’ gets through. “Whats up Dyl?” Virgil asks, dusting off his pants.

“Hey, sorry to interrupt-

“It's fine, what's going on?” Remy pushes, Emile frowns at him. Every hint of annoyance towards the office that Remy could muster, he would. It may seem a bit too much but he put Emile's life in Dylan's hands and was completely betrayed. Every time he sees Emile he can't help but be reminded of the barrel he found his boyfriend staring down.

“There was a break-in at…” he snaps struggling to recall the address. Virgil exhales, his own patience wearing thin. “4563 Witch Lane, I think” Virgil's brows furrow, he knows that address. “It's ongoing and officers say the perpetrator is violent” Virgil heart pounds in his head.

Remember

“Why do you need us?” Remy questions flopping back onto the couch “Sounds like they got it covered” He blows, Emile shakes his head. Why? Why do they need us? They're usually called once the crime has happened, to investigate; How, when, why, and who. And that all depends on whether or not the patrol officers catch the culprit or not. So why, on god's green earth, do they need Virgil and Remy.

“Uh...because-” It finally hits Virgil, knocking him down a peg.

“Because that's Romans address” He mutters, fear is not the word he's looking for.

~~~

One more text and Patton might scream. One more text and Patton might scream. One more text from Liam and Patton might scream. One more text about how much Liam wants to see him, or talk to him or how much he misses him and Patton might scream. One more-

“Papa! Your phone is buzzing!” Valerie claims from across the small cafe table. Patton gives her a wary smile before turning over the phone, mostly to humor the excited girl. Quickly skimming over the multiple texts from Liam and one from Logan, he turns it back over. He will respond later, the mystery of what Logans might hold does set his heart racing.

“Alright kiddos, what do you want to eat?” Patton asks looking expectantly at the twins. For the past twenty minutes, the kids have been reading through the menus, on their own per Patton's request, trying to figure out what they wanted. Obviously, Patton would help if they needed it but he wanted them to try and do it on their own. The look of pride on their faces when they understood an order was all Patton was looking for.

“Waffles!” Remus has decided, shouting it for everyone to hear. Patton smiles politely at the other patrons, turning back to his son. “With...whip cream and sprinkles!” Patton nods, the waitress, Ally, writes down his order moving onto Valerie.

“I want some eggs please” She informs, wringing her hands. The failure to meet the waitress's eyes makes Patton smile sadly. Valerie, unlike her brother, was very shy towards strangers. She was much more comfortable around people she knew, to which she would shout and scream and dance around to her heart's content.

“Would you like that with bacon dear?” The waitress asks, Valerie ponders for a moment using the menu as an escape tool. She nods. Ally smiles writing down the order before moving onto Patton. “And you sir?”

“I’ll take eggs benedict” Patton shows, she nods scribbling it down. “Oh! And to drink, can we have two fresh orange juices and a latte?” The kids bounce at the sound of juice. Ally leaves after a moment, the bustling cafe revving in energy.

Breaking how own rules, as the kids play with one another, Patton checks his phone searching for one specific message. The ‘new notification’ mark hovering by Logan's name is enough to make Patton's face red. The blush he had grown so fond and familiar with returning, his finger debating whether or not to open the message. Had he gone to open it, his morning would have been a lot different but the sound of his name being called pulled him away.

“Mister Hart?” Patton shuffles around in his chair, a smile embracing his face.

“Reeve! Hi!” Patton stands, shaking the timid intern. Logan was not wrong, in his mumblings, the lawyer had revealed how Patton's smile could light up the room. He ushers for Reeve to join him at his table, after a moment of resilience, he takes his place next to Patton. “What brings you here?”

“I'm just here to pick up mister Tolentino's order” Reeve rubs the tips of fingers together trying to remember what it was. “One black coffee, an eclair, and three palmiers” Patton and Reeve recite in unison. The intern raises a brow receiving a sweet chuckle in return.

“Almost ten years and it hasn't changed” Patton reminisces, Reeve stays quiet a secret itch to find out more about Logan. “I used to pick it up for him” Reeve smirks, Patton shakes his head playfully “He would forget a lot, he claims to hate sweet things but obviously that's not true” Patton laughs, sitting and watching the lawyer Reeve couldn't agree more. “Anyway, it's nice to see it's the same” Reeve nods, there was something truly entrancing about this man, the intern could listen for hours. Patton bites his bottom lip, fishing something out of his bag. “It's really not a healthy order, would you get him an apple or some berries?” Patton requests, holding out his hand with money.

“I-i can't accept that” Reeve stutters, how can he be so trusting? What if Reeve just took off with`1 the money, what if he spent it on drugs or alcohol? Patton chuckles only furthering his insistence.

“It's on me, really” He insists “Logan needs to eat actual food” He chides, Reeve, takes it feeling awfully guilty. Patton's affect made him want to spend it on the right thing, he was just so...sweet.

“He was not wrong” Reeve mumbles, his eyes flying open through his tired manner. Patton turns to him cocking his head.

“Wrong?” He asks, Reeve shakes his head wishing away the thought with an awkward squeak of a laugh. Patton shrugs, if it wasn't his to hear, it wasn't his to hear. And yet it was, it would honestly make Reeve’s life so much easier. Logan was...an adequate teacher but he'd be even better if some things (cough Patton cough) weren't constantly on his mind. Reeve also wouldn't mind seeing the lawyer a bit happier. Whether he would severely regret this next move was at the tip of his mind, and yet…

“Uh, Logan...talks about you… a lot” Reeve explains, Patton coughs back a smile

“Pardon?” He tries, sipping his water

“He likes to talk about you Patton” Patton’s laughter turns to a quick blush. The light dusting of pink flattering his face. Reeve swallows, he stands giving a brisk smile. “I should probably get going, you know how he is, thank you again” Reeve rushes, practically scrambling to get the order and out of the cafe.

As Patton comes to terms with the feelings he himself had been feeling for years. He's kept so hidden and down, fear of rejection overwhelming and consuming his every action. Because for the life of him, he couldn't conjure up one reason why a lawyer, no a person such as Logan would ever give Patton a second thought. And yet ten years later…he couldn't help but think of one thing.

No, thank you, Reeve

~~~

“Fuck”

“Virge”

“No, fuck” Virgil repeats as they step out of the car. Cops, on cops, line the street outside of Romans house. To say Virgil's heart was racing was an understatement, it was pounding. Beating so hard and fast it almost hurt.  He walks towards the main station. “What's going on Kane?” He asks the lead officer, Kane turns to him his eyes confused.

“Break in, possible violent inside” He informs, knowing that the fire in Virgil's eyes didn't mean a lengthy explanation. However, the twitching at the detective's mouth scares him even more.

“He's still in there?!” Virgil exclaims, he huffs pushing further past, right up to the captain. “I'm going in” he declares

“Absolutely not detective Tormine” Haley warns. Remy finally catches up to his less than excited partner. Virgil clenches his fists, Remy recognizes the distinct furrowing of his brows. A little too late in his opinion. “Detecti- Virgil!” Haley calls out as Virgil races past the yellow tape. Remy sighs following after him, shooting Haley an apologetic glance. “Detective Nyx! Ugh why do I try” Haley moans

Virgil ducks in the house pulling out his gun, flashlight placed above it. He’s been here before, typically its harder to get around these situations when you don't know the layout of the house. But this one? He knew like the back of his hand. He hears small noises, he can't tell if they're just house noises or people noises.

“Virge!” Remy whispers coming up behind the detective. Virgil jumps slightly turning to his partner. He motions silently for Remy to go one way towards the kitchen, while Virgil will go upstairs. They make their separate ways, quietly walking through the house. Virgil checks the bathrooms upstairs first before slowly making his way into Romans room. Its sealed shut, he pushes carefully trying not to draw attention. He swears he can hear a silent struggle. Finally, something shimmies on the other side falling to the ground, he opens the door using his light to see. A light shuffling in the corner catches his eye, he turns practically dropping his things.

“Virge?” Roman croaks. He sits huddled in the corner, a hand over his stomach, another covering the bright light shining in his eyes. Virgil wastes no time kneeling in front of the judge. “I always thought I'd be the knight in shining armor coming to save the prince” Roman jokes, clearly delirious.

“You're bleeding” Virgil realizes, Romans hand is applying pressure on his stomach. Blood oozes through the cracks of his fingers, his eyes barely stay open. Roman laughs immediately seizing through his teeth, the pain runs through. “Ok, come on” Virgil wraps his arm carefully around Romans waist, silently apologizing. Roman tries his best to stand but relies almost entirely on Virgil for support. Virgil goes to take a step but Roman can't, collapsing with just enough space for Virgil to set him down. “So that's not going to work” He mumbles, Roman can feel Virgil's hands tremble in his own.

“You're scared” He notes, his eyes closed at this point. Virgil scoffs.

“Of course I'm fucking scared Roman! You're bleeding out, there's a violent person in your house, cops are surrounding your house!” He shouts Roman slaps him softly.

“Loud, way too loud” He chides, Virgil avoids his eyes knowing the judge is right. “M’fine, let's go” He decides, opening up his eyes grabbing onto Virgil again. Virgil fights to stay balanced as he goes again, knowing Romans not here to argue. He also knows Roman doesn't have time to argue, not with the loopy state of the judge. Once stable, lightly they make their way out of the room, checking the hall is safe.

“You doing ok?” Virgil checks as they huddle close together down the stairs, he wishes he had paid more attention to Romans answer, or lack thereof. “Ro?” Virgil asks as they reach the bottom, he turns to him noticing the limp state. He also notices he's basically carrying the man. “Dammit” He grunts rushing into the kitchen, keeping his steps light. The warm blood still flowing out of Roman is enough to make Virgil gag.

“Hey” Remy whispers joining the pair, his eyes growing wide at the sight Roman. “Oh my god… is h-” His words cut off by a violent noise as something tumbles into the kitchen. Too dark to see, both detectives ready themselves, back to back. Their guns aimed at both kitchen entrances, the patterning of tiny feet growing louder. An ‘oof’ noise coming from Roman, they both turn to exhale breaths of relief, Ollie sits atop Roman licking his face. Remy chuckles before turning to the entrance. “I'll keep watch, you make sure he's ok” Virgil nods.

“Virge, I think you're pretty nifty” Roman comments as Virgil tends to his wounds as best he can. Virgil chuckles rolling his eyes playfully. He uses a damp cloth to wipe Romans forehead, removing any soot or dried blood. “Don't laugh at me” He pouts, Ollie stands brave by the judge's side.

“Never princey, never” Virgil promises, holding a wad of towels to the stomach wound. That won't do, he thinks. “Rem, we gotta get him out of here or…” Virgil would rather not finish his sentence, Remy gives a brisk nod understanding. He takes one more look out the entrance before aiding Virgil, taking place on Romans other side. “Just to the door, that's all we need to do” Virgil licks his lips, they're unmistakably dry.

“Ready?” Remy cocks his head towards his partner.

“Set” Virgil takes a deep breath his eyes aimed at the door.

