#Courthouse Justice Center

[exposing-yusuf-olatunji-fatai]

For years, I survived in silence—trapped in a violent marriage while trying to protect my children. Despite Yusuf Olatunji Fatai's arrest and a mountain of evidence, the abuse didn’t stop. Even worse, the system that was supposed to protect us looked away. I’m speaking out—not for sympathy, but for change. This is not just my story. It’s the reality for too many women and children failed by a broken legal system. 👉🏽 Read my full story and join the fight for justice: 🔗 https://exposingyusufolatunjifatai.com 🖤 Share to raise awareness. 🙏🏽 Support survivors. 📣 Demand accountability. #SurvivorStrong #ProtectMothersAndChildren #StopTheCycle #ExposeTheSystem #ExposingYusufFatai #FamilyCourtReform #JusticeForVictims #DomesticViolenceAwareness

[mightaswelljxmp]

hm ok so interestingly, bdubs’s courthouse is built on an odd number of blocks. note the roof of the facade coming to a point, but more importantly, the nine pillars….

you don’t use an odd number of pillars. like ever.

let me get this out of the way first: i get why you’d build with odd numbers in minecraft. i usually do it myself, to not run into problems like double doors or two-wide pointed roofs or frustrating spacing/symmetry between decorative elements. however. to not even out the design of something so unequivocally done in every other example of columns and pillars…. fascinating implications…

every other example guys. every other building with columns like this has an even number of them.

doing so sets the line of symmetry at an invisible point between two pillars, an even number on each side. but an odd total number of pillars makes the central pillar itself the line of symmetry. this does a couple things.

one, it upends the sense of community and equality. which i know sounds crazy, but really, a group of columns are all put there to hold up a structure. there’s no focus on one because they are all are working as supports.

symbolically, at least when first used in ancient greece, pillars represented people. and it makes sense for courthouses, especially, to want to show an even, fair, equal number of people on each side. no focus on any one, no inherent bias right off the bat just looking at it.

with an odd number of pillars, though, one will always be placed front and center.

and THEN. and then you walk in the courtroom itself (also odd-numbered blocks) and you are immediately opposite the judge, bdubs, located exactly centrally. and true, courtrooms are often set up like this anyway. but bdubs ups the ante and reaffirms that no, focus is on him by staging it all as a daytime court show, boom mic just over his head, cameras pointed in, spotlights on him.

literally by design, it was not built for justice. it’s built for show, for entertainment. and just look at the credits to know exactly what sort of message you’re supposed to be getting from this show.

the biblical story he used, with king solomon. it’s about king solomon. isn’t really about the trial itself, or the babies, or the women. it’s about showing (off) how wise and just he is. that’s the point. hm. interesting.

now, getting to the second point that etho also picked up on: it feels like a prison.

it’s not just the color palette. when your eyes naturally draw to the center point, you aren’t seeing an open space. instead of feeling like an arch or gateway or otherwise some kind of opening, the pillar there makes it feel closed off. the overall effect is that of prison bars. not pillars lining the entrance to a place of order or a temple. bars of a cage, a cell.

imagine the lincoln memorial were set up with 11 or 13 pillars. he’d look so much more trapped in there.

having a central pillar blocks the entrance. it’s not welcoming. you have to go around it; it’s immediately inconveniencing you. and when you go to leave, it’s there blocking you again.

this courthouse was not designed and built to be fair, nor accomodating, nor equitable, on any terms. even if unintentional, i wouldn’t call it so much coincidental as i would… subconscious.

after all, y’know. form follows function.

[daresplaining]

How good of a lawyer is Matt in the comics?

Matt is a very talented, highly respected lawyer, and this has been true since pretty much the very beginning. Is he an ethical lawyer? Hell no. Matt respects the justice system but also thinks the rules don't apply to him, and he's been disbarred twice; the first time was due to the Kingpin's meddling, so we can give him a pass on that, but the second time was for his many, many, many Daredevil-related ethics violations.

But when it comes to sheer skill, cleverness, and panache, Matt is great at what he does and has built up a reputation that reflects this. As early as Daredevil volume 1 #20, the Owl held a mock trial to punish a judge who had given him jail time, and to make things "official", kidnapped "the most talented trial lawyer of our day" to represent the defendant:

Daredevil vol. 1 #20 by Stan Lee, Gene Colan, Artie Simek, and Frank Giacoia

(Matt ended up using his wits to convince the Owl to let him leave the room unaccompanied, then came back in as Daredevil and beat everyone up. Which is kind of a perfect summary of his career.)

Over the years there have been many stories of Matt's triumphs in court, emphasizing his skill, passion, and fearlessness in this area of his life. He famously defended the Black Widow, and later the Hulk, in rooms where the odds were fully stacked against him (in the former, the opposing counsel was Foggy!). The "Underboss" story arc begins with Matt giving a killer closing argument in a multi-million-dollar case, then getting swamped by the media on the courthouse steps like a superstar. The "Supreme" story arc—a love letter to the legal system penned by lawyer Charles Soule (which I wrote about in-depth here)—climaxes with Matt successfully arguing a case before the Supreme Court. Matt's fame varies from creative team to creative team, but he has often been presented as a known local figure: the famous blind lawyer who always finds a way to win.

Daredevil vol. 1 #375 by Joe Kelly, Cary Nord, Christie Scheele, Richard Starkings, et al.

Some superheroes only have a civilian job to pay the rent and maintain a secret identity, some don't have a civilian job at all, but Matt's legal career is just as important to him personally as his superheroing, and the skills required to be a great lawyer are ones that he has honed with intention. Just as it is great fun when Matt draws upon his superhero skills and powers in his civilian life, it is equally fun when he is able to get himself out of scrapes as Daredevil using his legal expertise and talent for crafting a convincing argument.

Matt: "I realize I'm not capable of hand-carving an exit for those women through the most brilliantly weaponized military of the 21st century. I'm here to lawyer them out." Daredevil vol. 4 #7 by Mark Waid, Javier Rodriguez, Alvaro Lopez, and Joe Caramagna

His passion for justice also extends far beyond high-profile clients and newsworthy cases. He will go to great lengths for all of his clients, and takes on cases other lawyers might not touch. For a while, he and Foggy had a storefront law office where they provided low-cost representation to anyone who came through the door. At another point, they offered a coaching service for clients who were representing themselves in court. When Karen Page set up her addiction hotline and community center in Hell's Kitchen, Matt provided legal help there to anyone who needed it (illegally; he was disbarred at the time). The Daredevil: Redemption mini-series is all about Matt (against Foggy's advice) taking a seemingly unwinnable murder case and fighting like hell to keep his client out of the electric chair. Apart from anything else you can say about Matt Murdock, he is undeniably a kick-ass lawyer, and just as much of a daredevil in the courtroom as he is when he's out battling Stilt-Man.

Daredevil vol. 1 #354 by Karl Kesel, Cary Nord, Christie Scheele, Rick Leonardi, Matt Ryan, Ul Higgins, and Jim Novak

Despite the opinion of Rosalind, here, I will emphasize that Foggy is also a very talented lawyer. He lacks Matt's dramatic flair and natural charisma, but he is very smart, a tireless worker (sometimes single-handedly keeping the law firm afloat through Matt's various DD-related absences), and—particularly by this current point in his career—highly experienced. Foggy served a challenging term as the Manhattan District Attorney, he has worked in corporate law, he's brought to court superheroes and the Kingpin of Crime himself. Foggy has always struggled with low self-esteem and tended to consider himself the less capable half of Nelson & Murdock, extending all the way back to his and Matt's time together in college. However, it didn't take very long for Daredevil writers to stop using Foggy just to prop up Matt and instead start pulling him into the spotlight as a legal powerhouse in his own right.

Daredevil vol. 1 #26 by Stan Lee, Gene Colan, and Artie Simek

Daredevil vol. 1 #227 by Frank Miller, David Mazzucchelli, Christie Scheele, and Joe Rosen

(I like to point out the above scene in particular because it is a marked departure from Miller's earlier, somewhat out-of-character depictions of Foggy as bumbling comic relief in the courtroom. I'm curious to know what led to this turnaround, but whatever it was, I'm grateful for it.)

Matt: "Foggy Nelson is the other half of Nelson & Murdock, the one man who knows everything about me. He's my partner because he's a a brilliant litigator with an encyclopedic knowledge of case law. I'm his partner because of people's characteristic hesitance to hire a lawyer named 'Foggy'." Daredevil vol. 3 #1 by Mark Waid, Paolo Rivera, Joe Rivera, Javier Rodriguez, and Joe Caramagna

[madamechrissy]

Take Me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Law Professor Satoru Gojo x Student Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is like 29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. In this chap- oral sex (fem recieving) titty fucking, light slapping, breed kink, basically them being cute!

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ this chap- 7k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name. Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right? That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right? - Lawyer AU

Chapter 13 ♡ ♡ Masterlist ♡ ♡ Playlist

Chapter 14

Right inside the little courthouse, standing in your wedding dress, with Maki holding your hand, you look at your soon-to-be husband Satoru Gojo. There's a hung over Suguru standing next to him, Nanami and Yuta are clearly hung over in the bench seats as well, but you still focus on that gorgeous man directly across from this room, in his white tuxedo.

Satoru Gojo.

Professor Gojo.

Or, as you know him, Toru.

You’ve come a long way from ‘Professor Dickhead’ and ‘Miss Brat’ haven’t you both? From a bathroom at a club to an undying love, from aching for his touch in your seat to him being constantly all over you. From tentatively becoming boyfriend and girlfriend to being insane and getting married in the span of a few months, it feels so surreal.

You should be worried it’s too soon, worried about this or that, but all you can do is be so damn happy. You just feel euphoric, so enamored of him, by how much you adore him, love him, need him, and are unable to imagine your life without him. Can’t imagine yourself before him.

His eyes catch yours then, and he’s looking up and down your body carefully, before he gets the biggest grin on that handsome face, and instead of waiting for you to walk up to him… well, this is Satoru Gojo we’re talking about… he decides instead to run to you and pick you up in the center of the room, spinning you in the air, making you giggle breathlessly.

“Toru, stop it! Put me down!” Nanami and Suguru are chuckling, though tired, hungover chuckles, and Maki is just smiling at you two.

“You look so fucking gorgeous . I’m such a lucky man.” He eases you down, hands firm on your waist now, and you look up into his sparkling blue eyes, your lips trembling, arms wrapping around his neck.

“You’re insane too, you know. You’re supposed to wait up there for me!” He sighs, stepping back and looking at you again.

“God, this body in this dress…” He kisses you then, lips pressing on yours. You’re clinging to him, sighing into his lips, as his big hands take over your waist, cinched in the pretty wedding gown. “So beautiful.”

“And you’re the most handsome man in the world.” You whisper, looking up at him then, he’s exhaling, blue swirling gaze drinking in your face, as you drink him in, how perfect he looks, how he is your everything.

“Of course I am.”

“You’re also the most insane.”

He smirks now, grabbing your hand and yanking you along to where the justice of the peace is smiling, watching the two of you. “You knew that already.”

“You already kissed the bride!?” Suguru says, hiccuping then, you click your tongue at him.

“Too many shots, Suguru?”

“Yeah, yeah. Your fault.” He grumbles, you just giggle.

“How are you so bright eyed?” Nanami demands, leaning his head back on the bench with a grimace.

“Because I only had like two drinks, silly boys.”

“Silly boys! I’m older than you.” Suguru says.

“Hmm, still silly.” You stick your tongue out, and Suguru chuckles.

“You have your hands full.”

“Oh, I will.” Satoru says, wolfish grin, wiggling his brows, all of the room is laughing now, even Yuta, before he goes back to looking sick.

“Water.” He pleads, Maki hands him a bottle, he chugs and sighs. “I’ll be fine, promise!”

“Ahem, is everyone ready?” Says the young man in front of you now, amusedly watching you all, you nod shyly, taking Satoru’s hands now, your own are getting all sweaty with your nerves.

You’re doing this.

You’re marrying your Professor.

You’re marrying the best lawyer there is.

You’re marrying Satoru Gojo, the love of your life.

It’s like a dream, but it’s your reality, this goofy, silly, gorgeous man, that since you met him, you just cannot stand to live without. How could you ever spend even a day without being in his arms, without looking into the most beautiful set of eyes that existed? Without your favorite person, who has become so dear so fucking fast, as if he’d always been yours?

“Should I bother to say the typical stuff?” He asks Satoru then, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

“Keep it to the basics. We have our own things to say to each other.” The man nods then, looking at you now.

“Then would you like to go first, with what you’ve prepared?” You nod, taking several breaths to prepare. “Perfect, so we’re gathered here to celebrate the union of…” He says your name, making your heart race faster. “And Satoru Gojo. They’ve both got… well, a lot to say as I’m sure you all know.”

They all laugh, then eyes are on you. You look up into his eyes again, snowy lashes lowered, his face a little more serious, big hands clutching yours tightly, then you know, Satoru is just a little bit nervous too. The most calm and collected lawyer, who can laugh right in the face of any danger, is a nervous thing just like you, something about it melts you even more.

“Satoru, we met… well, in a nightclub. It’s not the most romantic place, is it? But somehow, it was romantic, when I bumped right into you, spilling my drink all over your very nice shirt.”

“It was four hundred dollars.”

“Stupid.” He snorts and you playfully shove him. “Let me finish!”

“Always.” You blush at his tone, then take another breath.

“It was romantic regardless, because it’s you, and you make any place in this world something beautiful, with your presence, with your light that just shines from you, with your beautiful soul.”

“Fuck off, brat.” He whispers, eyes glimmering with tears. You smile, blinking back your own emotions.

“You never let me finish my sentences, you’re so annoying, you’re childish, and you’re basically a hyper kid on chocolate.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true.” Suguru agrees.

“You… Satoru Gojo…” You hold his hand, bringing it to your lips, brushing them along the backside of his knuckles. “You fight for what you believe in, you are so authentically yourself, no matter what. You hold true to your convictions, and never waver. You’re so amazing, just as amazing as you like to say you are.” He smiles just a bit.

“I sure am.”

The room rolls its eyes. “You are also the love of my life. Truly, with you, it’s like I finally have a home. I  meant what I said that day, the day I confessed my true feelings, the love in my heart, that I will always be by your side. You never have to worry, or wonder, I’ll be right here. There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.” You say, shaking as you do, overwhelmed by so much emotion.

Now you’re wiping his tears, he huffs, swiping them with the back of his hand, as are your friends, even the usually more stoic Nanami is swiping at his eyes. You feel your own tears falling, as you pour your heart out for him, knowing it’s safe to do so, knowing that.

“You accept everything about me, without question, you challenge me, make me think, make me do more, do better . You are the best man I’ve ever met, and I know you’ll be the best husband. And one day, I hope, an amazing father.” Satoru sighs now, resting his head on yours. “I love you Satoru Gojo, and I will love you, until the day I take my last breath, and even after.”

“Shit.” Is all he manages, and you giggle a bit, as now he’s kissing your salty tears, cupping your face.

“I’m ready for this, it’s insane, it’s probably too fast, but our relationship has been fast, intense, a hell of a ride. One I’m never getting off. I love you.” He kisses you again, your hands gently gripping his wrists as he keeps kissing you.

“You know you’re supposed to wait?” The man says, but even he has tears in his eyes.

“She’s a brat, she loves to make everyone cry like her.” Satoru says, and you glare, shoving at him.

“Now, it’s your turn Mr. Gojo. Can you top that?” He teases, clearly he is one of Satoru’s friends. Satoru grins now, nodding, swiping back that silky white hair, and looking down at you, eyes still glassy.

“Miss Brat.” You roll your eyes, giggling at him, looking at Maki for a moment who’s snuggled with Yuta, tissues smushed on her face with Yuta’s hand, not a sight you thought you’d see. Then you look back at your love.

“Professor.” You tease.

“I knew you were trouble the moment you ran into me, you were so clumsy you know.” You glare, and everyone laughs. “You didn’t belong there, something about you just seemed… different. When I first saw your pretty face, it was like a punch to the gut, like I couldn’t breathe for a moment.”

Your turn to be a ball of emotions, you are choking on a sob as he speaks. “You really felt that way?” You ask softly, he nods then.

“Fuck yeah I did, I played it off cool, or tried to, but you tilted my world on its axis, I knew you were so special, without even knowing you. Then, when we reconnected… god I couldn’t get you out of my head. I thought to myself, if I don’t have this girl, I can’t even go on, I need her in my life in some way. I couldn’t get the feel of your lips on mine out of my mind, like a brand on my mouth.”

His every word intoxicates you, touches you so deeply, how can you keep falling ever deeper into him? “Satoru…”

“I love you so much, I can’t even begin to really explain it, me… a man who can never shut the fuck up.” You smile, but it’s getting hard to see now, the tears flowing down your cheeks now. “But you left me speechless, you left me breathless, but then… now, I need you to breathe.”

“Like oxygen.” You whisper back, and he nods eagerly, cupping your face gently once more, thumb brushing your lips.

“Like oxygen. I need you, there is nothing without you, you are my world, and I will do everything to take care of you, every day, no matter what.”

“Oh Satoru…” You’re barely hanging on, in this little court house with a beautiful dress, and a gorgeous soon to be husband, saying things you once only heard in your dreams from him. Now, he’s yours.

“Do you take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband? In sickness, and in health, for as long as you live?” He asks now, and you nod, taking the beautiful ring that Maki runs up to you, Satoru’s eyes widen at it.

“Of course I do.”

“The ring! It’s badass as fuck.” He says, earning more laughter in the emotional little room, you slide the gleaming jeweled ring on his finger, your own hands shaking so much that he has to hold them again.

“And do you, Satoru Gojo, take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife? In sickness and health, for as long as you live?”

“Oh, even after I’m gone, I’ll always love you.” He says, and fuck... You hope your waterproof makeup is doing its job, because you’re officially a wreck, when he pulls out a gold band that matches your ring, delicate with little diamonds all around it. Your heart swells when he kisses your hand once more.

“I now pronounce you both, husband and wife. I mean… you already kissed a ton, but, kiss again.” Satoru grins, as do you, then he’s got you lifted in his arms, spinning you in a circle, you cling to him like you did the night you met, when he’d first kissed you.

Your lips meld together, salty tears mixed with sweet breath, he finally eases you to stand, and your friends are clapping for you all, but your eyes are locked on his, as if he is the only thing in this room, in this world. You choke on your cry, sniffling now, but Gojo’s emotional too, as he strokes your cheek with the backs of his fingers, tilting your chin up.

“I love you, Miss Brat. Wife. Bratty wife.” You giggle again, leaning up and pulling him down by his jacket, kissing him over and over.

“And I love you, husband. My Toru.” It takes damn near everything to separate the two of you, friends dragging you apart just to get to reception (basically a big ass party you all are throwing) when all you can think of is fucking your husband .

Six Months Later

“All done for the day, Professor Geto.” You are interning with Professor Geto, you finally are done with your first year of law school today, the end of a very insane year. Though the school allowed you and Satoru to have class together, they took you out of any running of his internship, for favoritism reasons.

Little did they know Gojo was still hard on you in class, and pushed you to your limits, he certainly wouldn’t have given you that internship if you had not earned it, but you were lucky enough that Suguru chose you to do his. It was brutal, long hours, but you learned so much with him, it worked out perfectly.

The bonus was that Satoru, Nanami and Suguru all worked close together, and Maki and Yuta interned with Nanami, so you all saw each other constantly. The six of you were extremely close, even though you all had your own lives, especially you and Satoru now more so than ever.

Suguru smiles at you now, lips quirking up. standing and taking the thick binders you have for him. You’re the last one there in the office on his team, as you were trying to get all your work caught up to finish the semester, so that you can help Satoru with his next big case. You yawn again, and he pats your head, tilting his own as he studies you.

“You work too hard, you know. In your condition.”

“Hush!” You shut his mouth with your palm, looking around, and he’s chuckling against it. “What if someone was here!”

“They’re all gonna know next year, anyway, you know you’re gonna have a big ass kid with those Gojo genes.”

“Ugh, you’re telling me! Can you tell!?” You turn now, and he hums to himself, smirking now. “Oh tell me, already Suguru!”

“Not by your tummy, no… but…” He wiggles his brows, and you scowl.

“Oh you perv!” You cover your breasts with your jacket, fuming as you realize it’s not buttoning, only to hear more of him snorting in laughter. “Shit, you’re right.”

“I’m sure Satoru’s loving that.” You roll your eyes with a smile.

“You know he won’t leave me alone for two minutes-”

“Shnookums!” Satoru pounces into the room now, leaping to you and bringing you into his strong arms, kissing your neck over and over.

“You all are going to do great, promise.” He says to you both, and you melt, as does Satoru, grinning big at his best friend.

“And you’re gonna be the best Uncle, Sugu.” He says, before grabbing your breasts, and you smack his hands, as Suguru blushes, looking up at the ceiling of his office.

“Jesus, Satoru.”

“Toru, really!?”

“What they’re so comforting to squeeze. Fine…” He lets your breasts go, pressing on your tummy instead. “I just love touching you, been all day I just missed my girl…”

“Go on now, good luck with him, love.” Suguru says, waving you all off as Satoru drags you out of the building, you can barely keep up with him as you dart to the car waiting for you, Ijichi is there to greet you both, smiling tiredly.

“Mr. and Mrs. Gojo.” You give him a peck on the cheek and a smile, making him blush, before Satoru slides in next to you in the back of the car.

“You can’t just grab my tits like that in front of Sugu!” You huff, shoving at him, and he’s pouting, like he’s an innocent baby, and not a fiend.

“I’m sorry, but they’re so pretty! I just wanna love on you.” He nuzzles your throat now, pulling you to him, and you sigh as you sink into his embrace, inhaling that scent you love so much, body reacting quickly.

“Fine, you get away with it this time. Oh gosh, Toru, everyone will know I’m pregnant next semester. I’ll be a whale.”

“Will not! Don’t be a meanie to yourself. Gonna be beautiful.” He has you on his lap now, sideways, rubbing your tummy gently. You blink back emotions now, and he notices, kissing your lips softly. “Promise you will be.”

“I’m so excited, but so nervous! Do you think I’ll keep up with these studies with a baby?” Your hand joins his over your tummy now, bringing a sense of peace that washes over you, every time you’re with him.

“You are a nerdy brat, you can do it.”

“Hey!” He just chuckles, cradling you in his arms.

“You can do some at home studies for a while, maybe come back to campus in a bit, you know we can just bring the baby to law school. Get it in early.”

“A little scholar, huh?”

“Mmm… it’ll be a challenge, but you got it. We got it, you’re not alone in this, ever. I promise.” Satoru kisses you deeper now, still gently rubbing your tummy, you’re only three months along so not much has changed yet, but you both know, and can tell the smallest changes.

“I know you’ll help me no matter what, we are a team.” You caress his face softly as you speak.

“Damn right, also you’re young, you don’t have to knock out law school so fast, it’s not like you can’t come with me and learn any time. And I’ll be there to teach you, my favorite student.”

“Teach me, hmm?” You tease now, he grins.

“Yes, Miss Brat. You still have a lot to learn, you know. You’re a good student but you have some discipline issues.”

“Me!?”

“Mmm.” Satoru is stumbling with you as you kiss fervently, inside your home now, lips barely leaving yours, only to breathe, you all kick off your shoes, you toss your purse, he tosses his wallet, you yank off his tie, he shoves off your blazer.

You’re slowly just leaving a trail of clothes and items everywhere, until you’re in your bra and panties, tits overflowing already, aching and tender. Satoru’s full lips part, thin nostrils flaring. He’s unbuttoning his dress shirt, shaking his head slightly, you’re biting your lower lip, eyes lowering shyly, the whirl of the giant fans overhead cooling overheated skin.

“ Fuck… these tits, lemme see em, baby girl.” He pleads, and you unsnap your bra then, exhaling at how good it feels when they’re released, they bounce as they do, and Satoru’s on you in a flash, picking you up and sitting you right on the kitchen table, squishing them in his hands.

“Mmm, be easy, please.” You whisper, as his thumbs brush over your nipples, making you tremble at how sensitive they are already. He exhales, eyes locking as he presses you back gently, one hand sliding up your chest, the other playing with your breast easier now.

“They’re so sexy. Imagine when they’re all full of milk.”

“Toru!”

“What, it'll be hot.” You’re a blushing mess, and he chuckles, kissing down one of your breasts, to your nipple, sucking a peak in his hot mouth. “Mmm.”

“Mmm!” You both moan as he sucks on one, the pressure between your thighs building, the tension coiling in your lower tummy. “Toru…”

“Let me take my time, eager little brat.” He murmurs, now kissing your other breasts, tongue swirling around an areola, before he sucks the nipple in his mouth, making you wetter. You’re grinding your hips on the table, biting your lip, aching for more and more.

“Please…”

“Impatient, hmm?” Satoru’s big hands now slide up your thighs, smirking so sexy as he studies you. “Oh, those thighs love to shift for me, rub together, don’t they?”

“F-fuck off.” He glares then, yanking you off the table, turning you and unzipping your pencil skirt, you laugh breathless when it gets stuck then. “I’m getting all big already.”

“Shut up, you are not. I can’t wait till you do though.” He unzips you finally, revealing your lacy panties, he presses you down now, your breasts on the table, he’s kissing a trail between your shoulder blades.

“Mmm… Toru please touch me.”

“Not yet, patience, remember?”

“Fuck that- ow!” He smacks your backside, making you tremble at how good it feels, eyes fluttering shut when he grabs your ass now instead.

“You know I will still be your professor next semester, expect me to take it easy on you?” He smacks your other cheek now, and your thighs are trembling.

“Well, yes! I’m pregnant with your little baby lawyer!”

“No exceptions or favoritism in my class.” He says, acting so stern, you can’t take how sexy his voice is.

“But you’ll beat my ass, Professor!?”

“It looks so pretty with my hand prints.” He smacks each cheek again, stinging and burning, his free hand now sliding up your spine, entangling in your hair and pulling, you’re soaking wet against your panties, craving his touch. “Aw, you’re so, so eager, aren’t you baby?”

“You’re a tease, Satoru Gojo.” You whine out, earning that sexy chuckle. “I’m hornier more than ever.”

“I know, I love it. And so wet… oh fuck .” He’s rubbing you over your panties now, which are hopelessly soaked, wet spot soaking through. “You’re that wet?”

“Please, Toru…”

“Begging?”

“Mmhmm.” Is all you manage, normally you’d both play, a push and pull, tug of war of sorts, but you are needy for him, you’re clenching around nothing, wanting his fingers, his cock, wanting him .

“So easy for me?”

“Just for you.” You whisper, then he moans, and you hear his belt buckle, you arch up, earning another laugh.

“That easy!?”

“Put it in, please.” You are begging, pleading, arching your ass up, wanting more and more of his touch.

“Fuck…” Satoru is not one to just do that, he loves foreplay, but when he finds your dripping wet folds, pulling your panties to the side and rubbing, he’s moaning. “You’re stupid wet.”