“Arf!” Ollie barks, ready to charge with the trio. Virgil and Remy share a glance before setting off. They avoid anything that might make noise, reaching the door easily. Still supporting Roman, Virgil pushes the door open, shoving Remy and Roman through first Ollie squeezing in after them. He hears Haley shouting commands towards the officers. The aching his heart resembles when the medics peel Roman away from Virgil is almost too much. But having to watch the ambulance drive away without him was worse.

~~~

“Nothing too drastic, we got him into surgery just in time” The doctor explains leading a very worried Virgil to Romans room. “He should be resting, but well…” The doctor eyes the room, Virgil releases a breath he hadn't realized he was holding at the sight of Roman flirting with the nurse. “He insisted he was fine, he's all yours” The doctor squeezes Virgil's shoulder, and it takes everything in his power not to cringe away from the man.

“Thanks” Virgil slides open the door making his way into the room. Roman finishes his latest quest to be the most loved man on the planet turning to Virgil. His smile is like no other, even though the pain is clear as his face morphs. Virgil should feel relieved but something else washes over him.

“If it isn't my favorite detective, Vigil Terrible was it?” Roman teases, as if everything is ok. Virgil slides the door closed, his hands gaining increasingly sweatier. Its not ok, the countless tubes hanging out of Roman, the IV drip attached to the man, the bruises on his face, all indicate otherwise. “Virge, I was kidding…” Roman assures seeing Virgil's blank stare.

“You almost died, you know that right?” Virgil jumps right in, approaching Romans bed. Roman shifts uncomfortably in his spot, his smile faltering. “As in, bleeding out, unconscious, death” He pushes further if it's for him or the judge Virgil isn't sure. Roman knows it's not aimed at him, or at least he hopes.

“But I didnt...you saved me” Roman gives him a sad smile, Virgil scoffs. “As cliche as that is, it's true”

“It's my job” Virgil reminds, although he wouldn't disobey Haleys orders for anyone, he wasn't telling Roman that.

“Be that as it may, you still did it, and I'm fine so…”  Roman waits for something, anything to tell him how Virgil feels. But he can't let it go, something is itching at the detective clearly. No matter how many ‘Im fines’ Roman conjures or how many doctors say otherwise, Virgil needs more.

“What about Damian” He blurts, he's not sure where it came from. Roman sits up now, his eyes wide. The feelings and thoughts running him through him are incomprehensible. No words explain the jumble of things.  

“Damian's not my kid” He claims, funny. He always assumed Virgil would be the one to set that boundary, he didn't want to but if it would calm Virgil down.

“No your right, only when it's convenient right? Not when he's scared, or lonely, or has questions I can't answer. Not then right? You only act like…” He trails off, pacing around the room.

“Virgil what is this really about? Cause right now you're not making any sense” Roman argues, ignoring the pain his side shoots through him. He waits for a retort, another fiery remark from the detective.

“I don't know! Ok? I'm just...worried” Virgil's voice, in layman's terms, sounds so defeated. Romans poise softens as he ushers Virgil to come to him. Virgil obliges, putting on an annoyed front as he sits in front of the judge. “You didn't see you ok? You were...bleeding and…” Roman tilts his head softly.

“Yeah but I'm fine now” He repeats for what seems like the millionth time that day. “Look, I've got a steady heartbeat” He points to the monitor, Virgil listens intently to the stable pattern. Waiting for some drastic change, but it stays, its constant. He stops shaking, he silently begs for Roman to continue. Roman nods picking up “My wounds stopped bleeding” He lifts his gown showing the surgical remains of his stomach cut. Virgil traces it with his fingers, the cold sending a shiver through Roman, nothing he can't handle.

“Sorry!” Virgil pulls away, Roman takes his hand.

“Its fine, but god are you a corpse V?” Roman asks squeezing different areas of Virgil's hands. “You're freezing.” Virgil grasps his hand back, swatting Roman away. They share a quick amused smile. Roman leads Virgil's hand to his own face, showing him the already healing bruises. Roman goes to say more but in true dramatic fashion, is quickly interrupted.

“Patton! I told you they would be here!” Logan calls out, appearing in the doorway. Virgil jumps out of the bed moving away from Roman. Roman shuts his eyes, wincing away from the disappointment. A smile appears on his face as Logan, followed by Patton enters the room.

“Roman, oh my gosh!” Patton cries examining the judge. He turns to Virgil then back to Roman. “What on earth happened?” He asks, sitting where Virgil once sat. Logan moves into the room sliding the door closed, Virgil eyes the pair, specifically Patton, afraid of what he might do. “May I?” He inquires softly, Roman nods. Patton checks Romans face, turning it carefully as he looks at the wounds.

“Some guy broke into his house” Virgil informs, Logan listens intently. “They searched the house after Ro left but he was nowhere to be found” Patton shakes his head disapprovingly.

“I'm so sorry you had to go through that, we got the text and we were so worried” Patton rushes, cupping Romans face lovingly. He hadn't realized how nice it felt until Patton pulled away his hand. Unlike Virgil, Patton's hands were warm, almost burning hot. As he reassesses Patton's words he shares a look with Virgil.

“We?” They recite in unison, both raising their eyebrows. Patton's blush is instantly recognizable, Roman laughs as the lawyer faces away from Logan.

“Patton and his children obviously,” Logan says not understanding the obvious teasing that takes place. Roman concurs mockingly, shoving Patton playfully. “Speaking of children” Logan mumbles as to quick feet are heard outside of the room.

“Roman!” Remus and Valerie exclaim together as they run into the room. Patton stands to scoop them up before they jump onto the judge. Roman and Virgil laugh at Pattons expectant look, clearly a common theme for the twins.

“Careful” Is all he says as he places them gently on Romans bed. Virgil feels a tug at his stomach wishing Damian was present. The little boy would be incredibly mad at Virgil for NOT bringing him. He shakes his head taking his leave, not giving Roman a second look.

The twins take turns very carefully hugging an unfortunately distracted Roman. Virgil might not have given the judge another glance but Roman was watching him the entire time.

~~~

“Did you do it?” the dark voice carries, the timid man is almost too afraid to speak. “Answer me” He wastes no time, he doesn't like waiting.

“N-no...the detective showed up b-before I could finish the job” He mutters, his words tripping over themselves. A crash can be heard through the room, vibrating into silence.

“I don't like failure” The voice seems closer now, the man clings to the door. “You failed me, twice now, and I don't do...failure” No no no no, the man begs silently. “Kill him”

The screams buried under a mountain of murder.

“The lawyer and the judge” The voice informs a new body “I want them taken out, do you understand?”

[elenatria]

Chernobyl is the only show who gives us a wide variety of beautiful (shipable) persons, from nerd-twink Dmitri to pure-twink Leonid.

Do I have to make a list of Chernobyl’s badass yummy tragic shippable men?

Oh well. I’ll make a list of Chernobyl’s badass yummy tragic shippable men.

Because I’ve never seen a show with SO MANY badass yummy tragic shippable men in such few episodes. And some of them had only one memorable line. One. Line.

Do I start with Dyatlov? Watch me start with Dyatlov.

I remember… he was the second thing that impressed me when I watched ep 1 (the first was Valery leaving many bowls to his cat and committing suicide right after. I had to re-watch the bowl scene.) I was so struck by his guy-next-door looks, I was like “what the hell am I looking at, why does he look so familiar? Why does he not look like… an actor?” And then the detached way he’d say “Akimov…” as his voice trailed off, a voice so cold yet calm and mesmerizing. I’ve never seen such a realistic “villain” before and, just to play the devil’s advocate here, it still kinda bugs me that Mazin talks about him as this super nasty irredeemable villain. I have the impression that even in the recent podcast he talks as if HBO Dyatlov and the real Dyatlov are one and the same. Lack of time to explain himself maybe? Jared starts poking into that with his mention of an excerpt in the script of the court scene where we were meant to feel some compassion for Dyatlov (34:55) (his “history and motivations”). That part was omitted in the script btw, but if anyone has seen it… 

And of course there’s the deleted scene here. That we will probably never see.

I do understand that an auteur has to support his choices no matter what, and Mazin’s choice is Dyatlov = villain. But I do believe he is kinda absolute with some things, conveniently overseeing them, even saying that he didn’t give Jared any jokes because “Legasov wasn’t funny” (46:32) . 

Wut? 1:14

If he had said “I didn’t write Legasov as funny” he would have kinda owned it but the use of the past tense (”wasn’t”) implies that he meant the real Legasov. Same goes for Dyatlov I guess.

Akimov.

His relationship with Toptunov. Enough said.

Akimov wears a wedding ring and that feeds lots of “forbidden relationship” fics and I love it.

On to Toptunov. Yeah. Twinkest twink I’ve ever seen.

And I mean these guys are on fire, and we had to watch the very last episode to find out.

Steamy Toptumov fics? Bring them my way.

Then we have Vasily. 

Thank god I hadn’t seen The Terror before Chernobyl so I watched Adam Nagaitis’ Igantenko with pure eyes.

To this day it hurts to watch his scenes. All of them. And it’s even worse to read his story in “Chernobyl prayer”. Soooooo much worse. Not only because it’s a true story but because his wife’s description makes you feel the pain. How a decaying body can suffer, and the people taking care of it.

I understand some fans were kinda bummed that the show didn’t dig deeper into his and Lyusya’s love story. Makes sense. But to me they’re the definition of tragic puppy love and it hurts as it is.

And then my beloved Sitnikov with his exasperated, confident “Follow me”. I mean.

Another ring-bearer that one.

Aaaaaah look at that handsome confident face marry meeeeeeee. 

Bryukhanov. Another guy-next-door. Had me staring at the screen, listening to his every-day high-pitched husky voice and I was like “Did that guy jump right out of that seaside pastry shop where I was with my dad  back in the summer of 1985?”. Did they use a time machine to bring him to the show or something?

And now I’m finding out he has a fan base. Fuck yeah.

Fomin. Ok I legit knew that guy but I couldn’t put a name on his face

He was James Potter. ^^ And oh, he has worked before with Stellan and Emily in Breaking the waves. Somehow you feel compelled to trust that face, never mind if in “Chernobyl” he was cowardly and scared as a rat. The way he yelled “It was Dyat-lov!…” as they took him away, so beautiful, so dramatic.

And now, on to the main course.

DMITRI.

Oh my paws and whiskers.

He cares about Ulana SO MUCH that he follows her around on a Saturday like a puppy. Bringing her coffee and who knows what else. 

He even jokes about her dedication. But oh look, he’s dedicated too.

Comrade, I don’t wanna say it out loud but I’m crushing on you.

You can see Ulana is almost afraid to look into his eyes when she asks him what he’s doing there. She knows. 

But of course there are so many things keeping them apart. There’s the age difference - people would call her names even if they wouldn’t call Dmitri the same names if their ages were reversed. There’s their professional relationship that shouldn’t be compromised. There’s that ring on her finger that Dmitri doesn’t know if it’s a wedding ring, an engagement ring, or an ex-lover’s present. Does she even have eyes for him? Dmitri doesn’t know.

Even meatier stuff. 

PIKALOV. 

*screaming*

Wanna love a character because of a single line and the way he delivers it? Yeah, Pikalov is your man.

The steady decisive pause before his statement. The honour, the nobility, the self-sacrifice. If you didn’t know by then that “Chernobyl” was going to be the show with the biggest number of small but honourable characters, you got your first hint with Pikalov.

Another overlooked but honourable character. Shchadov.

And he has lots of power bottom potential.

Alrightz. Fan favourite time. I don’t even have to go into details. Glukhov.

Thank you, Mr Ferns, for being the only character in the show to deliver both noble heroic lines as well as eye candy.

Next: TARAKANOOOOOOOOOV.

Big dick energy right there. His resigned pauses between sentences, the way he sucks in the smoke, his authority as he greets each and every soldier. Stunning.

Pavel.  *cries* 3

If you swear to never watch the dog scenes again there is so much shippy potential in that one. Pacho prompts, here I come!!

Bacho, his war code of honour and his “I’m happy every day”.

You *know* he’s not happy but it doesn’t matter. What matters is how he’s trying to convince everyone else that he is. His perseverance. There’s a war to be won, even if he knows he’s losing.

Last but not least: Stepashin. Give me Roose Bolton in a minor courtroom role anytime, ANYTIME.

Honourable mention to Charkov because yeah, you know me. Because I just can’t get over this man. 

Also C-V-B. Also dub con. Don’t judge me.

[wardencommanderrodimiss]

Witches, Chapter 17: Blackquill wants to fight an orca; Phoenix wants to fight Blackquill; Athena contains within her a multitude of whale facts.

[Seelie of Kurain Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

[Witches Chapter Masterlist] [ao3]

----

Phoenix leaves early, tells Trucy he’ll meet her at the courthouse, and stops by the office first. The computer wakes up slowly and when it finally does, it’s as blank as Phoenix left it last night, not a word of assistance or encouragement. So he’s on his own. All right. Fine.

On his way out through the front, he stops. The lid over the piano keys is opened, something lying directly on the keys. His old badge, weighing down the corner of Lotta’s photograph, a snapshot out of time, poorly planned, Phoenix and Larry both jostled about by Maya, and Edgeworth almost smiling at that, and Gumshoe the only one who’s timed it right, with confetti fluttering through the air fallen from his hand. If he squints with the Sight from the right angle and distance, like it’s one of those illusion puzzles, sometimes he’ll see Mia standing to the side, smiling.

“I can take a hint,” he says, setting it back down on the piano. He can’t see her in the photo today, but it’s okay because it being here, not on his desk, and his badge here and not in his desk, means that she’s here, not frozen in a photo. “All right. I get it. I can do it, and I’m not alone.” He has people to help and to keep him in check. He’s not going to lose a second badge. 