“I know, I know. Please, just- ah!” Satoru slips his tip in barely, groaning as he feels you, you’re dripping all the way down to the kitchen tile, it’s so bad. You look back at him and watch his face contorted in pleasure, then your eyes roll back as his tip hits your clit, rubbing. “Mmm!”

Your clit is twitching under his tip, rubbing on it, and you’re just wetter and wetter, Satoru slides his cock up once more, coated in your slick now, pressing into your entrance, and you’re so ready you fall apart from his tip stretching you. Satoru is groaning, gripping your hips tightly, you’re nearly sobbing it’s so fucking good, when he presses further.

“Toru!”

“Oh my god… you’re so tight.” He whispers, sinking inside fully, so much pressure, you’re cumming then and there, and he stays there for a moment, unmoving, tense behind you. “You cummin already?”

“Fuck it, yes. More, please. Please .”

“Needy little brat.” He’s fucking into you now, tip dragging on your g spot, making you stupid, one hand back to pulling your hair, your thighs he spreads, to slide in with a long stroke once more, filling you so full.

You scream out now, hands gripping on the table as if it will tether you, but you’re falling apart under his strokes, getting wetter and wetter, walls clenching tightly around his cock. His balls are smacking your clit over and over, your ass is jiggling with every thrust of his pelvis, an ass he smacks again, stinging as the cool air above hits it, making you tighten around him more in response.

“Feel so fuckin good, baby girl. So good…” He huffs, slamming in and rolling his hips, tip grinding on your cervix, pulling you more until he has an entire arm wrapped around you.

“You feel s’good Toru…” You whisper back, then he’s flipping you, exhaling and kissing you deeply, you’re shivering when he sits you back on the table, sliding his cock back in, cupping your face with a free hand.

“Need to see your pretty face.” He whispers, and you shudder as he’s sinking deeper, clutching to his bare chest, kissing his lips softly, biting his plush lower lip, before your head falls back, and he’s kissing down your neck.

“Love you. Love you.” You whisper it over and over, now Satoru’s leaning over you, rolling his hips just the right way, until you unravel again for him, he presses every button, pulls every switch, he knows every bit of you. He has known you, the night you even met.

“I love you baby.” He whispers back, your lips slam together, tongues so messy, teeth clicking against each other as you feel his muscles ripple under your hands, as you feel his cock thickening. “Got you pregnant, hmm?”

“You did, you d-did…”

“Making you a mommy.” He murmurs, making your thighs tense around his hips, hands clutching in his silky white hair, desperately kissing him now.

“You did. You - ah - did!” You’re closer to the edge as your husband’s thickening now, throbbing in you, and your eyes lock, those glittering blue eyes that you could drown in for eternity, and never want to take a breath.

“Gonna fill you so good… f-fuck…” Satoru’s crying out right with you, his cock is pumping those ropes of cum inside your velvety walls, filling you so deep. You’re both drinking each others’ cries, moans, whispers, as you both come down, and you’re still feeling the aftershocks, pulsing his cum out down between you.

“Mmm… Toru…” You’re cock drunk, eyes fuzzy as he comes into focus, Satoru is stroking your hair, sighing, pecking little kisses all over your face now. “How is it even better than before?”

“I don’t know, it is though… you never could take me like that. You’re so slutty pregnant.”

“Slutty!” You glare, and he just laughs again, the sound filling you.

“Mmm, still just as tight, just sluttier.”

“Oh you- ah!” He pulls out of you then, picking you up carefully, bridal style, even after half a year of getting married, he likes to carry you to the room like this often, and you would be lying if you said you didn’t love it.

Marriage has been not without some trials, sometimes you both got on each other’s nerves, you had little debates and spats. Satoru was messy as fuck, and you didn’t like leaving a mess for the cleaners, he thinks that’s the job anyway, and just wants you to focus on school, or fucking him in every position possible. Or just wants you to look pretty when he gets home.

You are independent and strong willed, he knows you’ll never be his little housewife, and you know he really doesn’t want that, but he jokes all the time. He always pays for everything, and spoils you, buying too much jewelry, too many clothes, and any new gadget he thinks is cool, sometimes you have to take things back you don’t need, and earn his puppy dog eyes.

There are beautiful moments of being married to him, too, like having him constantly be there with you, hold you in his arms at night, and wake up to see his precious face next to yours. And the most beautiful moment so far, was when you all found out you’re having a baby, although you were on birth control, you both were surprised but then both of you had been elated.

You love the little peanut already, that’s what you all call them, they’re too tiny to know a sex yet, and they looked just like a peanut on that ultrasound. Satoru and you had it framed and sitting right on one of the dressers in what would soon be the baby’s nursery, you all have set up some of it already. It’s too early for all that truly, but Satoru got too excited.

And that’s the best part about Satoru, his excitement, his infectious happiness, in the face of anything, though he always shows you how he really feels, when he’s genuinely so happy, it radiates. He makes even the worst days so much better, massaging your back, buying your favorite cappuccino (decaf now, Satoru is reading too much about babies) or anything to comfort you.

And you comfort your husband, rubbing his neck after a long day, running him a bath and washing that silky white hair, bringing him his favorite drink after work. You both constantly read each other, it’s like you can feel what the other is feeling, a constant connection, a beautiful one.

“What are you thinking about, Miss Brat?” Satoru asks softly, he’s sat you on the edge of the sink, starting a hot shower, already steaming in the bathroom, the warm fog filling your lungs.

“How happy we are. How good this is. It feels like…”

“Perfect.”

“That.” He is between your thighs, cupping your face, your head falls back to look up at him. “It’s so perfect, us together.”

“And there are going to be three of us soon.” He murmurs, making you smile, looking down at your tummy, it’s a little poochy, perhaps only you and Satoru notice for now.

“A baby Gojo.” You whisper, smiling then, and he’s hugging you tightly, burying his face against your neck. “I want to be the best parent ever.”

“You will be.”

“And they’ll be… rich already. Holy shit.” You murmur, Satoru’s family had sent a cool five million for the baby, to have when they’re eighteen through a trust. Satoru had scoffed at it, but you did appreciate the gesture, of course Satoru had plenty of money, but your future baby Gojo could do a lot with that to start with.

“They did one decent thing, it’s still fuck them.”

You laugh then. “I’m still team fuck them.”

“Now… let’s shower, we have all weekend to relax.”

“You mean study your case!”

“Well that is relaxing for us.” You step into the hot shower now, head falling back when Satoru begins to suds up your hair, eyes shutting in bliss.

“I so love your hair washing skills.”

“Of course you do. I love washing your hair, little shnookums.” He kisses your forehead after he rinses the fragrant shampoo out, then it’s your turn, but of course he’s so tall he has to sit on the bench seat in the shower for you to wash his hair. “I’m so glad I fucking built this at the right height.”

He’s burying his face between your breasts now, making you giggle, as the hot water cascades down your back, easing stiff muscles. “I was curious that day when you told me to stand there.”

“Had to be at titty height.” You rinse his hair out now, before he stands, turning and sitting you on the new bench, a pretty black granite he’d recently installed. “I also had it made for…”

You hold your breasts together, and he slips his cock between them, already hard again, you whine out at it, at the sexy, lewd sight of his pretty pink tip pressing up between your lush breasts. “Fuck… that’s so…”

“Hot.” He finishes, whimpering out now, and you nod, looking up at him, holding your breasts together for him as he pumps, his free hand caressing your face. “God you’re so pretty .”

“You’re pretty.” He smirks down at you, now you’re spitting down his cock, making him lose it, he kneels once more, spreading your thighs right on the bench. “Aww look, she missed me.”

“You just fucked- ah!” You scream out when he’s lapping at your pussy, your head is resting back on the tile walls, his mouth devouring your pussy, blue eyes looking up at you, lashes dripping wet, water falling all over his perfect skin. “Toru…”

“Shh, let me and her talk. Rude.” You laugh but it’s cut off as he sucks your engorged little clit into his mouth, humming on it then, you’re gushing arousal all over his mouth, legs shaking violently, panting as it overtakes you. His hands glide down and up your slick thighs, fingers pressing in as he works you.

Your pussy is drooling down his mouth, he’s groaning as he keeps lapping at you, your screams echoing in the shower now. You’re starting to come down, so sensitive just his breath makes you jerk, and he relishes in it, in making you so weak and losing all your senses except how good he feels, how your entire body is just humming for him.

“You’re so yummy, Miss Brat.” Satoru slides back up, sitting on the bench with you now, pulling you into his lap. You look at him, grinding against his length. “Look at you, such a mess.”

“You make me that way.” Your words damn near slur, the heat of the shower, the orgasms, Satoru himself sapping it all from you.

“I love this bench.” You smile just a bit at his enthusiasm.

“You’re so cute- ah!”

“Cute, huh?” He’s shoved his full eight plus inches so deep in your pussy, grabbing your ass and slamming you down his length, stuffing you so full.

“Toru, fuck !”

“Not so cute, now. Aww, poor baby can’t take dick?” You glare, earning his grin, positioning your knees on either side, clinging to his back with your fingers, slipping and sliding, and lifting yourself, breasts pressed against his chest.

“Give it to me, Professor.” You whisper, only for him to pick you up then, pressing your back against the shower wall, fucking into you so deep it hurts, but it hurts so fucking good you’re falling apart in his grasp.

“Bratty, slutty student.” He huffs, shoving up, your thighs clinging to his slender hips as he pumps into your eager little pussy.

“I’m a… good student… fuck, fuck, fuck!” He bites the fuck out of your neck now, with those sharp teeth, you gasp as your pussy is clenching around him.

“A good girl, are you?”

“Yes!” You breathe out, between pumps.

“Mmm… you feel good, but I don’t know. Should I let you cum?”

“Please!”

“Since you asked so sweetly.” He pulls back his head, shoving his cock inside you, watching you, studying you, your eyes flutter shut as you’re about to cum once more, but he grabs your chin. “No, look at me.”

So you do, you struggle to keep those eyes open, looking at him as you’re cumming even harder than before, so hard you’re crying, tears slipping down your cheeks. “T-Toru…”

“Aw, you crying?” You just nod weakly, moaning out, and then he’s pulsing inside you. “So fucking pretty crying for me, too.”

He busts inside you now, groaning as he finds his release, clinging to your body, crying out, filling you up so full. “Yes, yes… fill me.”

“Two loads already, so slutty.”

“You… you’re slutty.” You manage, both of you laughing then, he eases you down on wobbly legs now, holding you by your hips.

“And you’re weak.”

“Fuck you!”

“I just did.”

“Sure did.” You’re grinning, and you both laugh, before you kiss each other, and clean up further.

Later on, you both are having dinner, while Satoru has his next case sprawled all over the table. You both snuggle up next to each other on the couch as he spreads files, pictures, and notes out on the table, nibbling on take out together, the white boxes and little red symbols and chopsticks, no dishes for you all. You look over the glossy eight by ten photos as you nibble on your rice.

“She was my age, fuck.” You say softly, as you look at the picture now, she was a pretty young woman, a young environmental activist as well.

“The worst part, she had a kid.” You sigh, putting the food down, and touching your tummy without thinking, and Satoru wraps an arm around you, protective and strong. “I know, baby.”

“Fuck… so the suspect is this guy?” You tap a nice looking guy with glasses.

“Mmm, yeah but I don’t know if I should buy it.”

“You think he’s a scapegoat?”

“Sure the fuck do.”

“So who are the suspects?”

“Him, him and him. They’re all super corporate, rich as fuck, whereas the guy I’m representing is Pro Bono, so he’s…”

“Not wealthy at all.” You finish.

“Exactly, they wanna pin this shit on him. This is something on the higher ups, too.” The distaste is apparent in Satoru’s voice. You snuggle to him now, and he brushes your hair back, kissing your forehead gently.

“We’ll help them, if he’s wrongly convicted, you’re the best defense attorney there fucking is.”

“And you’re going to be the best prosecutor there is.”

“Imagine us going against each other!?” He laughs then, shaking his head at you. “Bet I’d kick your ass.”

“Nah, I’d win.”

“Whatever!” You both pour over more of the documents together, it’s been a while since you could help with a case with school, but the break will be so lovely, so much time spent with your husband. “I’d win.”

“You wish, little brat. Damn, our baby is gonna be a menace.” He says, smirking, and you grin so big, images flitting through your mind.

“The most competitive lawyer ever!”

You both laugh then, eventually setting aside the evidence, Satoru is putting on a movie, but you’re not paying much attention, starting to feel sleep tug at you. You’re yawning, and Satoru is stroking your waist gently, you snuggle even deeper against his hard body, letting the warmth sink in.

“You’re always sleepy now. Can’t make it past a trailer.” He teases, you sigh, hiding another yawn.

“It’s the baby I think. It’s like sucking all my energy.”

“Gonna be a six foot tall kid.”

“Let’s hope they take after the shorter side of this family!” His shoulders shake with his laughter.

“Ugh, family though.” He says softly.

“Family.” You repeat lovingly, cupping his face and looking up at him. “Let us get some rest, we can study more tomorrow.”

“You wanna cuddle, hmm?”

“Yes.”

“Anything for you, Shnookums.” Satoru carries you to the bed. “Spoiled, lazy little thing.”

“You spoil me on purpose.” You snatch his best pillow with a wicked grin, earning his narrowed eyes.

“I’ll tickle you to death.”

“No! Fine, we’ll share then, meanie.” He snuggles behind you, long limbs taking over much of the bed, even as big as it is, wrapping around you tightly. You feel such peace, so comfortable, you can barely hold your eyes open for another minute.

“You’re like a little old lady, always crashing out. Drooling.” He says then, stroking your tummy gently, he’s been doing it since he found out. Your hand joins over his own, looking back at him over your shoulder.

“I’m too comfy, your fault.”

“Is it now?”

“Admit your guilt.” He’s grinning, you’re trying to keep your eyes open, but Satoru feels too heavenly.

“I admit no fault, brat.”

“Mmm… contempt of my court.”

“You’re silly. Go to sleep.” You both smile against each other’s lips, and you fall fast asleep, dreaming about this baby on the way, dreaming of Satoru holding a baby in his arms, and the love in your heart, like you’ll burst.

Satoru studies the smile on your sleepy face, wondering just what it is his pretty student thinks of, before burying his face against your neck, and falling fast asleep, where he feels so damn good, with you in his arms.

Taglist: @jjknanamin @chiyokoemilia @marie-is-in-the-dark @seeing-stars-alt @maskedpacific @aldebrana @toffeebrat @antisocialinlw @trishiepo0 @jkslaugh97 @makingtimemine 

Final Chapter

[purveyor-of-justice]

@ivxliwh

[STILL-WATER had gotten back to the Divine Court of Justice around an hour ago, preparing for ETERNAL-SUGAR's trial. When WILHELM pops up in her office, at the top of the courthouse, her eyes bug out of her head a bit. All of the Beast cookies, including her, can grow much taller than the average cookie, yes, but even so, this being was much taller than how big even she could get. She clears her throat.]

"Ah! Hello, there! I have not heard anything about a 'Mystery' being here, although I had just been out visiting an acquaintance, as well as busy preparing for an upcoming trial, so the news might not have gotten to me yet. If this Mystery is a child, they are probably being held at the guard's headquarters a bit down the street—they have an indoor activity center where all lost children are allowed to play under supervision until one of their parents or guardians are found, as it is quite easy to get separated from one's parents in the Divine Court of Justice due to the crowded streets and constant activity. I am sure you will have some luck there!"

[ctblanctt]

BEHIND THE SCENES OF THE COURT.

✷ a. cabot x fem!attorney!reader

Warnings: Explicit language, sexual content, fingering (a and r receiving), oral (r receiving), Alex Cabot (yes she is a warning), Alex is a little mean, dom!alex (although they both have control), use of "attorney" and "prosecutor" during sex, intelligent women and they use courtroom language during sex. Men/minors dni.

The courthouse elevator broke down on the 15th floor, leaving you locked in with her for thirty interminable minutes. Alexandra Cabot, Manhattan’s most feared prosecutor, smelled of bitter coffee and determination.

“Good thing I brought the case files,” she murmured, her blue eyes scanning you in the dim light. “We can get the argument going.”

You took a deep breath. This was your first major case as a public defender, and Cabot was destroying your strategy.

“You’re not going to intimidate me, prosecutor.”

She smiled, her red lipstick almost black in the dim light.

“Want to bet?”

__

Courtroom 42 had become a battlefield. You debated for hours, with Alex dismantling each of your witnesses with surgical precision.

“Objection!” you shouted, when she insinuated that your client was lying. “That’s an assumption!”

Alex stepped closer, her heel echoing like a gunshot.

“That’s a fact,” she said, her icy voice contrasting with the heat in her eyes as she stared at you. “Your client is hiding something. And you know it.”

That day the judge adjourned the session. And you were mentally cursing yourself for having doubted Alex.

You spent the next few hours until the next session trying to find flaws or holes in the evidence and speeches of the prosecution, a victorious smile appearing on your face when you finally found a hole in the victim’s testimony.

The case was over. Your client was free. And Alex…

"That was a great defense, attorney."

“My apartment is three blocks away,” she said, passing you in the hallway of the courthouse. “If you want to continue our… discussion.”

You smiled, picking up the key she discreetly dropped.

“I was already late for this hearing."

__

The apartment door had barely closed when Alex pushed you against the wall, the impact making the painting shake, the glass creaking against the frame, her lips meeting yours with an urgency that made your blood boil. Her perfume —jasmine and something expensive, all her own—, filled your lungs, intoxicating like the whiskey that still burned on your palate.

“You’ve been driving me crazy this whole case,” she breathed against your mouth, her firm fingers tugging your blouse out of your skirt.

You laughed, biting your lower lip.

“Was it the plan all along, prosecutor?”

She pulled you by the collar to the center of the room, where the golden light from the lamp illuminated her predatory gaze.

“No.” Her hands went down to your buttons, one by one. “But when you said ‘objection’ in that tone in court…” A shudder ran through your body. “I lost all ability to think rationally.”

Alex led you back into a bedroom, her fingers already working on the buttons of your blouse.

“I want to hear you say it,” Alex ordered, nibbling at the curve of your neck as her hands moved lower. “How many times have you fantasized about this? About me bending you over the courtroom bench?”

“Every session since the Henderson case.” You gasped, Alex’s fingers finding moisture through the fabric of your skirt.

Alex laughed, low and husky, as she ripped the stockings off with a precise tug.

“Judge adjourns. Let’s go to closing arguments.”

The bed was too big, too cold, until Alex pushed her back against the sheets. Her suit was now open, revealing her flushed skin and the black lace bra that no jury would ever see.

“You talk so much about justice,” Alex murmured against your neck. “Show me how you make your case.”

You didn’t respond with words.

In one swift movement, you reversed positions, rolling Alex under you and pinning her wrists above her head. Her black lace bra stood out against her skin, rising and falling with her rapid breathing.

“My retort, ADA.” your lips traced the line of her jaw. “You spent two weeks accusing me in court… but who’s really on trial here?”

Alex tried to pull away, but you tightened your grip, using your body weight to immobilize her.

“Let go,” she ordered, but her voice trailed off at the end. You smiled, slow and wicked, as one hand moved down her body.

"No." You bit her neck, feeling Alex's pulse quicken against your lips. "You want to control me? Prove you can."

Alex reacted as you expected – with equal parts fury and desire. In one fluid movement, she bent her knee between your legs, forcing you back and giving her the chance to reverse positions again, now with you on your stomach, with her pulling your hips up, exposing you completely.

“This is not a debate, attorney.” She spat the words as she unzipped your skirt. “It’s a sentence.”

Your skirt was ripped off along with your ripped tights and Alex wasted no time in removing your panties, throwing them somewhere in the room along with the rest of her clothes.

Her fingers ran through your folds without touching your clit in a slow and deliberate way, in a way that she knew would tease you. Your hips writhed involuntarily, seeking the contact that Alex deliberately denied.

“So impatient…” She murmured, her fingers circling your clit without touching it directly. "In court, you're so eloquent. Now look at you."

You tried to turn your face to see her, but Alex pressed the back of your neck against the mattress. "Oh no, attorney. You look straight ahead and accept your punishment."

Her fingers finally came down, two of them entering at once, without warning. The impact was as sudden as it was brutal. Two fingers plunging into you without ceremony, completely filling your most intimate space. Your body arched violently against the mattress, a hoarse moan escaping between your clenched teeth.

"Looks like someone wasn't as prepared as they thought." Alex whispered in your ear, her fingers withdrawing almost completely before thrusting again with calculated force. You swallowed hard, feeling every vein, every inner fold being explored with surgical precision. Alex knew your body better than you did, knew exactly how to curl her fingers to make your inner muscles contract involuntarily.

"Alex…" You tried to articulate, but the words were lost when her thumb finally found your clit, pressing just enough to make you see stars.

"Quiet," she ordered, picking up the pace as her mouth nibbled at the juncture between your neck and shoulder. "Talkative attorneys lose the privilege of speech."

Your hips tried to follow the movement, but Alex used her free weight to pin you against the bed.

"No." She pulled her fingers out completely, leaving you empty and shaking. "First you look at me."

When you finally opened your eyes, the sight was almost more intense than the touch. Alex above you, her lips swollen from biting, her lace bra dislodged, one hardened nipple exposed. Her fingers glistening with her own wetness.

"Do you like what you see?" She brought her fingers to her mouth, cleaning them with obscene slowness. "Because I certainly do."

Before you could respond, Alex came down like a hurricane. mouth replacing fingers, sucking on your clit like it was your last sip of water in the desert, the fingers of her hand entering you again, this time in an irregular rhythm that left you breathless.

You tried to warn her that you were close, but all that came out was a guttural noise as Alex pinched your clit, the aching pain mixing with the pleasure until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began.

“Come.” She commanded against your skin, the vibration of her lips sending shockwaves through your body. “Come now, or I’ll stop.”

Enough threat. Your legs shook violently as the wave hit you, your body arching like a bow as Alex drank you down to the last drop.

When you finally collapsed back onto the mattress, Alex crawled up your body like a satisfied predator, her wet lips glistening in the lamplight.

“Looks like we have a verdict,” she murmured, tracing the outline of your swollen lips with her thumb. "Defendant found guilty of leaving me wanting more."

You were still shaking when you turned the tables. With a fluid movement of someone who had studied every loophole in the system —and in Alex's body— you pinned her against the sheets.

"I think the prosecutor forgot an article in the penal code." You whispered, nibbling on the jugular that was pulsing too quickly. "Sexual coercion by the defense."

Alex tried to fight back, but you knew every weak spot, your knee pressing into her open thigh, your fingers curling around the chain of the necklace she still wore, your lips sucking on a bruise.

"You…" Alex's protest turned into a moan as your hand slipped between her legs, finding the wet heat her firm voice tried to deny.

"Silence, prosecutor." You ordered, mimicking her judicial tone as your fingers slid inside without warning. "I'm presenting evidence."

Alex arched like a bow, her teeth digging into your shoulder to muffle the sounds she'd always controlled so well. You felt her body tighten, not from fear, but from the same electric tension that ran through courtrooms when she was about to destroy a witness. "So wet…" You sped up your fingers, curling them just the way you'd hit that spot inside her. "Is this bribery of authority, Cabot?"

The answer came in waves, Alex’s nails scratching your back as her hips bucked against your hand. The muffled scream as you bit into her lacy bra, pulling it down.

When Alex finally fell off the cliff, it was with your name falling from between her lips like an extorted confession. You drank in every tremor, every spasm, until she was as limp as a cold case.

“Verdict?” You asked, cleaning your fingers with your tongue.

Alex caught her breath with the wounded dignity of someone who lost the first round but knew the game better than anyone.

“Appeal granted.” She pulled you into a kiss that tasted of blood and power. “But the court hasn’t closed yet.”

[tieflingkisser]

“I Have Lost Everything”: In Federal Court, Palestinians Accuse Biden of Complicity in Genocide

Bolstered by a momentous ICJ ruling, Palestinians, including Americans, gave three hours of testimony against the Biden administration.

In a momentous day for the quest to keep Israel and its allies accountable for its brutal war on Gaza, members of leading Palestinian human rights groups, residents of Gaza, and Palestinian Americans argued in a U.S. District Court on Friday that the Biden administration should halt its financial and military support for Israel and uphold its obligations to prevent genocide. The arguments came in a lawsuitOpens in a new tab that the Center for Constitutional Rights, or CCR, filed in November against President Joe Biden, Secretary of State Antony Blinken, and Defense Secretary Lloyd Austin, charging them with complicity and failure to prevent the “unfolding genocide” in the occupied strip. Testifying either in person at the Oakland, California, courthouse or remotely from Palestine, the plaintiffs spoke for nearly three hours about the deliberate devastation wrought by Israel in the aftermath of the October 7 Hamas attacks.  The hearing commenced hours after the International Court of Justice in The Hague found that it’s plausible that Israel has committed acts of genocide in Gaza, in a case brought by South Africa. While the United Nations court fell short of ordering an immediate ceasefire, a panel of judges delivered a historic set of rulings and denied Israel’s request to dismiss the case. A final resolution in that case is expected to take years. Lawyers involved with the lawsuit playing out in federal court said that the ICJ ruling bolsters their case. Their lawsuit argues that Biden, Blinken, and Austin are liable under U.S. lawOpens in a new tab for failing to uphold their obligation to prevent genocide in Gaza. In Oakland, dozens of people lined up outside the courthouse hours before the hearing on Friday, according to organizers on the ground, while the Zoom stream reached its capacity of 1,000 people tuning in.

[dannyreviews]

Let Him Have It (1991)

"Let Him Have It". Four simple words, but put in different contexts can mean completely different actions and motivations. Does it mean, take the officer out or give the gun to the officer? That would be the statement that could make or break the freedom and life of a mentally deficient 19 year old on trial for the murder of a cop. Peter Medak's 1991 film with the very appropriate title of "Let Him Have It" chronicles one of the biggest miscarriages of justice in the English legal system and the weight that those four words have in the study of law and jurisprudence to this very day.

In 1953 England, 19 year old Derek Bentley (Christopher Eccleston) lives with his very supportive family that includes his parents William and Lillian (Tom Courtenay and Eileen Atkins) and sister Iris (Clare Holman). Derek has a history of petty crime which is caused by him being taken advantage of by local criminals. After being expelled from an Approved School, Derek is lonely and secludes himself from the outside world. That all changes when he crosses paths with the teenaged but more dominant Christopher Craig (Paul Reynolds). Christopher comes from a broken home that consists of a criminal older brother Nevin (Mark McGann). When Nevin is sent to prison for robbery, Christopher develops a hatred for all authority. That hatred culminates one night when Derek and Christopher break into private property and are confronted by police. Christopher kills one cop and wounds another while Derek utters the four words that becomes the center of the entire trial and sad aftermath.