At the courthouse he smacks himself in the face with cold water, hoping to knock sleep out of his eyes and with it, clear out the dust from eight years of not playing the lead. Athena bounds into the defendant lobby sounding as cheery as ever and announcing that she ran a few laps around the building to get ready, but tired bags hang beneath her eyes and he tells her such when he asks her if she got any sleep. “Do I really look that bad?” she asks, prodding at the skin below her eyes. “I’d better do something about that. Prosecutor Blackquill gives me shit over everything and I can’t leave another opening. Hey, Trucy!” she calls, as the other two members of the agency enter with Pearl. “You don’t happen to have concealer, do you? Or Apollo, do you? I need to look like I actually slept soundly and I’m desperate.”

“Sorry,” Apollo says. “The only cosmetics I use are hair gel.”

“You mean it doesn’t naturally do that?” Pearl gasps. “I thought for sure…”

“Concealer, coming right up!” Trucy produces a round makeup compact from her Magic Panties - she carries those around in a purse and everything that would normally be found in a purse goes into them - and holds it up to Athena’s face. “No, that’s not the right shade. Hold on.” She plunges her hand back into the waistband and pulls out what appears to Phoenix to be pretty much the same, but comparing it against Athena’s skin, Trucy nods, satisfied. 

“Since when do you wear makeup?” Phoenix asks. They’ve had talks about this topic. Why is it all so expensive. Why is this a scam industry that breeds insecurities. No I’m not buying you lipstick. You can buy it yourself when you’re much older. Yes I’ll buy you that lip gloss that’s in a narwhal-shaped container. That’s not really makeup.

“I don’t,” Trucy says. “This is old stage show stuff we still had!”

“We” being the Gramaryes, surely. She pats away the dark circles under Athena’s eyes and with a wave, wishes them both luck, and skips off for the gallery with Apollo and Pearl in tow. 

Leaving Phoenix to enter behind the bench, chat with this judge for the first time in a year. If he really thinks about it, this judge - this man, he was going to think, but after all these years he’s not really quite sure how to assess what the judge is or isn’t and whether he’s a being that exists in any capacity outside of the courthouse - has seen him at his lowest, to rise as high as he could, and crash again, sink lower than that, and now here he is again. This judge has presided over all three trials where Phoenix has been accused of murder. He saw Phoenix’s first trial and his last and now he’ll see this second first.

He tells Phoenix that standing here as a lawyer makes him look younger. Phoenix thanks him and decides not to mention that it’s definitely shaving that makes him look younger. Might as well just take the compliment, if it’s a compliment, and not another “baby-faced” jab. 

“And you look as young as ever, Your Honor,” he replies, and it’s true, really - his face hasn’t changed a bit since Phoenix first met him. No more wrinkles, and no less. Eternal, unchanging, a fixture of the courtroom who Phoenix knows how to work with. 

And then there’s the prosecutor. The latest prosecutorial mystery for Phoenix to unravel. Another one to save. 

Prosecutor Simon Blackquill has an even more frightening visage staring at him at level across the courtroom, rather than looking down on him from up safe in the gallery. Not that safe isn’t anything but relative when it comes to a man who throws silvery slices of wind with the slash of a finger and whose hawk flaps about as it pleases, but in the gallery Phoenix is just one of a sea of faces merely observing. Down here at the bench? He’s the man who offered to defend an orca, with nowhere to hide and nowhere to run from the man who brought an orca to trial. 

Funny how all this works.

Blackquill berates Phoenix for bringing this case to court, never mind that it’s Blackquill who actually brought this to court - and the poor judge got this case late last night and skimmed it and missed the part that the defendant is an orca. But otherwise Blackquill seems - to be taking this seriously? Enough to speech-ify on the fact that they have an orca to be prosecuted here. 

“Though she cannot be present in the courtroom, nor speak for herself, we will treat this defendant as any other,” he says, casting a glance toward the screen being set up behind the witness stand; hopefully in a few minutes Sasha will have Orla on video phone, introducing the defendant to the court and perhaps charming then with her cuteness. Phoenix has had enough witnesses try and play cute to turn the judge and gallery against the defense - it’s about time he gets to have that power on his side. “Man or beast, we stand equal with the same value to our souls.” He pauses, eyes narrowing at his own words. The hawk on his shoulder ruffles its feathers. That’s a loaded word, for someone who knows magic: humans have souls, fae don’t, animals don’t, and fae animals certainly don’t. A soul or lack of one is no indication of moral judgment or standing. It’s just an extra piece of the self that can be cut loose and used in magic, and this seems to be what Blackquill is pondering, and his bird getting at, because he amends himself. “To our lives and hearts. Take Taka, as much a person in spirit as the rest of us who stand here today.” 

Phoenix would love to know what Taka is, whether it’s just an ordinary bird, a fae creature, or a familiar - Blackquill doesn’t give a hint, and Phoenix doesn’t know what the difference between a fae animal and specifically a familiar looks like. And even if he did he can’t see through Blackquill’s twisted aura to know. 

The Twisted Samurai distorts everything around him, that even if Phoenix wants to test his eyes on Athena next to him, he can’t. The courtroom falls into darkness when he tries, inconsistent silver light throwing the colors off where they aren’t inverted. Athena’s wide eyes appear nearly gray, not blue, and her hair dulls similarly; he sees double of her, sometimes, like he’s dazed or cross-eyed. And across the courtroom Blackquill has eyes almost straight white, and nothing else of him the same. His shape twists and breaks like his reflection in a wavy funhouse mirror has been reflected into a rippling pond, his hair changing lengths, his skin all the depth of white tissue paper, veins and blood and bones below, a dead man walking. At his steadiest, his entire body simply trembles at the edges, like energy barely contained in a vessel too small for it, a person held together in a form that doesn’t naturally belong to them; and all of him either stark white or black, and mostly white, patterned like a photonegative of himself.

Phoenix closes his eyes and gives himself a moment to reset and readjust to the regular world that he’ll see when he opens them.

“The question, then,” Blackquill continues, while Athena squints in confusion at Phoenix because he’s been squinting at her with the Sight, “is what one - what our orca, in this case - has done with that life, and how stained and shriveled their heart.”

Then he decides to prove that the greatest monster in the room is him, immediately after the first witness testimony - from Norma DePlume, who is as much of a terror as Phoenix expected, and she and Blackquill as nasty to each other as he could have imagined - when he demands the judge give his verdict, because they’ve heard everything they need to, and, “deliver your judgement so that I may carry out the sentence.”

“Objection! Hold it!” What the fuck! “You aren’t - you aren’t planning on killing Orla yourself, are you?” Beside him, Athena can’t keep her “what the fuck!” contained, or rather Widget warbles it out, and Phoenix really, really wants to know who programmed the robot to say fuck. “Is that what you’re implying—”

Blackquill says nothing, merely smirks, and Phoenix decides that he absolutely, definitely, does not want to actually know the answer. If Edgeworth wants him to defend this man, which he does, that’s not an “if”, Phoenix would rather not think that this case only went to trial because Blackquill wanted to take a literal stab at fighting a whale. He’d like to think it’s because he and Athena and Pearl found some decent proof, reasonable doubt, and because of what Blackquill said there in his opening statement, that animals have value and deserve a fair chance, too.

(Maybe he just said that to get it on the record hoping for reasonable doubt of his own and a fair trial for Taka when that goddamn bird inevitably hauls off and claws someone’s eyes out.)

(Edgeworth didn’t even warn him that Prosecutor Blackquill had a murder bird! Is the logical conclusion that Edgeworth didn’t know about the bird? Points toward fae creature, a la Gavin’s hound, except who the hell is managing to summon any fae anyone in prison? That place is iron for a reason. Or maybe after everything else, Edgeworth figured this is nothing to Phoenix.)

“We have a right to cross-examine!” Athena’s shrill and rightfully indignant cry rings out over a shriek from Taka that sounds like laughter. “We’re always allowed to, you know!”

“I simply hope to spare us all the waste of time that comes as consequence of your methods,” Blackquill replies, directed more at Phoenix than Athena, who like last trial he seems to mostly be ignoring, “and spare you the heartbreak of burning yourself to ash in a fight for a ‘Not Guilty’ you will not win.”

Like yesterday, Phoenix wonders if they’re talking about an orca, or something else. About Blackquill himself, and the task regarding him that Phoenix has been given. Does Blackquill know what Edgeworth has asked of Phoenix? It sort of sounds like he does. 

“Okay, but I’m still going to cross-examine,” Phoenix says. And maybe drag it out a little more than usual, just to let Blackquill know he’s not intimidated. 

And DePlume likes the sound of her own voice, so maybe they’ll learn something new from her, some piece of information she hadn’t meant to let slip, if they push on her every statement.

What Phoenix learns instead is that Blackquill likes penguins and thinks them the only part of the aquarium actually worth anyone’s time, and apparently no one told DePlume that the victim died of blunt force trauma, not being bitten by the orca. Not that it helps; there’s more security footage than the short looped bit that they saw behind Fulbright’s back, and that does actually show that Orla had the victim in her jaws, and Blackquill can put a good - bad - spin on it. Sure, it wasn’t when the victim was killed, but it certainly was proof of her malicious intent, toying with a corpse like she’s a cat caught the canary - Blackquill stares Athena dead in the eye as he makes that analogy - but not even hungry to eat it, just taking another life between her teeth as a game. 

A game, and singing the while she does it. The theory, working from their preliminary autopsy report that Jack Shipley died instantaneously from a brain contusion, is that Orla headbutted him into the glass of the tank. DePlume didn’t see any moment of actual impact - that was what Phoenix saw on the security footage, Orla with her head tipped out of sight behind some tank decorations - but came to the conclusion that this was definitely the exact time of the victim’s death. A conclusion extrapolated from something that Phoenix really, really wishes Sasha had mentioned: a year ago, another orca trainer at Shipshape Aquarium died under such similar circumstances. 

DePlume wrote a whole damn book about it. Sasha entirely neglected this critical fact. Phoenix is going to scream. Maybe faint, instead, get just a little wobbly in the knee area, because Blackquill has this all in the palm of his hand, all under control, and what a horrible mess he would make of a jury trial. Start with them biased against him on basis of that tricky little matter, convicted murderer, and end with them swayed however he wants them to, just as he plays the gallery, but they aren’t the ones making the final call.

(Edgeworth fretted often about what a particularly charismatic and manipulative lawyer could do to the jurist system, and Phoenix thought he was worrying over Klavier, his charm, his glamours, his celebrity status. How likely instead that he was concerned with Blackquill, already planning ahead to when he would place him back in court?)

Though if Phoenix is going to faint for any actual reason, it’s the picture that Blackquill has projected up for the court. A page from DePlume’s book, half the sheet taken up by a glossy color photograph of the dead orca trainer - so that’s the kind of writer DePlume is, a sensationalist one, like some others he could name. The unfortunate girl was probably around Sasha’s age; her body lay on the edge of the show pool, water puddling beneath her and dripping from her long dark hair. Her shirt has flowing puffy pirate sleeves in a soft powder blue fabric. Almost the color of Trucy’s show cape, and it’s hard not to think of his daughter, but it’s even harder not to think of someone else wearing that color and killed while performing at her profession. It was a rehearsal, not a live show, when Thalassa died, but—

Reflections, reflections. He keeps running up against familiar faces on the corpses in this case.

“Athena! Phoenix! Please!” Sasha pleads from somewhere out-of-sight, while Orla, centered in the screen, chirrups in confusion, but when she makes sound, she shows off her powerful jaws full of teeth. “Orla didn’t kill anyone! Please, we’re begging for your help!”

Orla waves a flipper, the gravity of the situation not really clear to her. 

The trainer who died last year - if Orla really did everything DePlume says, biting and headbutting, they should see marks of that, blood and bruises, and there’s nothing. Logic himself out of fear, that’s right, he can do that - Orla can’t speak, but she understands them, and Sasha in part understands her. Sasha has faith in her. Phoenix has to have faith in Sasha.

“You’d be better off saving your breath, you sad slippery pup.” Blackquill leans forward, elbows on the bench, laughing, and Phoenix really, really does not like that. “Perhaps you did not see his face, but allow me to tell you - when he saw that photograph, he turned even paler than me. You were yourself rather afraid of the orca then, weren’t you, Wright-dono?”

Not enough for him to play the judge and gallery against the defendant, now he’s trying to turn lawyer and client against each other, make them lose faith in the other. How discouraged must Sasha feel, to be told Phoenix is doubting too? 

“For shame, to take up the matter of a client who you have neither the courage nor drive to defend, and further crush them under the false hope you’ve given.”

“Nothing about my defense is ‘false’, Prosecutor Blackquill.” Keep his face and voice calm and level, don’t give Blackquill an inch or a twitch to work from. “If you’re hoping for an easy win by talking me into giving up, I assure you, it’s not going to happen. Orla is my client, and I don’t give up on my clients.” Whether or not she can speak to him doesn’t matter. That she’s an orca doesn’t matter. You can never truly know if your client is innocent or not, Mia said once, a very long time ago. And she’s right, and was always right, because even Truth can get subjective and messy, be talked around, and relying wholly on it made him an arrogant idiot. All you can do is fight with everything you have. 

And he’s going to. He’s going to do Mia proud, orca or no. 

“I see the trust that Sasha has put in Orla, and I respect that.” He sympathizes, after all the nightmarish cases when he’s had to trust someone that no one else would, or trust someone who didn’t even trust himself. “So I’m willing to have faith in Orla, too.”

“Yet you do not know the first thing about orcas, do you?”

“Is that relevant?” Phoenix asks. 

He relishes the surprise that grips Blackquill’s features. Time to find out whether the Twisted Samurai, master manipulator, is smart enough to not be taken in by a tactic Phoenix has had seven years to perfect, playing the idiot and being underestimated. If it can’t get him anything about this particular case maybe he’ll learn something more about Blackquill himself that can help Edgeworth. 

“Do you know why they are also known as ‘killer whales’?”

What kind of trick question, and how actually relevant—? “Uh, because people have a tendency to fear what they don’t understand, and because they didn’t understand orcas and just saw their teeth, they presumed that these creatures were out to get them too?”

That’s basically a psychology explanation, right? He’s basically working on Athena and Blackquill’s level, in their wheelhouse, now, right?

Blackquill stares at him. One of his eyes twitches. Taka scratches its head. The question is written plainly across his features, the icy stare and the cold scowl: how did you pass the Bar, twice? 

Joke’s on him; Phoenix doesn’t know either. 

“No,” Blackquill says. “That is not it.”

“It was a good attempt,” Phoenix says, glancing to Athena for confirmation. She shrugs, her teeth pressed together in a failure at forcing a smile, and she sharply sucks in her breath. Okay. Ouch. That noncommittal of an answer is a hell of an answer of itself. 

“The reason,” Blackquill says, stressing the word, now acting along the belief that yes, Phoenix is a fucking idiot who needs to be addressed accordingly, “is that they are cunning and merciless predators known to hunt and kill even true whales. They are also known as ‘wolves of the sea’ for that same reason, that they are clever, powerful, and dangerous creatures who hunt in packs.” How, in the midst of going over the case, preparing witnesses, and filling in the gaps of the evidence Fulbright had, did he, from prison, have the time and resources to do this much research on orcas, down to etymology of the name? “Tell me, does that sound innocent to you? Does that not sound like the creature we have here on stand today, and her capacity to so efficiently kill a man before entertaining herself with that corpse?”

So he thinks orcas are smart enough to ascribe malicious intent to, and he’s doing his damndest to convince everyone else of the same. “My goodness,” the judge says. “So they truly are ‘killers’? Though may I ask, what do you mean by ‘true’ whales?”

Phoenix wondered the same, but if there’s time for a tangent then he’d rather use it to reconvene with Athena, steady themselves, and figure out how to work past this huge gap in their knowledge. It looks really bad, all the pieces they weren’t aware of. They need a new angle of approach as everything they’ve done so far has been smacked down—

“Oh, I can help you with that!” Athena says brightly, and her ponytail sways from side to side as she bobs up and down with uncontained glee. “Technically, if we want to get pedantic, which we do” - spoken like a true lawyer; Phoenix could shed a tear with pride - “what’s known as a ‘whale’” - she makes quotation marks with her fingers in the air - “is different in our informal everyday usage than in taxonomy. You traditionally wouldn’t call a dolphin a whale, right?”

Maybe Phoenix won’t have an opportunity to confer with Athena and will just ponder how dire this case has gotten on his own, while Athena spouts Whale Facts. If Blackquill meant to distract her, it’s working, but Phoenix is not honestly sure he could’ve expected this to happen, or the judge to ask. Either way, Blackquill hasn’t turned his back bored on the tangent yet; he has stepped back from the bench, arms crossed, the chain between his cuffs tangled up around them, eyes half closed, maybe glad for the break. 

“But,” Athena continues, “you could! Technically! So from, like, primary school biology we know that classification in taxonomy goes, kingdom phylum class order genus species, but there are orders within orders and suborders—”

“Athena,” Phoenix says, not sure she can even hear anyone else but herself right now, “I don’t think His Honor needs this much detail.”

“Yes, do stop her,” DePlume says with a roll of her eyes. 

Which makes Phoenix immediately want to change his stance and tell Athena to continue talking, but someone else gets to it first. “Let the lass go on,” Blackquill says dryly. “Don’t crush her spirit. I’ll do enough of that myself when we get to the next testimony and the sentencing.”

“—and so there’s a smaller order known as Cetaceans, that’s literally just, derived from Ancient Greek for ‘whale’. But this whales order contains two more even smaller orders, and those are toothed whales and baleen whales. Baleen whales are what you’d consider ‘true whales’, basically, like blue whales and humpback whales, and they’re probably what you think of if you were asked to picture a whale. But toothed whales include dolphins and orcas and narwhals—”

“Wait,” Phoenix says. “Narwhals aren’t giant fucked-up seals?”

Blackquill closes his eyes entirely. 

“Nope! They don’t have a fin on their back, so maybe that’s why you got confused, but belugas don’t either, and they’re whales as much as narwhals are! But the short of the orca matter” - wasn’t the judge’s question about what a true whale is, not how orcas are taxonomically classified? - “is that they are actually classified within the dolphin family. Orcas are dolphins! So if you’d call a bottlenose dolphin a whale, you can call an orca a whale. They’re both the same amount of whale! Or informally you can just keep using the words ‘dolphin’ and ‘whale’ however, with no regards to which animals are genetically most similar, and people will get what you mean, because words mean what we’ve made them mean and that’s how we use them. But since you wanted to know, now you know!”

“I - yes.” The judge is slightly taken aback by her enthusiasm. “Thank you, Ms Cykes. You really have done your research for this case.”

Phoenix somehow has the feeling that she knew that long before this case. 

“And yet.” Blackquill leans forward, his eyes alight and alive, a point ready to be made even off the back of something not case-relevant. “You dispute and explain the ‘whale’ part, but never once say a thing to refute the ‘killer’.” 

“I - but, I—” Athena turns helplessly to Phoenix, her mouth opening and closing without any more words coming through. 

“I simply cannot bear to hear more such drivel from the defense about trusting a killer,” he continues. “Can you, either, Your Baldness?”

Phoenix would’ve been thrown out of the court after bringing a bird in (or a whip, or for throwing an enchanted coffee mug across the room), or for even half of this amount of contempt for the judge - the rules have always been more lenient for prosecutors, he’s always known that, but there’s never been such a stark demonstration of it. Once this trial is over, he’ll take that up with Edgeworth. Far from the most important action to take to level the field, not by a long shot, but might as well make a note of it. 

“Funny that he’s talking shit on ‘trusting a killer’,” Phoenix mutters, “when he’s the convicted killer here, asking the judge to trust his case.” He snorts, but Athena doesn’t laugh or make a sound. She stares across at Blackquill, drumming her fingers on her collarbone right next to Widget. The one to laugh is Blackquill himself, even though Phoenix was taking care that he wouldn’t be heard by anyone but Athena, to keep that from being an on-the-record statement when he’s said enough bullshit that already will be going into a transcript. (Goddamn narwhals.)

As if Blackquill wasn’t enough of an uncomfortable, inscrutable mystery. Where’s his damned bird? Taka isn’t close to Phoenix, but it isn’t right with Blackquill, either; it splits the distance, and Phoenix doesn’t know how good a hawk’s hearing is. Pretty good, he thinks. He’ll ask Kay if she knows. And Taka heard, what was his name, the tanuki from Mayor Tenma’s trial, talking to them in the lobby after, and what Taka heard got to Blackquill, got to Edgeworth. Is that how this works?

“I’ve been told I can’t take a hint,” Phoenix says, louder, and Taka circles over the room and decides to settle now on the judge’s head. “And I certainly am not going to take this hint of yours to give up, Prosecutor Blackquill, because I’ve also been told I don’t know when to quit.”

“Your self-awareness does no credit to you,” Blackquill says. “Very well. Witness, tell them what you saw, and what you heard. Deliver the fatal blow to their deluded determination.”

Back to work.

-

It’s touch and go, like every case, every time, just like Phoenix remembers, but they work through DePlume’s testimony, keep pressing the possibility of a human killer. Suggest that Orla was manipulated, given the command to start singing by a human culprit who wanted to draw attention to her, frame her, and create a witness. He’s pushing the bloody coin at the court as much as he shows his badge to witnesses during an investigation - and he’s not gonna stop doing the latter any time soon, not now that he’s got a new badge to be proud of because it means he survived and that’s worth announcing to everyone, right? - but the judge is coming around, surely—

And Blackquill is not; Blackquill’s a damn tricky bastard who has a blood-covered burlap bag, the exact piece of evidence Phoenix desperately wanted to find. He has the bag, he knows Phoenix wanted it for proof, but since he’s known of it since yesterday he’s had time to spin a tale that keeps Orla as the perpetrator. He’s prepared it to the point that it’s not even a bluff: he has Marlon Rimes as a witness to confirm that something happened, a loud clattering noise from the orca pool room that Blackquill argues is the moment that Orla, by pulling on a flag lying underneath them, upended four-hundred pounds of show props all precariously stacked, right down onto the victim’s head.

When Rimes said he had come here on Sasha’s behalf, because she had to stay behind with Orla - that wasn’t the full truth, clearly. 

Not that Rimes is exactly happy to testify for Blackquill, either. The story is dragged out of him: he was up in the staff room around 10:10 am, roughly the time that DePlume saw Orla with the captain’s body, when he heard a crashing and peered into the room to see the props had all fallen, after they had been cleaned up neatly the prior night. “Just to clarify,” Phoenix says, already certain that Rimes is lying about the timing of this, but he wants to get the most information he can from this fake story if it might help him figure out why Rimes is lying. “You heard the sound, couldn’t go in the room because you need a security key for that” - Rimes nods - “but peeked in and couldn’t see the victim” - Rimes nods a second time - “but could see the props?” 

Rimes nods a third time. “Yeah. The rest of the stuff mighta been blocking my view of the captain, but I could see a bunch of those gold coins lying all about everywhere.”

And the current running theory is that the gold coins, via bag, are the murder weapon. Phoenix has staked the case for a human culprit on those coins. “I suppose it fits as a certain tragic thematic,” Blackquill says. Phoenix braces himself for tasteless remarks. “With the pirate theme that the victim pursued for his aquarium, and consider how many pirates lost their lives in pursuit of gold. Perhaps it’s faery gold; I’ve heard that unfailingly claims lives. Or perhaps the orca wished to be compensated for her labor, and saw fit to take the matter between her own teeth.”

There it goes. There’s the cruel biting words, the nasty chuckle, Blackquill laughing with himself when no one else is. “We all deserve to be properly paid for our work, do we not? And I myself shall have a fine meal tonight.”

Several questions arise, none relevant to the case: how exactly is Blackquill paid? He’s a prisoner on death row; money isn’t exactly an issue, or worth anything, to him. Maybe he’s compensated with better food than standard prison fare. Maybe that’s what he means. Maybe it’s that and not the alarming, outlandish, prospect Phoenix can’t shake, not when Blackquill wears that cloying smirk across his face, the one that suggests he knows something more than he’s letting on, and he took the time at the beginning of the trial saying that he wanted to “carry out the sentence” - read: kill, because if Orla was guilty she’s going to be put down.

So, well, knowing Maya for as long as he has, there’s no way for him to discount the possibility that Blackquill, talking about dinner, means that he wants to kill and eat an orca.

(He’s tried for a while to figure out what it is that drives Maya’s appetite. Does she just think human food tastes better? Isn’t it supposed to be the other way around, that faery food tastes so exquisite that after having it, anything else is ashes in a human’s mouth? Is that even true? Something else to ask Thalassa. But for Maya, he’s not ever figured out whether it was just a trait she was born with, an insatiable void within that she’s driven to fill, or a way that she revels in the human world, that to get food here it’s a simple price of money, with no debt incurred, no complex magically binding rules of hospitality. Eating plastic packaging, though - the Gavins’ hellhound does the same, swallowed a whole takeout container that Phoenix offered it as a gesture of “please don’t kill me” - he’s got even less an idea.) 