"Let Him Have It" is a film where the viewer already knows the ending before the opening credits have rolled if they did research on the case before. Derek Bentley would be found guilty of murder, despite not being the one who fired the fatal shot, and would be sentenced to death by hanging. Christopher Craig, who was the actual murderer, was only 16 and therefore ineligible for the death penalty, instead receiving an indeterminate sentence. Craig was released after 10 years inside and by all accounts has since become a productive member of society. Bentley would sadly not live into old age and would die by hanging despite a huge campaign to free him.

Peter Medak's recreation of the era in which this crime occurred is impeccable. Everything from the working class atmosphere, to the organized crime underworlds and especially the rigidness of the Old Bailey courthouse. It's the latter of these three characteristics that is the most impressive. All the trial scenes are played straight, without the forced language or histrionics that one might find in a primetime show on one of the major networks. The performance by Michael Gough as the judge is one of natural authority, whose strict demeanor invokes tension one can cut with a knife. It's the smaller details like that which only heightens why "Let Him Have It" is a cut above the rest

Christopher Eccleston gives a breathtaking performance as Derek Bentley, completely filled with pathos and hubris. He does not ham up his character and finds the right underplayed tone. Tom Courtenay as William Bentley also finds that same tone to play a parent who is controlled and headstrong, while Eileen Atkins is the right counterpart as the more emotive parent. Clare Holman as Iris is a great combination of her parent's traits as she is the glue that holds the family together. The last scene when they huddle together and cry as the clock strikes to the minute of their son's execution is hauntingly scary and gives you goosebumps. Paul Reynolds as Christopher Craig is a standout and a once in a blue moon performance that hits all the right notes. He's a hoodlum that acts tough and fearless, but deep down is still a child with insecurities. To play those two types of people simultaneously is something that is underused in today's films. It's one of those performances that stays with you long after the film ends and especially one that the Academy Awards should have taken notice of at the time. It's a shame that he didn't become a bigger name in films and television like Eccleston, but he at least makes his mark in a great way.

"Let Him Have It" premiered at the 1991 Toronto Film Festival, the stepping stone of the Academy Awards season and unfortunately, that's as far as it got. My guess is that it was not promoted well like Medak's previous hit "The Krays" and possibly, audiences saw it as a carbon copy of that film. Awards aside, the best thing this film could have done was drum up more interest in the Derek Bentley case. The epilogue mentions how the fight to clear Derek's name was spearheaded by his parents until their deaths in the 1970s, in which Iris later took the reins. Her persistence paid off, albeit after her death, because in 1998, 45 years after his execution, the courts overturned Bentley's conviction, giving him the vindication that he should have gotten when he was alive. "Let Him Have It", is one the best true crime films about a miscarriage of justice and while it leave you angry that such damage could have been done, acknowledging these wrongs years later is better than sweeping it under the rug.

9/10

[fanfics4all]

Golden Soul: Part 3

Request: Yes / No Ok I love how each chapter ends with more to come!! For part three of “Golden Soul” Y/N maybe starts to learn law as Toni and him continue to reconnect and Toni sees how much stronger her brother is, but still steps in to help out when needed? @jamiedc-they-them

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Toni Topaz x Brother!Reader 

Word count: 1594

Warnings: Nothing I think

Y/N: Your Name 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

*Four Years Later*

Riverdale hadn’t changed must, but I sure had. After finishing law school in New York, I returned, diploma in hand, ready to do what I set out for. To fight back. Hiram Lodge was long gone, but his legacy of corruption still ran deep. The town was still trying to rebuild, but they needed someone who knew the system. Someone who knew the law better than the people who used it against them. 

That’s where I came in. 

Toni was waiting for me at the bus station, leaning against her bike with a smirk. 

“Look at you, all fancy and educated. Gotta say, Little T, you clean up nice.” 

I chuckled, throwing my bag over my shoulder. “You act like I didn’t just spend the last four years drowning in textbooks and legal jargon.” 

She rolled her eyes. “And now you’re back to save the town, huh?” 

“Something like that.” 

Toni grinned, but there was something in her eyes… pride. She always believed in me, even when I doubted myself. Now, I was here to prove that belief wasn’t wasted. Back at the Whyte Wyrm, things were different. The Serpents weren’t just a gang anymore, they were a community, a family trying to build something real. They had a legit business front, owned by Toni and Fangs, and they were trying to help the town instead of just surviving in it. 

But of course, nothing in Riverdale was ever easy. 

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Toni asked, arms crossed as we stood outside the Serpents’ new HQ. 

I exhaled. “I’ve spent the last four years preparing for this.” 

She smirked, ruffling my hair like she used to when we were kids. 

“Still my little brother, no matter how tough you act.” 

I laughed. “Yeah, yeah, but I’m not that kid anymore, TT.” 

She nodded, a rare moment of seriousness crossing her face. 

“I know, and I’m proud of you.” 

Riverdale had taken a lot from us over the years, but now? Now, it was time to take something back. And this time, we weren’t fighting alone. 

A week later and the first time I walked into the courthouse as a lawyer, it felt different than I expected. There was no grand fanfare, no dramatic moment of realization, just a quiet weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders. Riverdale’s legal system wasn’t built for justice, it was built to keep people like us, people from the southside, down. That was exactly what I intended to change. 

Toni and I had spent the last few days catching up. She had stepped up big time while I was gone, leading the Serpents with a level-headedness that made me even prouder to be her brother. Fangs has his hands full with the bar and their kid, but he was still involved, still fighting. And Archie? He was still running the Community Center, still trying to keep the next generation from falling into the same cycles we grew up with. And now, I was back to help. 

“Alright, hotshot, let’s see if all that law school was worth it.” Toni said as she sat across from me in the Wyrm, arms crossed. 

I smirked. “You really doubt me?” 

She shrugged. “Nah, but I still gotta give you shit.” 

I chuckled, shaking my head before sliding a case file toward her. 

“This is the one. My first case.” 

Tonie picked up the folder, scanning the pages. As she read, her expression darkened. 

“Shit.” 

“Yeah.” 

The case was about a young Serpent, barely eighteen, who’d been arrested for something he didn’t do, vandalism at a Lodge-owned property. The charges were bogus, but the kid was being railroaded, just like so many before him. The prosecutor was pushing for jail time and his public defender had done the bare minimum. 

“He was set up.” Toni said, her voice laced with anger. “We know that.” 

“I know. But proving it? That’s the hard part.” 

Toni leaned back, drumming her fingers against the table. “So, what’s the plan, lawyer boy?” 

I smirked. “First, I dig. I find out who actually trashed that property, and I figure out why they pinned it on our guy. Then, I go to war in court.” 

Toni grinned. “Now that the Little T I know.” 

I exhaled, running a hand through my hair. “It’s not gonna be easy. The Lodges might not be running the town anymore, but their influence? It’s still here.” 

“Yeah.” Toni agreed. “But so are we.” 

I met her gaze and nodded. I wasn’t that kid who left Riverdale four years ago, and I wasn’t just another Serpent trying to survive anymore. I was a fighter. And this town? I wasn’t done fighting yet. 

Three days later, the trial had barely started. I could already tell how this judge felt about my client. The way she barely glanced at him, the way she entertained every little objection from the prosecution, it was all too familiar. But I didn’t come back here to lose. 

I stood, buttoning my suit jacket as I walked toward the jury. 

“Ladies and gentlemen, my client is not a criminal. He’s a teenager from the Southside, accused of a crime with no real evidence against him. What he does have, however, is a record- one that the prosecution is hoping you’ll see instead of the truth.” 

The prosecutor, an older man with a smug look, scoffed. I ignored him and continued. 

“This case isn’t about justice. It’s about control. About keeping people like us in our place. But I’m here to tell you-” I turned to the judge, to the prosecutor, to everyone in the room. “-that ends today.” 

From the corner of my eye, I saw Toni in the gallery, arms crossed, her smirk proud. This was just the beginning. I was ready for war. 

A week later, the air inside the courtroom was thick with tension as I stood, palms flat against the defense table, staring down the prosecution. The case had dragged on for days, with the prosecution throwing every trick in the book at us- trying to paint my client as some delinquent, another Serpent punk looking for trouble. But I knew better. 

Now, it was time to prove it. 

The prosecutor, a man named Richardson, rose from his seat with an air of self-importance. 

“Your Honor, the evidence is clear. The defendant was seen near the scene of the crime. He has a history of troublemaking- 

I shot up from my chair. “Objection! Character assassination. My client’s past has no relevance here.” 

Judge Whitmore gave me a tired look before nodding. “Sustained. Stick to the facts, Mr. Richardson.” 

Richardson sighed dramatically. “Very well. The point remains- there were no other suspects, and the defendant was in the wrong place at the wrong time.” 

I smirked, feeling my confidence grow. “Funny you say that, but I have evidence to prove otherwise.” 

The prosecutor narrowed his eyes. “What are you talking about?” 

I turned to the jury, pacing slightly as I spoke. “This entire case hinges on the idea that my client was the only possible suspect, that no one else could have committed the vandalism. But that’s simply not true.” 

I walked over to my table and picked up a file before a copy to the judge and then the prosecution. 

“I had an independent investigator review the security footage from a nearby gas station the night of the crim. And guess what? My client was there, blacks away, at the exact time the vandalism occurred.” 

Grapes rippled through the courtroom. Richardson quickly flipped through the papers, his face turning red. 

“That’s impossible-” 

“It’s not.” I turned to the judge. “Your Honor, this footage proves my client was not at the scene of the crime. It also suggests that someone else was involved.” 

Judge Whitmore adjusted her glasses as she reviewed the documents. 

“Mr. Richardson, do you have a response?” 

Richardson sputtered, flipping through the pages again before finally slumping. 

“No, Your Honor.” 

The judge sighed and turned to the jury. 

“I believe we’ve heard enough. We will now move to closing statements.” 

The jury had only been deliberating for an hour when they returned. I sat beside my client, who was practically shaking in his seat. Toni and Fangs were in the gallery, waiting just as anxiously. 

The foreman stood, clearing his throat. “In the cae of the Sate of Riverdale versus Daniel Gomez, we, the jury, find the defendant…” 

I held my breath. 

“...not guilty.” 

The words rang in my ears before the room erupted. I let out a breath, barely managing a grin before Daniel turned to me, eyes wide. 

“I-I’m free?” 

I nodded. “You’re free.” 

He let out a laugh of disbelief before hugging me. Toni cheered from the back, and even the judge, as much as she tried to remain composed, looked like she agreed with the verdict. As the courtroom emptied, I stepped outside to fine Toni leaning against the wall, arms crossed. She grinned at me. 

“Look at you.” She said. “Riverdale’s own legal badass.” 

I chuckled, shaking my head. “It was a good case, but it won’t be the last.” 

Toni nodded, the amusement in her eyes dimming slightly. “You know, there are a lot more kids like Daniel. More people Hiram’s influence has screwed over.” 

I glanced at the courthouse doors before looking back at her. “Then I guess I’ve got a lot more work to do.” 

She smirked, throwing an arm around my waist. “Good. Because Riverdale’s not done fighting.” 

Neither was I. 

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1 @emo-godess-loves-you @hiya-imthatgirl @mindsetjupiter @averysinclaire @mittelerde1999 @sweetest-peas @rousewriter @camiconfessions-blog @thecaptainsgingersnap @cenyddtheunicorn @jacksxsouthsideserpents @lover2448 @mamacobie13 @serenabeanstuff @therealchoni 

[petrichor77]

‼️‼️ Yasir Qadhi Responds – And Lets Texas Know:

The Islamization of America Is “UNSTOPPABLE” 🚨

During what is supposed to be one of the holiest, most reflective periods in Islam—Ramadan—EPIC’s Yasir Qadhi took the stage not for peace, not for prayer, but to deliver what seems to be a political declaration of war. And his timing is no accident. Just weeks after our bombshell exposé exposed his ideological empire and blew the lid off the Sharia-style EPIC City project, Qadhi fired back—on camera, from the pulpit, under the dome of the East Plano Islamic Center—with a message aimed squarely at Texas officials,

investigators, and concerned citizens: 🔊

“We are doing what we’re allowed to do… and we WILL continue to do so.”

This was not a sermon. It was a defiant statement to Texans: You can’t stop us.

For months, EPIC City crept forward—using shell LLCs, religious zoning tricks, and manipulation of local councils. RAIR exposed the truth. And the backlash was immediate: State investigations launched, criminal probes opened, and Texans started asking hard questions. But rather than backing down, Qadhi doubled down AGAIN. In his speech: ⚠️ He declared Muslims will not accept “second-class citizenship” ⚠️ He dismissed criticism of mosque developments as “racism” and “Islamophobia”

⚠️ He invoked Palestine as a rallying cry for Islamic defiance in America ⚠️ He replaced the biblical Jesus with the Islamic version, claiming: “We are the true followers of Jesus and Muhammad” 👉 These aren’t calls for justice—they’re weapons of deflection and dominance. Qadhi smears truth as hate, rebrands political control as civil rights, and uses emotionally charged terms like “Islamophobia” to shut down legitimate scrutiny. And his claim to “Jesus” isn’t about unity—it’s a theological hijacking. 👉 Let that sink in: Qadhi erased Christ’s divinity, denied the crucifixion, and elevated Muhammad above the Son of God—all while standing on American soil, under First Amendment protections.

The Jesus he promotes isn’t the Savior of Christians, but a politicized tool of Sharia, stripped of the cross and reimagined to serve Islamic supremacy. 💥 This isn’t coexistence—it’s ideological conquest. Yasir Qadhi made it crystal clear: Islam will use America’s Constitution until it no longer needs it. Sharia is not a private belief system—it's a legal-political system incompatible with Western freedoms. And the movement behind EPIC City isn’t about faith—it’s about control.