If this, though - this with Blackquill right here, the insinuation that might say more about Phoenix than Blackquill, about what he’s dealt with on a regular basis and how every place he turns these past two days he sees it - if this could be how he gets the answer to the “is he human or fae” question, so help him—

(If it’s anything for Blackquill, if he’s anything like Maya, then this is a thing about dominance, about being the one at the top of the food chain. About having any ounce of control over someone’s life, even if his own is out of his hands, and he on death row. Hey, is that analytical psychology? Everything that Athena refers to as “analytical psychology” means Phoenix doesn’t have a clue what it’s actually supposed to be.)

“Good to clear that up, Mr Rimes, thank you,” Phoenix says. Blackquill’s grin widens. He knows Phoenix is deliberately, consciously ignoring him. He knows that he’s gotten under his skin. 

(Hell, he’s been there for months already, but more in the way of a faint itch, and now he’s plainly a knife jammed through Phoenix’s chest. Isn’t stabbing someone a way of getting under their skin, both literally and metaphorically? And he wouldn’t put it past Blackquill to stab him, literally. With magic, sure, but still.)

“Now,” Phoenix continues. “The trouble is, Mr Rimes, that there’s no way you could’ve been in the staff room at that time. Is there not a certain young woman whose acquaintance you made yesterday, in the food prep room, at this same time that you claim to have been in the staff room?”

Another thing to bring up with Edgeworth, in terms of legal reform: maybe some sort of public service announcements about the consequences of perjury? Make some informative posters to put up at bus stops and subway stations. That couldn’t hurt.

-

“Sasha’s under enough stress now, y’know? I didn’t want her to have to come in and testify. Figured if anyone should have to go up on the stand, it shoulda been me.”

“That’s a very…” Phoenix pinches the bridge of his nose. Very noble? Very stupid? Why not both? “Very kindly meant, thing to do, Mr Rimes, but that’s still perjury.”

“Yeah,” Athena says. “It seems like a lot of trouble to go to just so that Sasha didn’t have to come in and say yeah, she heard a noise. And now she’s got to come in anyway, and you’re in trouble too now. Why would you go to that extent?”

Why indeed. 

He tells them. The calendar they thought was his, the one Pearl accidentally picked up, the one that tells them that the victim met with someone at the pool - that wasn’t his. He thinks it’s Sasha’s. He worried suspicion would fall on Sasha.

And now Phoenix is worried by that prospect, too.

He didn’t miss this part of being a lawyer, not at all. Damn all of it. 

Rimes leaves to return to the aquarium, take over orca-sitting while Sasha has to testify, and that leaves Phoenix and Athena to pace around the lobby like fish swimming circles in a tank for the rest of the recess. Just waiting, helplessly, to know what horrible new revelation will come next.

Sasha’s testimony is about the same as Rimes’, except for the part where it’s actually true. Orla kicked up a fuss, DePlume started screaming, which of these happened first she doesn’t remember, because finding your boss dead in an orca tank doesn’t help one maintain a firm, linear thought process to exactly recall it later. No surprises there. Lacking any other strategy, Phoenix nitpicks and nitpicks at her testimony until even she is annoyed with it, even though he’s the lawyer she came to for help and she knew from the start that he cross-examined a parrot so she should expect that this is the strategy and the strategy is bluffing and bullshitting.

But it gets them places. It gets them information about the way the props fell over the victim, that Orla couldn’t have dragged him into the pool after they fell because that would’ve disturbed the scarf that landed on top of his body, the way that once again Phoenix’s entire theory is wrong and he’s got to dispute his own suggestion that he built this case on, the bloody coin as the murder weapon. It’s not. He disproves his own bluff that got the case to trial in the first place.

His real argument, his unwavering stance, is simply that Orla was not the killer, and against everything new they pull from Sasha, that holds true. The victim most likely fell to his death in the drained orca pool. Orla was manipulated, using one of the new tricks she’s learning, to grab the victim’s body and bring him back up to the surface. Sasha and Rimes get her to demonstrate, on the video phone, with a practice dummy. Blackquill’s case about a killer whale is losing ground, fast; Orla’s too endearing. “The whole gallery loves her!” Athena says brightly, and her voice and stance both turn smug as she adds, “And Prosecutor Blackquill’s shut right up!”

Planning a counterattack is well within the realm of possibility for why he’s silent. He might also be convincing himself that whale meat would taste nasty anyway. Or Phoenix might be terribly uncharitable, and Blackquill never intended to eat the orca. He never said it outright. He just had a look about him that didn’t seem innocent, if he’s ever seemed innocent, which Phoenix does not believe he has. Probably shouldn’t say that about a sort-of client, but here they are.

Also here they are, with the judge agreeing, ordering an investigation be done of the bottom of the orca pool, and Blackquill still sullenly silent, the trial inexorably rolling to its final conclusion, a verdict, Orla saved—

“Prosecutor Blackquill!” Fulbright makes a loud reappearance, waving a manilla envelope with one hand and with the other trying to extract a paper from the envelope, and he isn’t really doing either with any dignity. “The thing you ordered has come in.”

“Hmph.” Blackquill doesn’t raise his arm to accept the paper - finally extracted from the envelope - Fulbright offers him. He doesn’t move in any way, doesn’t make a sound or an indication of a command, and Taka alights from his shoulder, snatching the page from Fulbright, talons piercing through it, and circling up to the judge. “If you would read that out to the court, Your Baldness.”

“Ah - and what is this, exactly?” The judge slowly pulls the sheet lose, care made to avoid his hands getting close to Taka’s talons, but also to not rip the paper even further.

“An updated autopsy report,” Blackquill replies.

“God damn it!” Phoenix should not say that so loudly, and saying it out loud at any volume is too loud with Athena around, especially when he’s been over Courtroom Manners 101 with her and had the lesson basically boil down to don’t challenge the prosecution to a fistfight by the dumpsters in the back lot and don’t curse on the record. But the words escape from him anyway, like air knocked from his lungs when the prosecution roundhouse-kicked him straight in the gut. “Why now? Just when it’s going good for us—”

“During the recess, a particular thought occurred to me,” Blackquill says. He’s the one ignoring Phoenix, now, though there’s nothing smug about it, only chilly disdainful professionalism. “I asked the body to be reexamined, bearing in mind what had been nagging at me. Now.” He jerks his head to the side, directed at the judge. 

“Very well.” The judge casts one last cautious glance at Taka before he allows his attention to turn to the paper. “Let’s see here… The cause of death, blunt force trauma, shown to be consistent with - with a fall? A fall of around sixty feet? But the orca pool is sixty-five feet deep! This report backs up the defense’s claims!”

Blackquill nods once.

“What?” Phoenix’s yelp is even louder this time, never mind that this is good news. It’s good news. It’s solid evidence in favor of his claim and his client. Why does it feel like someone still has a foot on his chest?

“The orca could not possibly be involved with what happened with an empty pool,” the judge says. “This autopsy report proves her complete innocence!”

“Yes,” Blackquill says, at length. Even it being his autopsy report, it takes him several seconds to finally acquise. “I suppose it does.” 

Taka spreads its wings and flaps back to Blackquill’s shoulder. 

“Then we did it!” Athena bounces again, her excitement bubbling over into obvious physical expression, just as her every other emotion refuses to be contained. “Prosecutor Blackquill can’t even object! He isn’t even trying! You’ve done it, Boss! You saved Orla!”

His agreement with her, they’ve done it, Orla’s safe, emerges as a sticky click from the back of his throat. Words don’t come, and another choked attempt at response is lost against the clack of the judge’s gavel. “This court finds the defendant, Ora Shipley” - right, Phoenix had entirely forgotten that Orla’s “legal” name is something different than what she’s called - “not guilty!”

An expected Objection! doesn’t follow, not from Blackquill, not from a different witness, not anyone. Beside him, Athena woops and throws her hands in the air, extended a bit toward Sasha, who pumps her fist in the air in return. “Phoenix! Athena! Thank you both so much!” She springs out from behind the witness stand and calls over to the video phone, “Hey, Marlon! Give Orla some celebratory snacks!”

“Sure thing! Congrats, Sasha!” Orla on screen is pelted by a hail of fish, catching only about half of them, like someone flung a whole bucket at her. He probably did, in fact. 

The judge clears his throat, taps his gavel once. “That concludes today’s—” He taps the gavel again, raises his voice a little more. “Today’s proceedings!” Court’s never going to be officially dismissed at this rate, with the hubbub; Athena’s leaning over the bench now, grinning, saying something to Sasha, and Orla chattering loudly. She’s so caught up in the fervor, but Phoenix still waits for the other shoe to drop, always is waiting for that, and he still concentrates enough that he hears, over the sound of her and Sasha’s laughter, a low, throaty chuckle drift across the courtroom. 

Then Blackquill slams his palm on the bench, and the courtroom goes quiet enough to listen to the rattle of the chain echo into silence. Athena, basically lying sprawled across the bench , pushes herself up. Sasha has frozen.

For a moment, Blackquill doesn’t move, his eyes fixed down on his hand on the bench. Then he raises his eyes up, his face alight with smug triumph. “My sincerest thanks, Wright-dono.” 

“Huh?” There’s no way this goes that’s good, is there? Maybe Blackquill could surprise him, like the updated autopsy report surprised him, or maybe he’s going to have to ask Athena how many languages she knows and how to say oh fuck in all of them. (She knows German, right? He could pull double time with that, between swearing in court, and driving a few people he knows up the wall.)

“For your work in drawing out the truth.”

If Blackquill had a personal stake in wanting to know the truth behind this case, that would be one thing, but—

“Now, Fool Bright. Arrest this woman.”

“Certainly!” Fulbright throws up a jaunty salute with two fingers. He and Blackquill are the only ones moving, like they’re the only ones alive, everyone else turned to stone, unable to do anything but wait. “Sasha Buckler, you are under arrest for the murder of Jack Shipley!”

“What?” Sasha springs backwards, knocking into the bench and grabbing onto the edge of it to hold herself up. 

“No! I don’t believe it!” Athena smacks both of her palms down on the bench, pushing herself up entirely off of her feet, suspending herself in an attempt to be taller.

The shoe dropped. “For what reason—”

Blackquill cuts him off before he finishes asking the question. “Come now. You must have had some idea in your sorry sad head that this would be the outcome. The drained pool in the orca room accessible only by key card - the orca being framed with its show commands. Who else had access and ability to be on the scene and properly manipulate the orca? She and the victim are the only two who participate in the training and commanding of the orca, and her security card, last night, had the last recorded usage until the body was discovered yesterday morning.”

“Yesterday, we requested security card logs from the company that handles them,” Fulbright says. “Apparently, the aquarium employees don’t know the card usage is tracked. Come along now, Ms Buckler. It’s time we have a nice long chat down at the station.”

Card usage records, think Phoenix think; he’s run up against this kind of thing at least once before. What are all his theories and bluffs to get around that? If employees didn’t know that their ins and outs were recorded, someone who had their own card would probably use it, but a culprit who didn’t have a card would still have to steal it, even if they didn’t know they could frame someone that way. 

Objecting at this point won’t stop what’s in motion. Fulbright takes Sasha by the upper arm, escorting her away, and she follows in a dazed trace. But Phoenix is not going to not object, if he sees any way to, and Sasha is his client about as much as Orla is, and Athena is indignant and seething beside him. “Why would Ms Buckler have come to us for help with Orla’s case if she intended to frame Orla?” he demands. “Why wouldn’t she just let Orla be blamed and escape the scrutiny?”

Blackquill snorts. “She’s quite the performer, acting the part of such a worried girl concerned for the life of her friend. Perhaps she thought to even better sell her concern this way, knowing all the while with a witness, the margins of victory were quite slim for you. I of course suspected her from the start. That the orca may have been a malicious killer, or may have been a pawn and victim herself of someone so heartless as to place the blame upon the unwitting - I considered both possibilities.”

Phoenix should have figured something was up, that he had another culprit ready to blame, when the update to the autopsy report arrived. If Blackquill ordered the body reexamined for - what, exactly? The differing patterns of blunt force trauma for being slammed by an orca against glass versus falling a long distance? Squish versus splat? - then did he expect that the defense was going to find that angle? If he wanted the examiners to specifically consider falling, then that meant he realized Orla was innocent. And if she was innocent, then he could just switch targets. He was waiting for this since they put Sasha on the stand.

He had unwitting pawns of his own. 

“I really must thank you again.” Blackquill is undeniably enjoying rubbing salt into the wound. “I surely could not have done this without your assistance. After all, you were the one who put the witness so at ease as to bring forth the information about the orca’s lifesaver trick.”

This is not the kind of defense-prosecution collaboration that Phoenix signed up for.

“Wait - wait!” Sasha wakes to the reality of her situation, snaps out of the confused daze the accusation put her in, and starts dragging her feet, not slowing hers and Fulbright’s trajectory out of the courtroom in any way, but succeeding at making a horrible squealing noise of her shoes on the polished courtroom floor. “I didn’t kill the captain! I would never do anything that would hurt Orla! I - oof!” Fulbright seems about two seconds from lifting her off the ground and simply hauling her from the courtroom that way. “Please! Phoenix! Athena! I—”

Her voice fades and a door slams.

“Sasha—” Athena has her feet back solidly on the ground, her hands still pressed against the bench, fingers curled under her palms to form trembling fists. She doesn’t speak again, doesn’t move again. Even once the judge has adjourned the court - this is Orla’s trial, after all, and she is resoundingly innocent - she remains still, her eyes fixed blankly out into space. Phoenix has to tap her on the shoulder to get her moving, and even then, when she does, she walks with the same slow cadence that Sasha did as she tried to figure out what was happening. Widget is still lit up, displaying its sad purple-bluish face, but Athena might as well have shut herself off.

“What a horrible end to a trial,” Trucy says, shaking her head. They’re already in the lobby waiting, she and Apollo and Pearl, all serious and solemn and surprisingly quiet. “It was going so good! I was so excited for you both! And then—!”

“She didn’t do it!” Athena blurts. Widget snaps to red. “I believe that with my whole heart, I know it, Sasha didn’t do it! Her voice and her heart were both saying the exact same thing, that she didn’t! And no one listened!” Her anger teeters on the edge of tears. “The whole court should’ve listened and no one - no one—”

“Well, obviously you listened,” Apollo says. He looks pretty uncomfortable with her distress, drawing himself back, his arms tightly folded together, but as he speaks, Athena’s body snaps up straight, her head level again, eyes wide, like she was just doused in cold water to finally wake her. 

“I - Boss!” She spins around to face Phoenix. “Boss, we have to defend Sasha! We have to get to the detention center to see her, right now! Right now!”

“The police aren’t even going to be back at the detention center yet,” Phoenix says. “They do have to drive there, you know. It’s not like it’s - wormholes or anything.” He deliberately goes for a word far from fae connotations, far from something that will give Pearl, Athena, or Trucy any ideas. “We’ll go back to the office and regroup, figure out how we approach today’s investigation at the aquarium, and we’ll go there—”

“But you’re going to be defending Sasha too, right, Boss?” Athena demands. “If you’re not, then - then I - and—” She looks to Apollo and Trucy, her words all tangled up, but the intent clear: she’ll do it with or without him. 

“Of course I will be,” Phoenix says. “But the police will be interrogating her for a while, probably, so we should do some investigating first, so we’re not just waiting around at the detention center, and so we can have something actually helpful to tell her, because…” He drags a hand through his hair. It’s the way this always goes, the up-and-down trajectory where after every crescendo there’s a further place to fall, and if he ever proves innocence in one matter for certain, something else waits in the wings to tell him he lost a different round he didn’t know he was playing. 

“Because what, Daddy?” Trucy asks. “You think she’s going to want a different lawyer? You proved Orla didn’t do it! She sounded really grateful to you and Athena! Of course she’d want you as her lawyer!”

“I should’ve seen this coming,” Phoenix says. That’s the trouble: Blackquill said he must surely have had some idea of how this would end, and he did, and he pushed it away, and it caught up to him. “And figured out - some way around it, asked Sasha what her alibi was and what she was doing because if we were proving a human culprit then of course the prosecution could turn it around to—”

“But how could you have seen that coming?” Athena glares at him like he’s a lying witness on the stand, and she, ready to tear him apart verbally and physically. “That Prosecutor Blackquill would - ugh! Prosecutor Blackquill.” She says his name like a curse, the tone that Maya always used on Edgeworth’s name at the beginning. (Then he stopped being such a pain in the ass and became their friend and she stopped using his name at all.)

“How could you have even thought to ask Ms Buckler those questions?” Trucy says. “Like ‘hey you were the only one to use the security key in the past 12 hours right’? Or ‘did you leak any of your top-secret orca whistle patterns to anyone else’ or ‘how do we break into police files to get the full security camera footage’ or—”

“I get it, Truce,” Phoenix says. She squints doubtfully at him. “No, I do, really. But the thing is—” 

She rolls her eyes and turns silently to Apollo, the obvious sentiment conveyed that this further objection is him further not actually getting it, and Apollo snorts, and Phoenix’s heart clenches up with a vice around it that they’ve only had a year and not a lifetime to perfect their silent, condescending, sibling communication and they don’t even know that’s what this is. It’s the same way Edgeworth and Franziska can cast the briefest glance at each other but convey three levels of disdain and mockery and coordinate a savage teardown of whatever sorry fool has earned their ire—

Where was his original thought going? 

“The thing is - this happens all the time, to me, with my cases. Where everything I do to prove my client innocent just further pushes them, or someone else they love, closer to drowning. Just makes it worse.” Edgeworth’s new confession, an accusation against Ema. A last accusation against Maya, her own mother. Phoenix’s own badge because he tried too hard to save someone with it. Just the highlight reel. “And it’s kind of horribly crushing every time. I didn’t want you to have to go through that, Athena.” Look how badly it affected her. She asked him something like that back when they first met, didn’t she: what happens if no one listens to you? And here it went, and hurt her badly. 

All four of the kids stare at him, unblinking, confused. “But then you would’ve had to defend and investigate all on your own!” Athena protests. “And - and then you’d have no one to share the crushing despair with!”

“I don’t want to share that,” Phoenix interrupts. “I’m pretty sure I’m cursed.” And like the other ways he’s cursed, he’s afraid that sooner or later it will take one of his kids as victim. Less horrible than Death catching up to them, of course, but still. He’s put them all through enough.

Pearl studies him intently, chewing at her thumbnail again. She concentrates hard enough that her glamour starts slipping from her eyes, turning them red. “I don’t see anything,” she says. “I mean, Misfortune could do it, but you only got that when you stopped being a lawyer.”

Apollo recoils. He knows exactly where that one came from.

“But your win record is still kickass!” Athena punches her fist into her opposite palm. “So even if it happens you still pull it off! And I want to learn how to do that! From Apollo and from you, too!” In his logical, detached brain, he can keep a good distance from her, and then when she’s staring him in the face reminding him of why he became a lawyer and the good things he’s done - it’s that much harder. “C’mon, if we’re going to the office we’d better go now! We’ve got investigation to do!”

“You know,” Pearl says as they head for Athena’s car, “you sure do know a lot about orcas. And I didn’t get to learn much about Orla at the aquarium, unfortunately, and I know she’s not the point of contention in court anymore—”

“Do you want me to tell you more orca facts?” Athena interrupts. As though she honestly needs the excuse that Pearl was going to offer her, of teaching them things they can use in court to defend Orla. Pearl nods.

On the drive back to the office, Phoenix gets the other front seat, and Apollo, Trucy, and Pearl squish themselves into the back. Athena chatters animatedly to the rearview mirror the whole time.

-

“Was there something you wanted to say to me, Athena? Or show me? That’s a very large book you have, there.”

“...Junie brought it to me from the school library. Since I haven’t been able to go in lately.”

“She did? That’s very kind of her. And what is it - An Encyclopedia of Marine Mammals. Very nice.”

“Mhm. I’m nearly done reading it.”

“You’re reading the whole thing? Cover to cover?”

“Don’t you do that with books? Um… being a lawyer is a lot of reading, isn’t it? You should read it all. To make sure that you don’t catch an innocent person by mistake.”

“I do, don’t worry. I wouldn’t want any person sent to the gallows for something they didn’t do.”

“Then why don’t you read whole books?”

“I don’t read entire encyclopedias. You know, a lot of libraries don’t let you take them home with you at all. You just look up what you want to know while you’re there.”

“But I want to know everything that’s in this encyclopedia.”

“Well, then I suppose you know better than I and I shouldn’t be telling you what to do, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. Do you want to hear something I’ve learned so far? Um, since you’re always taking time to, to teach me what you’re learning.”

“I’ve heard it said, and found it myself to be true, that by teaching something you learn it better yourself, too. It helps us both that way. It’s very efficient. Go ahead, tell me something about marine mammals.”

“I’ll try and find something you wouldn’t already know.”

“I’m a law and psychology student, not a marine biologist. I don’t know anything. How about you tell me about - penguins?”

“Birds aren’t mammals, silly! But I can tell you about orcas. They’re black and white like you and penguins are, too! They’re the largest member of the dolphin family - they’re not whales at all!”

“Killer whales aren’t whales?”

“Nope! And the ‘killer’ part, is because sailors would observe them hunting and killing baleen whales, and they were first known as ‘whale killers’ and then that got flipped, somehow. And now people tend to think of them as vicious killers, but they aren’t! Wild orcas have never killed a human! They’re just strong and hungry.”

“That they gained that reputation is unfortunate but not surprising. Humans have that tendency to fear what they don’t understand, and to not bother understanding so much of the world around them. To presume that their impressions of the world constitute its one objective truth.”

“...”

“I’m sorry. The cases I’ve been studying lately have me pondering this sort of matter quite a bit, lately. This and worse.”

“Do you want to talk about those? That might make you feel better?”

“...how about you explain to me what a ‘baleen whale’ is.”

“They don’t have teeth - they’re the ones like humpback and blue whales that have, like, bristles in their mouth that they filter in plankton through. That’s what baleen is! It looks sort of like my hairbrush over there.”

“Speaking of, you certainly don’t look like you brushed your hair at all today.”

“No? I… Mom’s been busy all day working, and I was busy reading so I didn’t think I…”

“How about I go get it and fix your hair so that you look presentable, and you tell me more about orcas.”

“I look fine!”

“You look like it was arranged by nesting birds looking to make a comfortable place to raise their young.”

“Pbbbbft! Oh, but did you know that orcas are one of the only species of mammal besides humans and other primates that undergo menopause? Female orcas who can no longer have babies stick around to help raise other babies and take charge of the group. Different populations of orca tend to live in different-sized pods but for most of them, the babies even once grown up don’t leave on their own and instead they’ll stay with their moms for their whole lives—”

[lesbooblur]

i just hope you see me in a little better light

Word count: 1.8k

Characters: Deceit Sanders, Creativity | Roman “Princey” Sanders, Dark Creativity | Remus “The Duke” Sanders, Morality | Patton Sanders, Logic | Logan Sanders, mentions of orange side, mentions of Anxiety | Virgil Sanders

Pairings: Deceit Sanders/Creativity | Roman “Princey” Sanders, King Creativity/Deceit Sanders

Warnings: light angst, mentions of neglect sort of, low self esteem

Summary: In the beginning, Deceit was in love with Creativity. Remus immediately trusts him for a reason he can’t remember, and Roman, well Roman is so much like the king Deceit lost. 

AN: i got very into sanders sides this week and cranked this baby out in a day. please enjoy and I will be back with more angst about this series I cannot stop thinking about the new episode. please come talk to me about sanders sides. I have nobody to talk to abt this and so many ideas. title is from "to be so lonely" by harry styles which is my absolute favorite song from the fine line album

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23992327

**SPOILERS FOR PUTTING OTHERS FIRST**

Before there was anyone else, there were Deceit and Morality. They didn’t have names back then, because Thomas hadn’t quite yet learned how to talk well enough for that. Deceit kept his hands and ambitions bare. He wanted so badly for Thomas to be someone important, to mean something in this world.

Morality had taken quite a shine to Thomas’ parents. He clung to their lessons, to their assurances that Thomas was a good kid. He watched Thomas’ brothers get scolded for breaking a window and trodding in the flowers in the yard. He was, in essence, developing a checklist of right and wrong. 

(There was a third, but he didn’t leave the corner of Thomas’ mind. He used to show up a lot when Thomas was still a baby. He would never tell them what he wanted. Morality didn’t like him very much. He was just so loud.)

And then, when Thomas couldn’t have been much more than three years old, the others showed up. 

Logic didn’t really like him, and he didn’t really like Logic. Logic tended to side with Morality more often than he dared to admit. He would claim that “no, Thomas shouldn’t seek revenge on that idiot who pushed him on the playground, because then he would get in trouble, and that would not be very beneficial to Thomas’ education,” but revenge sounded pretty logical to Deceit. You know, as long as they didn’t get caught. 