📣 TEXANS: IT’S TIME TO SHOW UP. 📍 March 31, 2025 – A Public Town Hall on EPIC City will be held by Collin County Judge Chris Hill ⏰ The hearing was quietly scheduled during the workday—don’t let them shut you out 📍 Location: Collin County Courthouse Your voice matters. Your presence matters. 🔗 Read my full investigation, and see why this fight goes beyond zoning laws—it’s about the future of American sovereignty and religious freedom. https://rairfoundation.com/ramadan-rage-islamic-leader-yasir-qadhi-declares-war/

[exposing-yusuf-olatunji-fatai]

When Justice Is Weaponized: My Fight Against Legal Misconduct

[marta-bee]

News of the Day 6/5/25: El Salvador Detainees

Paywall free.

President Donald Trump and his aides have branded the Venezuelans as “rapists,” “savages,” “monsters” and “the worst of the worst.” When multiple news organizations disputed those assertions with reporting that showed many of the deportees did not have criminal records, the administration doubled down. It said that its assessment of the deportees was based on a thorough vetting process that included looking at crimes committed both inside and outside the United States. But the government’s own data, which was obtained by ProPublica, The Texas Tribune and a team of journalists from Venezuela, showed that officials knew that only 32 of the deportees had been convicted of U.S. crimes and that most were nonviolent offenses, such as retail theft or traffic violations. [...] As for foreign offenses, our own review of court and police records from around the United States and in Latin American countries where the deportees had lived found evidence of arrests or convictions for 20 of the 238 men. Of those, 11 involved violent crimes such as armed robbery, assault or murder, including one man who the Chilean government had asked the U.S. to extradite to face kidnapping and drug charges there. Another four had been accused of illegal gun possession. [...] ProPublica and the Tribune, along with Venezuelan media outlets Cazadores de Fake News (Fake News Hunters) and Alianza Rebelde Investiga (Rebel Alliance Investigates), also obtained lists of alleged gang members that are kept by Venezuelan law enforcement officials and the international law enforcement agency Interpol. Those lists include some 1,400 names. None of the names of the 238 Venezuelan deportees matched those on the lists.

Normally, I try to be moderate, but not this time. The fact they had it all noted down in a database and lied about it is truly infuriating.

More immigration-related news behind the cut. It's depressingly bad I'm afraid, so if you want to stick with that summary and skip the details, I can't say I blame you on this one.

Major, High-Level Changes in the Deportation Push

Stephen Miller is warning ICE to meet a new target number of arrests per day—or else. (X) We’re leaving behind the pretense we’re going after the worst of the worst at this point.

Supreme Court allows Trump to begin removing 500,000 immigrants from Cuba, Haiti, Nicaragua and Venezuela (X) Justice Ketanji Brown was… not a fan. (X)

Trump signs new travel ban for 12 countries (X)

Across the country, unidentifiable law enforcement agents are snatching unsuspecting people off the streets where they live. But just because it’s beyond the pale doesn’t make it illegal. (X)

HUD and ICE are sharing data to identity mixed-status families. (X)

How It's Playing Out in Practice

Increasingly, American citizens are detained by ICE when they don’t believe peoples’ documents are genuine. (X)

ICE, Shifting Tactics, Detains High School Student at N.Y.C. Courthouse (X) He’s part of a trend of arresting immigrants as they appear for routine immigration hearings and check-ins. (X)

The US Is Storing Migrant Children’s DNA in a Criminal Database (X)

Trump Admin Moves to Create ‘Remigration’ Office to Supercharge Deportations. (X) Because that name’s not charged, historically-speaking.

Civil Rights Groups Say Immigrants Are Being Denied Legal Access at Detention Centers (X)

Trump officials weigh rule to prevent asylum-seekers from getting work permits (X)

Surge of ICE agreements with local police aim to increase deportations, but many police forces have found they undermine public safety (X)

Specific Communities and People Impacted

In LA, health clinics that service immigrants are making house calls on patients too afraid to leave home (X)

Hurricane Season Will Be Even Riskier for Undocumented People This Year (X)

A Missouri Town Was Solidly Behind Trump. Then Carol Was Detained. (X)

‘They are the backbone’: Trump’s targeting of legal immigrants threatens health sector (X)

Only Two Companies Make Parachutes for U.S. Troops. Deportations Would Crush One. (X)

Georgia teen says ICE detention was ‘life-altering’ and ‘like a prison’

Kristi Noem said an immigrant threatened to kill Trump. The story quickly fell apart

[thecoffeelovingfreak]

𝒊𝒕 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒃𝒖𝒓𝒏𝒔 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒆 𝒂 𝒇𝒊𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒑𝒊𝒕 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒔𝒕

chapter IV of and her heart is a bird on a spit in her chest

Pairing: Teenage!Arlecchino x gn!Teenage!Reader

Genres: angst, light hurt/comfort, politics & law, friends to lovers

Word count: 3.7k

Warnings: themes of corruption and crime, violence, graphic depictions of murder, blood, mild angst