But it’s fine, Deceit didn’t have to win this one. It’s just that he didn’t win any of them. 

And then Creativity showed up. 

He was just as wild as he was smart, and his wit made him fascinating to Deceit. Sure, Logic and Morality tolerated Deceit, but Creativity was the first one to ever choose Deceit’s company. 

“Want to play ‘the floor is lava’ with us?” he had asked once. He only ever spoke in what Deceit would later learn is called the “royal we.” It had been a particularly taxing day for Deceit, as Thomas had spent over an hour deciding whether or not to tell his mom about the lamp he broke only to have Shea rat him out anyway (Deceit was on team “don’t tell.” Not that it mattered very much when he had both Logic and Morality against him. There were two people lurking in the corner. One of them, he found out later, called himself “Anxiety.” Deceit spent his energy deliberately not looking over there.) No one had ever asked Deceit to play a game before. At best, the others just sort of avoided him. 

Creativity took him into a place called the Imagination, and it was beautiful. It was the oddest mix of serene and twisted. A divine balance. 

Creativity was the best at bedtime stories. He could spin you a tale out of even the smallest hint of an idea. He came up with amazing villains and glorious heroes. Deceit always liked the stories best where the villain and the hero would fall in love and run away to live together.

Morality did not. Morality’s favorite stories were the ones where the good guy vanquished the bad guy. When Creativity told stories in the common room, they were always those ones. He always looked so disappointed by the end of it, though.

Creativity never asked Deceit for anything, so Deceit offered him the world. 

“Run away with me,” he said one night. “We can go live in the Imagination together.” Thomas would have been about five. 

“Deceit, they’re- We would love to, more than anything, but…”

He trailed off, brown eyes glancing back towards Deceit’s door. They were sitting in Deceit’s room drawing a story of a brave knight falling in love with the dragon he’s supposed to kill. 

If Deceit was sad, only his brown eye showed it. The yellow one stared unblinking. Creativity focused on that one. 

“They’re your friends,” Deceit said. “But what about me?”

“Of course you’re our friend! Why would you even-”

“It’s okay,” Deceit said. “Nobody around here likes me much anyway.” 

“No, Deceit- We- Look,” he said, and grasped Deceit’s hands in his. His skin was warm against the yellow gloves. “Our name is Romulus.” 

Deceit started. “Are we- We’re allowed to have names?” It was half a question and half a revelation.

“The others do,” Romulus said, voice soft and shameful. 

They didn't tell Deceit, but that was just par for the course. 

“Oh,” Deceit said. He felt the smallest he ever had. He wondered if it was possible to shrink down so small you vanish. 

“Morality is Patton and Logic is Logan.”

“Oh,” Deceit parroted. So that is what being trusted felt like. 

“You need one,” Romulus said, and it was not a question. It was a lifeline in a storm. “How about… Janus. God of crossroads and choices.”

“I love it,” Janus said, and he was not lying. 

That night, Romulus vanished. Janus searched the Imagination for hours. All he found was a kid with bright red eyes dressed in green and black. 

“Remus,” he said when Janus asked his name. Janus did not cry.

“Okay, Remus,” he said instead. “Let’s go home.”

--

Janus is not having the worst day ever. He’s not, and if you ask him he’ll tell you that. He just hasn’t left his room because… it’s too warm out. 

Remus had left him a pile of stale cookies at the door. It was weird to have someone trust you so completely for no reason that they remember. Janus doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it. 

So maybe it’s not the worst day ever, but it certainly is in the top three, because Janus had been working so hard to get Thomas to just go to that callback, and Roman just up and ruined the whole thing. Like he doesn’t know that it’s already exhausting to be around Roman due to the sheer similarities to Romulus. Which he actually doesn’t know. Remus may have inherited Romulus’ trust of Janus, but Roman inherited the bulk of the similarities. Roman has no trust of Janus.

And that’s fine, honestly, because Janus is not helplessly in love with Romulus. Which frankly, is stupid, because neither twin has the memories of Romulus or even the ability to become Romulus again, so Janus can just spend the rest of his life sulking and missing his friend. That’s cool. 

Maybe it’s good that Roman hates him. It would be worse if he didn’t. 

Virgil doesn’t trust him, which is fine with Janus. He gets it, he’s a handful, and not particularly easy to get along with, so Virgil can sit and sulk in the juror’s booth and pretend to be one of them. What are they calling themselves these days? Light sides?

He guesses Dark Side has kind of a cool ring to it. 

Logan and Patton are the same. They remember him and remember hating him, but they haven’t really bothered to see how the past 25 years have changed him. That’s fine with Janus. He’s got all the friends he needs.

He has a family of his own now, after all. One of them still hides in the corner. That’s okay. He will show up on his own time. 

Remus is a lovable handful. He still possesses all of the eccentricities of Romulus with very little of the personality. He’s made himself into something new. Janus can respect that. 

It was Remus who was torn from Roman. It is Roman who maintains the essence of Romulus. It gets harder and harder for Janus to ignore that fact.

“I just love you, Roman,” he told Roman in the courtroom. When Roman had flushed red, Janus pretended it didn’t hurt. 

It does.

The next time he sees Roman is worse. It is everything Janus secretly fears, because there is something close to recognition in Roman’s green eyes when Janus says his name. And then it’s gone, replaced by anger and scorn. When he leaves and Patton follows, Janus does not. 

It’s better this way, he reminds himself. Janus is only a nuisance. 

He didn’t expect Roman to end up at his door. He didn’t expect to ever see Roman again.

Roman’s cookies aren’t stale, and they have walnuts in them, which are Janus’ favorites. It’s silly that being with Roman feels like knowing you’re almost at the summit of the mountain. 

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” Roman says, green eyes staring down at Janus’ covered hands. “Ever. But I just wanted to bring you these. I’m so sorry, Janus.”

It’s a whisper, barely even that. A regret and a promise.

“Your brother is not a bad person, even if his cookies are stale. To call him evil, and to call you evil, that wasn’t fair. I’m sorry, Roman.” 

The name feels weird in his mouth. They named Rome after Romulus, didn’t they? 

“Can I come in?”

Janus hesitates for a while. No one except Remus and Virgil had ever been in there before. 

“Yeah. You may not like what you find,” he says, cracking a smile. 

He steps back, and Roman enters the room. It’s hauntingly familiar. 

Roman takes a moment to look at the room. His eyes fall on the drawing tacked up to the wall. Any lines on the page are wobbly like they were drawn by someone young, but it’s clearly a prince and a dragon falling in love. 

“Did you…?” Roman asks, and Janus understands the question anyway.

“And old friend,” he answers. 

“It looks familiar,” Roman says, tilting his head to look at the picture. 

“It shouldn’t,” Janus responds. 

“Were you lying that day in the courtroom?” Roman asks. 

“I lie a lot. You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“About loving me.”

“Oh,” Janus says, and his mouth closes with a soft click. “Yes.”

“Oh,” Roman responds. “Okay. Wait, is that-”

“Half a lie,” Janus says. “I was in love with the person who drew that. Maybe I still am. He was the only person who ever listened to me.” 

Roman studies the photo again. “Romulus,” he says, and it shakes Janus. 

“I was one of the first sides to be born,” Janus says. “I remember the day you split.”

“Then you know who did it,” Roman says, but it’s more of a question than anything. 

“No,” Janus lies. “I found Remus in the imagination shortly after.” 

“I can’t be Romulus again, Janus,” Roman says, and now he’s looking at the side of Janus’ face that is facing him. Janus doesn’t have the strength to turn to meet his gaze. 

“I know,” Janus says, and he’s not sure if it’s a lie. 

“You’re in love with a ghost,” Roman says, and it stings in the way only the truth can. 

“Yes,” Janus says, and it’s not a lie. “I’m sorry.” He doesn’t know what he’s apologizing for.

“Tell me about him,” Roman says. “I’d love to hear.” 

Janus tells him about Romulus. In exchange, Roman tells him a story about a handsome prince falling in love with the charming lawyer who dressed in yellow and black.

[soldrawss]

What’s would the triplets social role at schools be? Like what clique/group

First and foremost, regardless of whichever ‘clique’ they “belong” to, they tend to seek each other in social group settings, for example, at lunch or at games/school rallies/functions. Tend don’t really fit into the stereotypical Jock/Nerd/Popular/Weirdo standing nor do they like that kinda school social structure or hierarchy. Plus, they just like hanging around each other.

But, they can’t always be together, and they DO have friends outside of their little family.

Dewey hangs out with the theatre and band kids. Because obviously. He’s so dramatic and he hecking LOVES composing music, if they didn’t love his contagious laughter and the way he brightens up a room so much, they would have kicked him out of the music room months ago because he’s either trying to steal the spotlight or literally trying to steal someone’s instrument while they play and insist they’re a genius and that they HAVE to teach him how to play (insert whatever instrument here). He’s also on the baseball team because honestly, he has too much boundless energy and could run bases for miles if someone let him and he’s actually a pretty good hit. Not the best thrower by any means though, his aim is always a bit too excitable, so he’s usually put on first base. He’s pretty much best friends with everyone on the team, and Dewey is the type of kid makes friends as easily as someone counts on their fingers, so it’s not hard for him to blend in in any crowd because he’ll always come out with making at least 3 new secret handshakes and 4 new nicknames.

Huey is on the school committee and is a class representative( Vice President) for his grade, which helps him get along with everyone, but doesn’t exactly create close friendships. (And even though he is kind and open and sincere to everyone, he simply doesn’t have the natural charisma that Dewey has that just draws people to him) He does have a few of his friends from his old Woodchucks group though that are in a few of his classes, and they’re always fun to partner up and be nerdy with because they’re used to Huey’s ecstatic tendencies when he gets excited about certain projects and they think it’s endearing. He’s also in science olympiad, which has earned him a few more friends who are just as fascinated by robotics as he is, and he’s just so excited that he can finally fanboy about Gizomduck with his own equally excited people.

Calling Louie a loner is a little bit of an overstatement, but for a while the kid really didn’t have much going for him in terms of groups, so he mostly hung around Webby for awhile. He wasn’t exactly interested in joining any sports clubs and as far as he could tell, he wasn’t interested in any of the extracurricular activities the school had to offer. So while waiting after school for his brothers to get done with their stuff, he got pretty bored pretty fast and he didn’t really have the means to make any friends when he wasn’t really doing anything or making an effort or want to do so. He just so happened to be hanging out by the bleachers one day, watching Dewey practice his swings and looking bored af when this boy with brilliant Blond hair comes by, asks him if he’s busy, and then kidnaps him before he could respond and takes him to one of the empty math classrooms on the second floor of the school. Apparently, the Blond boy was on the Mock Trial, and they desperately needed one more person on their team to enter the state competition. The Blond boy promised Louie didn’t even have to do anything, just show up to a few of the meetings and then to the competition and then the Blond boy and his team would take care of the rest. Louie, against his better judgment, agreed. Because 1) he really was bored, and 2) the Blond boy seemed really passionate, and Louie didn’t want to be the reason their team couldn’t go. The following week he showed up at one of their meetings and found out that the team, all except for the Blond boy, actually kinda, sucked at criminal and civil justice and didn’t seem like they knew what they were doing when they were building a case for the prosecution or defense for the trial. They were focusing on the wrong facts, missing the major points of evidence, ignoring certain witness statements that were the most prominent to the case and don’t even get Louie started on the pre-trial stipulations. The more Louie started pointing out what they were doing wrong and what they could do to fix their case, the more he actually started, liking, being a part of Mock Trial. The next meeting he was fully prepared, even had a bulletin board (compliments of Huey “Oh my God I can’t believe you’re actually getting into something not Money related who are you and what have you done with my brother?”) ready with cross-examinations and everything. By the time the competition arrived, the team was fully ready to crush it, and the Blond boy, with a confident gleam that reminded Louie of Dewey before he was about to touch a cursed Idol he was just told he absolutely shouldn’t touch, that it wouldn’t have been possible without Louie. And Louie would have agreed with him if he wasn’t too busy trying to make the warm fuzzy feelings in his stomach go away at the compliment. They ended up getting second place, which Louie supposes isn’t bad for only having like, 2 and a half weeks to prepare really, and the Blond boy thanks him with a hug the Louie WHOLEY isn’t prepared for at all. Louie acts cool though, ignoring the knowing looks and smiles his teammates kindly try to hide behind their hands, and promises that next year, they’d win for sure. The smile he’s rewarded with from the Blond boy makes him so glad he was so bored on those bleachers that day.