1 | 2 | 3 | 5 | 6 | epilogue

~~~

The near-silence of the market square left a foreboding sensation on the back of your neck. Signs of dark shades broadcasted closed, a stark contrast to your previous visit. The reason for it was not unbeknownst to you however, as word of a protest at Place des Marées had haunted you since you left the orphanage with Manon just an hour earlier.

Things had changed in Fontaine during the last three weeks, and whether they were for better or worse had yet to be seen. Civil unrest had risen, and citizens were making their thoughts known to the establishments of justice here in the capital. Whispers of reconnaissance by the court and hidden resistances had circulated the streets; there was no doubt that both were watching.

Although part of you felt trepidation at the uprising, another part of you was eager to witness it.

With this in mind, you said, “There is practically no point in shopping today, we might as well leave.”

Manon huffed and stopped walking, her long dark coat hitting the back of her calves abruptly. “I suppose so.”

You crossed the small cobblestone street and took her hand in yours. You could tell there was a keen glint in your eye, causing your partner to raise her eyebrow.

“Would you take note of the open shops? We will stop and buy what we can before going back to the orphanage, but for now, I’d like to join those at the Place des Marées.”

“Of course, boss.” she teased, “And we will keep half of the money for ourselves, too.”

“Of course, boss.” you reiterated with a joyful smirk, enjoying the brief moment.

“We can’t both be in charge, __.” she quipped, reciprocating your expression though to a lesser degree.

“Maybe so, but do you expect for me to just let you be the boss?”

“No, but I do expect for you to give in to my demands.”

With a small huff, you shook your head and rounded a corner.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” she smirked, causing heat to rise to your cheeks as you continued walking to the Place des Marées.

—

Any light-hearted atmosphere dissipated once you arrived at the square. A large crowd of people were dispersed around the area, some standing or sitting, and others shouting or holding a sign. Cries for those falsely convicted, those unfairly sentenced, those without proper representation, and those given no trial to receive freedom and rightful justice rang out through the citizens. Officers sat at the ready in front of the courthouse and around the crowd.

The various shades of grey in the sky rumbled, but no one seemed to mind.

You weaved through the crowd with Manon's hand still in yours, trying to get to the center of it all.

The middle of the square housed a large gold statue of the current chief justice. His stoic countenance looked down on the citizens from his large booth, creating a feeling of disdain in your chest.

"How long have you been here?" you asked someone sitting on the stone base circle of the statue's planter box.

"About 2 hours, but over half of the people have been here for 3."

"I see. Thank you."

There was no doubt that by the fourth hour, the number of enforcements would have doubled.

Manon tugged on your hand, bringing your gaze back to her fiery eyes. Her sharp, angled pupils appeared like lines of fresh lava across hardened rock, making your previous trepidation vanish upon seeing her determination. She released your hand before climbing up onto the stone planter box and reaching out for you. You took her hand once more and let her aid in bringing you up to her side. The motions repeated, and you felt eyes boring into your back as you stood on the statue's lap beside Manon.

From where you stood you could see out across the entire square, and you wondered if Neuvillette’s eyes could see the entire city from where he gazed.

“May I please have your attention!” Manon demanded, immediately sending thousands of eyes her way.

Your eyes were torn between her and the audience, but you felt it best to observe her spectacle.

"People of Fontaine! We have felt the repercussions of the unjust actions of those leading us for far too long. Every single one of you standing here now is here because your life has been altered due to this. The crimes of people like him," she began, pointing up to the chief justice's face, "have proceeded to shed our blood and trap us in cells, factories, or filth, while newspapers are given false reports or bought off. Our archon treats us like toys – as if we are not beings but puppets, existing simply for her hedonistic ends. Enough is enough! There is no need for such fault and fodder anymore if it can only exist like this!"

Cheers and shouts of support sounded from below you as Manon grabbed your hand and sent a solid, affirming gaze your way – the blaze of fury in her eyes bright as ever.

You turned to the expectant crowd, lifting your joint hands and shouting, "May today mark the beginning of the end of our plight! Vive la révolution!"

Thunder clapped once more and rain began falling. Citizens reciprocated the action as officers closed in, their numbers increased just as you had thought. It seemed time was up. Reporters and spies finished their duties before leaving the square in conspicuous and inconspicuous ways. The details of the scene faded as proud and emboldened shades of black and red came into view once more.

Manon was something secure amidst the instability of the nation's climates – her never-ending drive infectious and her leadership inspiring. You couldn't help but wonder just how influential she could become.

—

The bright aureate rays of the sunset sent a golden glow across the many dirtied fruits sprawling out from your heavy wicker basket, laying tipped over and rocking lightly back and forth. Your feet pounded against the cobblestone, worry falling on your features as Manon raced ahead of you. She had voiced suspicions about the atmosphere surrounding the orphanage, and as you got closer she appeared more on edge, sending a nervous feeling into your stomach.

The front door was left slightly ajar, and Manon had swung it fully open, rushing into the entryway. Her head shifted in multiple directions before she turned halfway back to you.

The building was oddly silent. There was no trace of any person, the children's belongings organized about now gone. All that remained were the director's decorations. It was unnerving – the stark difference in the building when all of the kids were gone.

Light heeled footsteps echoed down the main hall as a figure in a blue and white frilled dress entered your view.

"What happened here?" Manon asked the director, looking over at her with accusation.

“Le Commerce Quinquennal.” Vivienne replied simply, walking between you both to the large mahogany door. 

“What is that?” you questioned, turning around to watch the director’s precise movements.

“Something neither of you will ever have to worry about,” she said, leveling her gaze with yours. “Now please… go pick up that poor produce and bring it to the kitchen for me.”

You watched her as you walked out of the door, blood thrumming through your veins. You heard Manon’s sharp voice interrogate the director, but her avoidant quips in response were quickly ending the conversation.

As you picked up the dusty fruits and vegetables, you started formulating a plan to discover what this orphanage was.

—

Low light cast dubious shadows over the light blue walls of the main hall. Vivienne’s office sat at the end, the dark door ominous. Her bedroom was only one room down from where you stayed with Manon, both of them on opposite sides in the middle of the long hall.

After discussing your ideas with Manon the previous night, you were ready to move forward with what you concurred was the best current option.

Investigating the Director’s office.

You stepped out into the hall first, facing her tall door and the light still peeking out from beneath it. Keeping your breath low and footsteps light, you walked along the wall to her door before beckoning Manon to follow. You pulled out a spare bobby pin you had found in the bedroom – it would be simple enough to pick an inside door. You had done it plenty of times before.

After inserting the pin into the lock, you heard the sharp click that signified the door was unlocked. You looked behind you at Manon and nodded quickly before gazing behind her at Vivienne’s door.

Still closed.

You rapidly opened the door before shutting and locking it quietly behind you both.

~

Manon remained silent as she walked directly to the director’s desk, sorting through the papers neatly stacked on top of it. You stood watch by the door, yet still attempted to sort through her nearby bookshelf to see if you could find anything of note. She had been in this room a few times before, the first being when she initially arrived. You put her in charge of investigating the areas that were likely to contain the most answers due to that.

The only papers on the surface that could hold any meaning were the orphanage’s funds. Since you were visiting the market today, it was likely that Vivienne wanted to review what the establishment had. What piqued Manon’s interest the most were the payments deposited into the funds and occasionally to Vivienne herself. They were from a person marked as nothing but Captain, with a few from the Jester. They were simple titles, but they sparked an out-of-place remembrance.

“Have you ever heard of the Captain or the Jester?” she asked you with a whisper.

You looked at her quizzically, but there was a hint of familiarity in your eyes that she could see even in the dim light.

“No,” you replied with a slight shake of your head, turning back to go through the books once more.

It was a lie, but she was unsure of your motives to do so.

She placed the book of finances down, moving onto the large drawers along the sides of the desk. She pulled out the first, unveiling labeled manilas of the orphanage’s past deals and business. There was a file longly marked SN-F. LCQ. CoF-OdlFS. Manon knew what the abbreviations meant.

Upon setting the file on the desk’s surface and opening it, she was greeted by papers, contracts, and court reports showing a history of scheming since the orphanage was created.

Snezhnaya had an agreement with Fontaine that laid out the formation of Le Commerce Quinquennal. Factories would be established in Snezhnaya that would allow for Fontaine to use a portion of the nation’s resources for their own gain while sending “convicts” to the factories as workers. In turn, Orphelinat de la Fleuve Sinueux would be established in Fontaine for Snezhnaya among a couple of other orphanages. Children would be purposefully sent to them to be taken care of and raised while gaining life experience. Every five years, the children from the orphanage would be exchanged with Snezhnaya for a select group of workers equal in number to the group of children.

Manon’s thoughts were racing as she quickly gathered the information and placed it back into its spot in the drawer. She closed it and leaned down to open the second, her nerves on edge.

“We’re still clear,” you spoke, picking up on her growing stress.

She ignored you as she looked over the files, seeing both yours and hers with the rest of the children’s. In a moment of impaired judgment, she removed your file and opened it on Vivienne’s chair. She already knew things from your past, but she did not expect to find what she did.

Your father was an agent for the Fatui who would monitor their port deliveries and dealings along the Côte des Pêcheurs, making him the one locally in charge of the eastern coastal regions.

Manon looked up and made eye contact with you.

Light steps could be heard approaching the room.

Her mind was jumbled, but she still shoved your file back into the drawer before securing the organization of the desk and taking your hand. She brought you behind the couch to hide, taking the safer precaution than hiding behind Vivienne’s desk.

The sound of a key turning and the door opening filled her with an uncomfortable fear.

The older woman huffed as she approached her desk, retrieving the finance book and one of her pens, as well as a small stack of papers. She looked out at the room with a focus on the fireplace.

"Furina and her contumelious remarks," the director uttered, "When will she simply let me be."

Manon's eyebrows furrowed as she heard Vivienne's statement. Perhaps the archon and the director were on worse terms than she suspected.

As the door latched shut, Manon listened to the receding echo of footsteps and lightly shook her head.

She leveled her gaze with yours, noticing the odd appearance of fight in your eyes.

"We have to escape – now or never." you voiced, something unnerving now swimming in your glossy eyes.

"I agree," Manon responded, observing the rise of derangement in your demeanor. It seemed that she was not the only one who had made a shocking and terrible discovery.

—

The murky night was hardly visible through the glared glass of the train car.

Your escape was successful, but it was only the beginning of your journey. Gathering your belongings and sneaking out of the orphanage was simple, but navigating the dark alleyways to the train station was tedious. Luckily, you were skilled in avoiding officers.

The train station was hesitant to provide you and Manon with tickets on a midnight car, but with a few extra dollars, they did not bat an eye. Neither did the conductor or the attendants, who should have noticed you after the speech at the square the previous day.

Most of the city did, you realized, as those not in attendance would have seen newspapers headlined ‘Les Fous Perfides', Marie Donnadieu and __ __, call for revolution at Place des Marées protest, just as you did on your trek here.

The smooth movements of dark water rested underneath the sturdy glass floor of the train car as it ran along the eastbound aqueduct. You were returning to the Côte des Pêcheurs in order to find a fisherman or travel boat that would take you across the Mer Glacée to the Vetreny Port in Snezhnaya.

—

As you exit the train car and descended the stone steps, you came face to face with your hometown, Mélodie des Vagues. Your family had a mixed reputation here, with some people thinking well of your parents and others terribly. You took Manon’s hand as you walked the familiar streets, being reminded of the past at every turn. Some shopkeepers and Fatui agents gave you welcoming smiles in hope of a word or two, but your steeled gaze kept them away. While you usually would have felt guilty for the needless abrasiveness, you had a goal in mind that was on limited time.

You knew Manon could perceive the situation well from beside you, but you had to bury your doubts and fears of her questioning more about your background. 

The longer you spent in the town, the more danger you were in.

You couldn’t share everything with Manon, even if you wanted to. The secrets of your family were to be taken to the grave, especially after your mother’s death.

Vivienne knew half of them somehow, but with what you read in her diary, you could tell she had some history with your parents. Why she never gave you any hint of your connection, you could not guess, but from what you read and knew of her, she was an expert in facade.

You were not far from the dock by now – all you needed to find was someone who would bring you to the land of eternal winter. You stopped to ask a few people sitting along crates, but they would not be loading up and leaving until sunrise, something that was still two hours away. That would be far too long to wait.

There was a sign propped up nearby showing the times of arrival and departure for passenger ships, but one would not be arriving for three hours, and the other would not be departing until noon.

With no other people close to their ships or you, you decided to ask an angler sorting through their supplies if they could take you to Snezhnaya. They said yes, and that they would be leaving with their crew in fifteen minutes.

It was your only option.

You heard nothing from Manon beside you, and looking at her features you could see a storm brewing.

Bringing one of your hands to cup her cheek, you rubbed your thumb over the arch.

“Speak your mind, Manon,” you whispered.

She looked apprehensive, yet still brought her hand to rest over your wrist before sighing in reluctance.

“I have discovered many unpleasant things tonight, and I am simply trying to sort through them all, ma lumière.”

You hummed, “So have I. When we leave this place, we will have all of the time in the world to figure it out together.”

“I suppose so.” she voiced with a small smile, rubbing her own thumb over the prominent veins of your wrist.

You watched as her eyes softened slightly, before moving over your shoulder and instantly hardening.

You raised an eyebrow and turned your head to follow her line of sight. Waiting for you was a tall figure wrapped in a dark coat with a hand resting heavily on a silver-laced cane. One of their eyes was scarred in a manner that was all too familiar to you.

“What do you want, Henri?” you asked him sternly.

“You know why I am here, __.” he replied, taking a step forward.

Manon brought her arm in front of you, trying to shield you from the threat. You pushed her arm down and took another step forward to match his.

“The death of your father had nothing to do with me. That was simply the business between our parents and you know this.”

“Yet their business still became ours didn’t it?” they queried, tilting their head. “If it were not for your petty little siren tricks, I would not still be facing the difficulties that I am now.”

“Your self-hatred has never been an issue involving me. The only reason you are facing these difficulties is because you attacked me years ago with this same belief.”

He took another step forward. “Where’s your brother, __? Did he finally leave you too?”

Manon tugged you back to her.

“You’re well connected, Henri, you should know.”

He chuckled dryly before standing taller. Within one swift movement, he had pulled a pistol of pyro from his coat and shot it straight through your heart.

~

Manon watched wide-eyed as you fell to your knees on the damp dock. The nearby citizens were panicked, but some were too afraid to move. She assumed this show of violence was not an uncommon occurrence here.

“The siren’s one weakness – fire straight into a heart of water.” Henri whispered as they turned and began fleeing the scene.

Manon was shocked by the news of your nature, and increasingly worried about your health as she knew very little of what one would need to recover from such a drastic injury. All that Atlas had ever taught her about the species was that although they had blood, it was severely watered down due to the fact that the chambers of their heart were created from the sea.

“What do you need?” she questioned, hands moving over you unceremoniously.

You grasped at your throat and chest, almost unable to speak. “End… him…” you voiced dryly.

Manon shook her head, “I’m not leaving you here.”

You moved a hand to her shoulder, gripping it tightly. Your gaze met hers, and she instantly felt compelled to hear your every word.

“Go,” you said sadly.

She did.

Henri had not gotten very far, at least for the speed at which Manon was silently traveling. She grasped his shoulder and threw them into the nearest alley. His body landed with a thump, their cane rolling into another metallic object obscured in darkness. She heard none of their words as she began tearing at his face, leaving shreds of bloodied and burnt flesh on the stone ground. Their screams were soon silenced as Manon made her way down his body, blindly and furiedly completing the task she was given. It had been years since she last treated someone this way, but a part of her deep inside missed the thrill and brutality of it.

No one came searching for him, or to investigate the situation.

~

Manon returned to the dock, blood dripping from her clawed fingertips and her clothes. Sinew was stuck under her fingernails, and parts of her coat were burned.

None of it mattered to her, though, as you were not there waiting for her at the dock. In fact, there was no one remaining.

She ran through nearby buildings, gaining many stares as she did so. She tore through supplies and crates with no regard for the property. She looked over the docked ships, but still to no avail.

Finally, she looked down into the water that now began to lighten with the blossoming sunrise. Tears began to rise in her eyes for the first time in a month, her mind reeling from the day and her heart aching.

You were either dead or gone. And she failed to protect you or help you when you needed it most.

But why would you send her away? Was it all a lie? Or were you afraid of her realizing the reality of your life?

None of it mattered to her anymore. All she wanted was to find you again.

[indeedcaptain]

Regulatory Relations, Chapter 21: The Survivors

Also posted on AO3 here!

Holy shit yall, there's only one chapter left after this. I'm gonna lose my mind. hope you're still having fun <3

☆☆☆

The courthouse that the united government of Vulcan had deemed fit to loan Starfleet for the court-martial was part of an enormous sandstone complex in the center of ShiKahr. Kirk stood outside of it, early enough in the morning that the silver nightbirds still called to each other and the heat had yet to tighten its stranglehold, and knotted his fingers in an angry tangle behind his back.

His dress uniform felt ill-fitting; his body had not changed since the last time he had worn it, but he had. He compulsively smoothed his badges down once more to feel that they were still in their proper places. 

Spock looked over at the movement, and leaned closer, so that his shoulder pressed against Kirk’s, the drapery of his civilian robes wavering between them. Counselor Ketoul stood at his other side, as stalwart as a general, and together the three of them and the Vulcan judicial clerk who had shown them here awaited the arrival of the prosecution and the panel that would determine Kirk’s fate.