Webby is a cheerleader, and is absolutely friends with 0 of them despite her best efforts. She became a cheerleader for 2 reasons. Ohhhhh those backflips look fun, watch this girls. And. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhh matching skirts, I need now. Imagine Webby as an overeager, over-excitable Kim possible, who loves pink and wants to be best friends with the Bonnie Rockwaller of the team. She makes the team, obviously, because no one can deny that Webby has the skill and the cheer prowess of an actual goddess, but her cheerfulness and downright people pleasing pleasant attitude isn’t enough to win the hearts of the squad. Despite that though, she still makes the best of it and still tries her best to get her squad to become her bffs (like they are in the movies). Despite what the cheer captain says about cheerleading only being done at Football and basketball games, Webby still decides that the other sports are just as deserving too, and never fails to show up to every one of Dewey’s games and cheer him on. This has earned her quite the reputation of becoming the unofficial Cheer Charm, (because despite whether the teams win or lose, she never fails to cheer them back up with a cool chant of an awesome kickflip or even just somehow embarrassing Dewey) She now goes around to every sports game/meet/competition she can, and tries to spread a little bit of that contagious and generous cheer with her because she didn’t realize before just how much that could mean to someone. Just how much one person cheering you on, a friend, could make all the difference in the world. The nickname, which was, of course, Dewey’s doing, caught on to the rest of the school, and soon everyone around knew who she was, and always greeted her with a friendly hello, smile, or high five. Everyone from the women’s track team to the chess club to even Louie’s Mock trial event (though she made to keep a silent cheer for that one, and they wouldn’t let her bring her pom pom’s into the courtroom) Despite none of them being as close to the best friends forever as Webby had imagine, she’s still incredibly happy with how many actual friends she’s made through this whole experience, and how many she continues to make every day just because she decides to take an awkward step forward away from social norms, because really, what even are those anyway, and decided to just be her kind and happy self. 

[jaredharrisfest]

Law & Order: SVU

TITLE: Law & Order: Special Victims Unit

EPISODE: 906 - “Svengali”

ROLE: Robert Morten

SUMMARY: A grisly murder scene at the bottom of an elevator shaft leads SVU detectives to a group of individuals who are under the spell of a charismatic, imprisoned serial killer.

YEAR: 2007

We start with a dead body (as you do on these shows).

Please enjoy the snappy Law & Order dialogue:

DETECTIVE OLIVIA BENSON: Looks like she was dressed for her dream date.

RANDOM FORENSICS TECH: Yeah, it ended when the perp strangled her repeatedly with her own pantyhose.

And it gets worse (doesn’t it always?). The killer cut off her breasts and walked out with them. Ew.

Tina, our victim, was headed not to her dream date but to mine: a really cool-looking underground party in an abandoned subway tunnel under the Waldorf Astoria Hotel where everyone dresses up in their vintage-looking finest and watches a screening of Double Indemnity. Count me in!

The whole thing is organized/run by this guy, Edgar Rabinowicz (but he’d prefer to be called Agent Mayhem), part of the hipsteriffic Silk and Cyanide Corp (”We’re secret agents of adventure”). 

But of course he didn’t kill Tina. He only left her alone and hammered at a bar after their last “mission” - a shit thing to do, yes, but not murder.

Bartender Cecilia is shocked at news of Tina’s murder and claims she left at last call with some asshole guy but refuses to describe said douchebag as she  “doesn’t want to get involved.” 

After being convinced to sit down with a police sketch artist (which leads to a plethora of useless tips), Cecilia calls Detective Benson to tell her that the asshole is back while she’s closing by herself. Maybe the asshole is her manager because WHO LEAVES A WOMAN ALONE TO CLOSE ANYTHING? HELLO! MURDER CITY!

Which is pretty much exactly what happens as the detectives find no Cecilia and the Venus de Milo recreated in blood on the bar floor.

DUN DUN!

The bloody Venus was also inspired by artworks of currently incarcerated serial killer Robert Morten.

(Is it wrong that I think he looks very handsome in his mug shot? It is, isn’t it?)

The detectives conclude it must be a copycat, and if he’s following Morten to the letter, Cecilia’s got twelve hours left to live before he kills her. 

Our creepy boy! Hooray!

The detectives are turning his cell inside out to look for clues to the name of his new partner. Detective Stabler, as Bad Cop, tears one of Morten’s artworks in half to “motivate” him.

"Am I bovvered? Am I bovvered though? Look at my face. Is it bovvered?”

“Arks me If I'm bovvered! Look, face, bovvered? I ain't bovvered!"

But then Benson, as Good Cop, tempts him with tasty victim headshots.

“They’re sublime,” he says in his creepy-yet-alluring-because-it’s-Jared-Harris Hannibal Lecter voice.

“What I could do with those.”

“But obviously-”

*faux bashful head tilt*

“-I’m innocent.”

Benson ain’t buying it.

Morten doesn’t like it when they start to go after his mail...and especially his fan letters.

(The disdain! I love it.)

The non-Stabler and non-Benson detectives (aka Ice-T and That Other Guy) go out to talk to the writers of said fan letters and learn that there’s a Free Robert Morten committee working on an appeal. Benson and Stabler bring in the vice president, ex-con Jasper Grice.

JASPER: He took care of me. 

STABLER: Three years as his cellie? You were his bitch. 

Well, you would know, Stabler. Or should I say...

...Chris Keller from HBO’s Oz?

(Oz was my first fandom and Beecher/Keller was my first ship. I was in sixth grade. Other kids were freaking out about a stupid kiss on Dawson’s Creek; I was telling them how I saw a man get gutted like a fish in the showers. 

I...was not popular.)

Jasper advises the detectives that the copycat is killing based on covers of an AU comic book series about Morten’s crimes in which he doesn't get caught and continues killing.

Tina was issue #9, Cecilia is supposed to be issue #10.

The detectives go to the apartment writer/artist and learn that the issue #10 murder takes place in Morten’s childhood bedroom. They rush to the dilapidated old house and kick down the bedroom door.

Et voilà! A barely alive Cecilia.

Cecilia wakes up in the hospital and discovers that unlike Tina she’s still got boobs but they've been mutilated and she’ll need plastic surgery. She blames talking to Benson in the first place for everything and asks her to leave.

Back at the precinct, Detective Ice-T (I don’t care what his character’s name is, he’s Detective Ice-T) tries to give Benson a pizza...that she didn’t order. 

DUN DUN!

“Hotbox” indeed, foreshadowing pizza box! Because it turns out the pizza...

..IS A BOMB!

While the precinct is evacuated to the street, the random forensics tech from earlier approaches the detectives with a report.

A similar knife was used on both Tina and Cecilia, but Cecilia’s mutilating boob cuts taper away from the midline and differ in angle and depth.

Translation: they’re self-inflicted!

DUN DUN!

The detectives obtain a search warrant for Cecilia’s apartment.

It seems she was an intern for his lawyers and had been writing to him for years beforehand. She wasn’t on the detectives’ radar because legal visits and correspondence aren’t on inmate logs.

Cecilia reveals that at seventeen she learned that her father hadn’t died in a car crash but had been imprisoned for bank robbery. She wrote to Morten asking for information about dear old dad, and Morten replied. 

“Your daddy said you had eyes like summer and hair as soft as lamb’s wool. You were the best thing he ever did in his life. I’d love to see if you look like him. Please send me a picture.”   

JK, of course. Morten never even met her dad. 

But he’s not one to pass up a free picture of a pretty lady!

PS In this scene, Mr. Harris is shifting between his Hannibal Lecter voice (when talking to Stabler) and his writing-to-Cecilia-to-gain-her-pity-and-trust voice (when reading the letters), and it sent a chill up my spine the first time I heard it. Kudos, sir.

PPS THIS TRANSITION. I’m in love.

Also, Jared Harris? How did you get your eyes so dead? Kudos AGAIN, good sir!

(Murdery) teeth gap!

Back to the plot: Morten convinced Cecilia that she was the only one who could help him with his appeals. He told her to get that internship with his lawyers so they could have visits without being monitored.

MORTEN: We had complete privacy. Complete privilege.  

STABLER: Sounds cozy.

MORTEN: Oh, it was. She was a virgin. I plucked her.  

And I know I’m a broken record here, but look: I love Jared Harris. He’s a very attractive gentleman, even when playing a serial killer. But when he said that? I was repulsed and horrified to my core.

Cecilia is convinced that Morten loves her and that they’re soulmates. Morten says the only way to prove that they are is for Cecilia to kill somebody. Tina was  an “artistic offering” from Cecilia to Morten, and he knows where the trophies (i.e. Tina’s breasts) are.

(GUYS HE DID A LITTLE EYEBROW RAISE AFTER THE WORD “BREASTS” I’M DEAD) (probably because his character killed me)

The breasts are found where Morten said they would be, and the Assistant District Attorney declares they’ve got enough to charge Cecilia with murder. 

Morten would like a peek at the evidence for helping.

Benson violently disagrees.

And gets blown a creepy little kiss for her troubles.

All the good detectives are heading home after a long day. Benson tries to just open the door and put her groceries away, but she’s attacked by the AU comic book guy.

Can I tell you how much I appreciate that Benson beats the shit out of him with a big heavy book? That’d be my first weapon at hand too.

The detectives are done. It’s time for the trial! 

Cecilia takes the stand, testifies about her suicide attempt, and shows the jury her self-inflicted boob scars. She’s got them eating out of her hand, so the prosecution calls in some special help.

The A.D.A. subpoenas him as a rebuttal witness.

MORTEN: That’s a new one. What do I get in return?

A.D.A.: Nothing.

MORTEN: And if I refuse?

A.D.A.: We’ll hold you in contempt of court.  

MORTEN: I’m already serving eight life sentences. Contempt of court’s hardly going to make it worse.

Morten realizes that they need him bad and is able to bargain for a deal - the possibility of parole and a transfer to the federal prison system. The A.D.A. angrily agrees. 

Bonus creepy screencap! THE EYES OMG

The next day Morten swaggers into court and is greeted by his adoring cult fans. The judge warns them he’ll clear the courtroom if there’s any more outbursts. 

Morten eats it up with a spoon.

And it looks like our murderous boy has something up his sleeve judging by this unseen-by-the-A.D.A. wink he gives Cecilia! Let’s watch.

Of course he’s going to absolutely tell the whole truth! Would this face lie? 

Yes, repeatedly, as he denies everything he told the A.D.A. in their chat the previous night.

For example: did he tell Cecilia to kill?

“I’ve told many to express themselves. No one had the emotional fortitude to do it until Cecilia.”

The A.D.A. is sick of this bullshit and decides to hatch a cunning plan.

A.D.A: You think of yourself as an artist?

MORTEN: I think my work speaks for itself.   

The A.D.A. shows Morten a photo of the crime scene and asks Morten to “compare this artist’s work with [his] own.”

Remember, Morten hasn’t been able to see any of those sweet, sweet crime scene photos he’s been craving, so he is INTO IT.

Cecilia waits for her grade.

But wait: something’s off.

MORTEN: At first blush, you might think this is unique. But it - it lacks understanding. Depth.

Yeah, doesn’t look like you’re going to get that A in murder, girlie.

"With the human canvas you have the opportunity to do true action painting.” 

“Where’s the energy? Where’s the spatter? This is lifeless dreck! A cheap knockoff of my work.” 

"Whoever did this is a talentless hack.”

Cecilia loses her shit at the criticism and storms the witness box declaring that she did this for Morten and that she loves him.

Morten is feeding off of the drama. 

(Bonus sceencap in case you ever wondered what a vampire!Jared Harris coming for your neck might look like. I know some of y’all are probably into that.)

He cuts Cecilia down even further by declaring that she’s nothing like him and  could never understand him.

Cecilia continues to proclaim her love as she’s dragged away.

Morten is pleased.

But don’t get cocky, kid. 

Even though Cecilia got off (insanity), the A.D. A. is still sticking to her end of the deal. Morten’s getting that transfer to a federal prison he wanted.

A supermax prison. 

A.D.A.: 23-hour lockdown, no visitors, no mail, no phone calls. No human contact for the rest of your life.

Morten whines that she can’t do that to him and they made a deal, etc. but too bad so sad.

He’s shoved into the van and whisked away.

VERDICT: A performance so adroit and layered it took me several days to get through this hourlong episode. The things this man can do with his face, I’m telling you! Three out of five Croziers.