They did not wait long. The panel arrived in a swish of robes and the general air of importance. There was Admiral Morrow, a man Kirk had met a few times at ceremonial functions and tended to think highly of; one of the chief justices of Vulcan, T’Lona, a stern and angular woman; and Admiral Drake, a woman Kirk had only seen in holos and knew only that she had been promoted during the war. Kirk met each of their eyes and nodded politely. From around a large doorway came the last of their retinue for that day, as the witnesses would not be called until after opening remarks and testimonies: the prosecution. Admiral April was tall and stoic, face impassive and revealing none of the stress that it had the last time Kirk had seen him, in the dark underbelly of the 31 ship. Next to him was a tall, blonde, slender woman that Kirk recognized immediately. His eyebrows flew up. 

Areel Shaw spoke first. She greeted everyone by name as the Vulcan clerk led them into the dark and waiting room, and as Kirk passed her, she said, “It’s good to see you again, Captain Kirk.” He flashed her an uneasy grin. 

“You as well, Counselor Shaw—but I wish we’d stop meeting like this.” She grimaced at him sympathetically before dropping back to walk next to Ketoul.

“Fancy seeing you here,” Ketoul said. “Do you come here often?”

“I was surprised to see your name on the docket, Neera. Court-martials aren’t usually your style.”

“No,” Ketoul agreed. “They aren’t.” 

Spock halted by the door, and brushed his fingers against Kirk’s in one last stolen kiss. He was integral to everything that had happened, to all that Kirk was and had become--- and yet, because he was only acting as a witness, he would not be allowed to participate that morning. Kirk met his eyes. The variegated brown of his eyes caught the early morning sunlight, and in them Kirk could see his surety and cool control--- and his love. He pressed his fingers to Spock’s once more and then let the door swing shut behind him.

The courtroom they were in was intimidatingly large, clearly built for a much more populous audience—but with the trial closed to the public, the list of witnesses would barely fill the first row of seats. The panel was seated at a long table at the front of the room, and across from it were two shorter tables: one for Kirk and Ketoul, one for Shaw and April. There was one imposingly austere chair catty-corner to the tables; it would be for the witnesses, seated where they could address both panel and counsel. 

Kirk swallowed hard. The quiet shuffle of their feet and clothing, the murmured conversation of the Vulcan clerk and the panel ahead, were swallowed entirely by the abnormal acoustics of the hall. His ears rang with the silence. 

The clerk wasted no time installing the three honored guests at the front table, gracefully gesturing the prosecution and the defense to their places. Then he took an unobtrusive position near the exit, and Morrow stood. 

“All rise,” he said, and the small group present came to their feet. He looked around, eyes settling uncomfortably on Kirk and April, before he said, “Thus begins the court-martial of Captain James T. Kirk, of the USS Enterprise, charged by Admiral Robert April with the crimes of disobedience of a superior officer, assault and battery of a Starfleet advisor, and refusal of a legitimate order of transfer without grounds. How do you plead?” 

He looked directly at Kirk, not Ketoul. Kirk said, voice rough, “Not guilty.” 

“Your plea is noted,” Morrow said. “Counselor Shaw, you and your client may present your opening remarks.” Areel stood and paced to the center of the room. 

“Admiral Morrow, Admiral Drake, and Justice T’Lona, I thank you for your presence. I hope that you will hear our evidence, and the logic of Admiral April’s decisions, and come to a just decision.” It seemed heavy-handed to Kirk to invoke logic in her opening salvo, but he couldn’t blame her for going straight for the wildcard in the panel. 

“Captain James Kirk has served the Federation honorably for many years, and is known for his creative and unusual style, but he has finally gone a step too far. He may love being captain, and he may love the Enterprise, but the chain of command and the integrity of the service must be preserved. Though he may not have wanted to give up command of the Enterprise to obey the orders of Admiral April, it was his duty to do so--- a duty that he refused to discharge. Then, rather than remain and explain what had occurred, if he had truly seen a reason to refuse, he ran to Vulcan to avoid the consequences of his rash actions. I ask the panel to charge him guilty on these counts, and hand down punishment as it sees fit. If any captain were able to ignore the orders of the flag officers, for whatever reasons they desired, Starfleet’s integrity would crumble.” She stood proudly before the panel, her voice bouncing off the rock walls and making it sound as though she were standing right in front of Kirk. She looked evenly between each of the panelists. He ran, repeated a cruel little voice in the back of his head. Like a coward. He tried to ignore the voice. He had done the best he could with what he had at the time.

Areel turned and raised one hand to April. “Admiral?” April stood, bracing himself on the table with both hands. 

“This is an open and shut court-martial,” he said. His voice was gravel. All the exhaustion that had been wiped from his face was apparent in his voice. “Captain Kirk may find the secrecy and shadow work of Section 31 to be distasteful, but his skills are too valuable to the security of the Federation and all the planets that comprise it to be wasted on exploration. We needed, and need, his ability to think laterally. Someday it may be the difference between peace and war. He refused an order of transfer, to the detriment of our common cause and for his own purposes, and broke numerous other rules to do so. I ask that you find him guilty, and, rather than lose his skills to a rehabilitation colony, consider his punishment to be transfer to Section 31, effective immediately and for the rest of his career.” April slowly sat back down, hands still on the table in front of him. 

Areel turned back to the panel as Kirk silently gagged in nauseated horror. 

“The prosecution rests,” she said, and she took her seat. The faces of the panelists were unchanged; Justice T’Lona perfectly Vulcan and the two human admirals stonily concerned. 

“Counselor Ketoul, you and your client may present your remarks,” Morrow said. Ketoul stood and strode to the center of the room. Her heels clacked assertively on the stone floor, but the echoes were eaten by the acoustics.

“Honored panelists,” she said. She inclined her head politely to each admiral, and raised an elegant ta’al to the chief justice. Score one for Ketoul, Kirk thought. “I thank you for hearing us, and I am confident that together we will find the truth, and justice in its shadow. Captain Kirk, as stated, will plead not guilty. 

“This is not because he did not disobey Admiral April’s orders; we do not contest that this occurred. Instead, Captain Kirk is not guilty because Federation law and Starfleet regulation supersede any and all commands given, and to agree to serve Section 31 would be to agree to break Federation law as a matter of course. Captain Kirk refused the transfer of command because he is an honorable and trustworthy Starfleet officer, and a faithful citizen of the Federation.” One of Morrow’s eyebrows crept slowly up his face as Ketoul spoke. Drake frowned. T’Lona remained unmoved. 

“As submitted in response to the summons to trial, Captain Kirk will countersue, on the grounds that Section 31 has been breaking Federation law and Starfleet regulation for at least twenty years. I turn now to the captain, who can provide more illumination on the scale of criminal conduct.” She turned to Kirk, and he straightened under her burning gaze. He knew what was coming. He could do this. 

“Captain Kirk, when you arrived on Kindinos VI, you, Admiral April, and your first officer, Commander Spock, discovered a tunnel system beneath the largest home on the planet. What did you find in the tunnel?” 

“Section 31 had beaten us there,” Kirk said. “They were removing the dilithium that had already been mined.”

“Dilithium is critical to the propulsion system of a starship, correct?” 

“That’s right.”

“So it’s an important resource.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“So what’s wrong with Section 31 removing the dilithium after the mine ceased operations?”

“As a matter of course, nothing. But the Enterprise had received a distress signal on an open channel about ten hours prior. We warped to Kindinos VI earlier than scheduled because of it. And we did find the miners and were able to rescue almost all of them. So 31’s presence meant one of two things. Either they missed the distress call and didn’t search for survivors upon arrival, or they heard it and ignored it to prioritize the dilithium. Both break one of the most basic tenets of Starfleet regulation.”

Ketoul’s eyes flashed as she turned back to the panel. “And what tenet is that?”

“Sentient life over resources. Always.” 

Ketoul let his statement float in the chamber for a moment before moving on. “In preparation for this case, I searched for any and all public information on Section 31– and there’s very little. For obvious reasons, nearly all of its work is classified--- even within Starfleet they are an enigma. I was not able to find a single public image or description of their uniforms. How did you recognize them?” 

“I had seen their uniforms before, a long time ago.” 

“When did you first encounter Section 31, Captain Kirk?”

Kirk swallowed hard and said, hands clenched in his lap, “When they extracted Governor Kodos from Tarsus IV after the massacre.”

Morrow’s padd hit the table with a sharp clack. Ketoul clasped her hands behind her back and said, “Section 31 has dogged the steps of Captain Kirk since he was a child, breaking Federation civil rights law and Starfleet regulation to keep him and the other Tarsus survivors silent. Captain Kirk refused the transfer order because he knew exactly the types of decisions he would be asked to make if he were to take command there. We charge Section 31 with obstruction of justice, attempted creation of a biological weapon, attempted extrajudicial killing, and three violations of the highest order of the Federation constitution: the rights to one’s life, one’s family, and one’s mind--- and these are only the charges that Captain Kirk personally witnessed. I ask that you find Captain Kirk not guilty, and instead use this case as an opportunity to remove the shroud of secrecy from this department and align Starfleet once more with the values upon which it was founded.”

If Kirk thought the justice’s face had been blank before, he was wrong: it was a ceramic mask now. The lines between Drake’s eyebrows had deepened, and she was frowning, hunched over her padd. Morrow stared at Ketoul like she had grown a second head before his eyes flicked to Kirk. 

“You were on Tarsus?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

“You’re trying to connect something that happened twenty years ago to your disobedience charge?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

Morrow sat back and wiped a hand across his face. “And you’re charging Admiral Robert April with these crimes?”

“If he is fit to stand trial, yes,” Ketoul said easily. April’s eyes snapped to her, narrowing as she continued, “As he brought the charges against Kirk, he must be the defendant in the countersuit.” 

“Yes,” Morrow said, half under his breath. He looked down at the padd again. “And your witnesses, Counselor Ketoul?” 

“Captain Kirk, first. The rest of the Tarsus survivors,” she said. “Captain Kirk’s first officer and husband. His chief medical officer. And his therapist from his time at the Academy.” 

Morrow set the padd down and placed his hand on top of it. “Section 31 is a hugely valuable research organization, with an enormous role in the public safety of the Federation. I must say, Counselor, this is a hell of an accusation.”

“It’s a hell of a crime,” she said. She bore his scrunity for five seconds, ten--- 

He sighed heavily. “Your countersuit is accepted. Counselor Shaw, you may proceed with testimony.” Areel stood, shaking her shoulders back, stalking to the center of the room to meet Ketoul. 

“In light of the gravity of the charges against us, I request the right to call additional witnesses.” 

“Request granted, Counselor,” Morrow said. “If they need time for travel, or dispensation to call over subspace, it will be allowed.” 

“Thank you,” she said, nose in the air, as Ketoul took her seat again by Kirk’s side. She caught his eye out of the corner of hers and gave a tiny nod. They were over the first hurdle. Areel said, “I call Admiral April to the stand.” April stood and crossed to the witness’s seat, seating himself heavily into the upright and austere chair. 

“Admiral April, place your hand upon your heart. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, as an officer of Starfleet and a citizen of the Federation?” 

“I do.” 

“Admiral, will you please state your name and tell the panel what occurred between you and Captain Kirk on the Enterprise and on Kindinos VI?” 

“My name is Robert April,” he said. “I had originally traveled to the Enterprise with two goals: to convince Commander Spock to take his own command, and to ask Captain Kirk to join Section 31. Though they are married, I thought that Spock’s logic and Kirk’s sense of duty would at least provide me with the opportunity to explain the necessity of the request, and allow us to come to some sort of agreement. I had hoped for more time for that discussion, but the distress call from Kindinos preempted that. It was during the mission, however, that I began to have doubts about Kirk’s objectivity, and the reliability of that sense of duty.” Kirk’s blood boiled. So that would be April’s play: casting aspersions on his ability to lead, to ruin his reputation and then hide him away in 31’s clutches.

“He and Commander Spock both joined the away mission, though it was against regulation. The commander seemed comfortable in his explanation that the captain would attend for diplomacy’s sake, but it did not seem so square to me. What I learned, just in twenty-four hours on the ship, is that where the captain is, so too is the commander. And vice versa. Kirk should have remained on the ship; yet, because his husband was going, so was he.” Kirk ground his teeth.

“We transported down to the surface, and Kirk continued to choose remaining near the commander rather than tasking him with leading one of the security teams, as would have made more sense. I believe that he didn’t want to leave Spock alone with me, as I had not made a secret of the fact that I thought and think he is wasted as a first officer. Maybe he thought that I could talk Spock into leaving. Maybe he just values Spock’s life more than anyone else’s on the crew, and trusts only himself with guarding him. Regardless of the reason, it was the three of us that discovered that there was a tunnel system below the mine owner’s home, and we decided to see if there were survivors down there.

“As I was on the Enterprise, and on Starbase 27 before that, I cannot speak to whether or not the 31 unit broke protocol intentionally, or if it was truly an accident that prevented them from rescuing the miners first. That will be a matter of investigation when I return. I thought it serendipitous that we stumbled across them, though. I had hoped, once we found them, that Kirk would be intrigued by their work or interested in their mission, and I could talk to him and the commander about the transfer.” 

April hesitated, lips parting as he paused for breath. He said, “Then there was a tragic accident.” Kirk clenched his hands in his lap, willing his breathing to remain steady. “I will spare you the terrible details, but we thought Commander Spock had perished. Captain Kirk--- well, he went ballistic. I have never seen a man more out of control, especially not a Starfleet officer of his caliber. We had to stun him for everyone’s safety, and took him back to the 31 ship to care for him. When he awoke, he harmed several officers, kidnapped my advisor, and damaged Starfleet property--- all to escape. Somehow he convinced a small contingent of his crew to come get him, and then he and the commander fled here. We were all very relieved to learn that Commander Spock had not been killed,” April said, his eyes glinting in the light. “However, Captain Kirk’s response to the commander’s injury makes me question his capacity as a leader. I believe that Spock compromises the captain’s integrity, his objectivity, and I doubt the wisdom of allowing them to serve together in the future.” He smoothed his hands over his thighs. “I welcome any further questions.” A low, seeping dread started to creep through Kirk’s stomach. April told beautiful lies. What if they couldn’t catch him out?

Areel stood immediately. “Thank you, Admiral April. Is it true that you are the leader of the Starfleet entity known as Section 31?” 

“Yes,” he said. 

“How long have you held that position?”

“A little over four years.” 

“Have you ever heard of or witnessed activities related to, say, the creation of biological weapons?” 

“Not in my tenure as head,” he said. It was a seamless evasion. Kirk clenched his fists beneath the table as Areel nodded in acknowledgement. 

“Did you know that Captain Kirk had been on Tarsus IV?” 

“I did,” he said quietly. Kirk schooled his features to neutrality.  

“Do you have any knowledge regarding operations that Section 31 may have conducted on Tarsus IV?” 

“The tragedy on Tarsus IV occurred long before I joined 31. I cannot be expected to know every experiment 31 has ever run.” It still wasn’t a no. 

“Captain Kirk argues that Section 31 has violated his civil rights over the past twenty years,” she said. Her voice was steely and blank; when Kirk had known her well, many years before, he had called it her lawyering voice. “Do you have any evidence of Section 31 taking particular interest in the Tarsus survivors, or any explanation for why that interest would lead Kirk to refuse a transfer of command?” 

“It would be highly unlikely,” April hedged. He paused and licked his lips. “It would be highly unlikely for any branch of Starfleet to take such particular pains to follow civilians.” Areel waited, but that was April’s entire answer. She blinked and backed off.

“Regarding the charges of violating the constitution of the Federation, have you personally witnessed such violations occurring?” 

Kirk clenched his teeth. It was a lowball question, and so easily sidestepped. “I have not.” 

Areel turned away. “The prosecution rests.” Ketoul stood and took her place, looking to Morrow for permission. He nodded. 

“Admiral April,” she said. Her voice was sweet like poisoned fruit. 

“Counselor Ketoul.” His response was dry, acerbic; there was a familiarity there that Kirk didn’t understand. 

“I can’t help but note that many of your responses are about your ignorance of the inner workings of your own organization. I’d like to focus on what you do know.” April’s mouth turned down at the corners, but he inclined his head. “You knew that Captain Kirk and his first officer were in a relationship?” 

“I did.” 

“When did you become aware of that fact?”

“I suspected as such when I recommended Spock for promotion when Captain Bergara retired, and he refused it. They married shortly after that.” As they moved back to safer ground, April’s voice grew in strength. The shadow of his original annoyance grew. 

“What was your goal in transferring Spock?” 

“Spock is too good at too many things to be a first officer forever. Bergara had run a science ship. I thought to offer him an opportunity while filling an open position.”

“But you didn’t think to order him to transfer, the way you did Captain Kirk? I can’t help but notice your willingness to override my client’s wishes, but not Commander Spock’s.” 

April huffed a breath through his nose, and laced his fingers together in his lap. “Commander Spock’s transfer was a matter of his professional development. Captain Kirk’s was and is a matter of Federation security. Captain Kirk also informed me, on multiple occasions and very strong terms, that nothing will kill morale faster than an unwilling leader. If Spock didn’t want command, there was nothing I could do about that. But Kirk does want command, loves it, and there should have been no objective reason for him to reject one command for another.”  

Ketoul nodded, absorbing his words and ceding his point, before changing tack. “You’re married, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” April said. 

“Would you be upset if your spouse were seemingly killed in front of you, only days after you had finally married to ensure that you could stay together?” 

A muscle in his jaw twitched.  “Yes.” 

“Could you please elaborate on the tragedy that you thought had killed Commander Spock?” 

April shifted in his seat; the first real sign of his discomfort. At the table across from Kirk, Areel’s hands tightened on the arm of her chair. “He was struck by an inadvertent electrical discharge.” 

“With Commander Spock’s permission, I have entered his medical records from the past four months into evidence. You may wish to spare us the terrible details, Admiral, but I do not.” Ketoul waited, watching the panel turn to the correct section on their padds. Drake reeled back in disgust. 

Ketoul said, “Am I understanding you correctly that Commander Spock was shot, with a phaser, by accident?” A vein in April’s forehead started to throb. He gave a jerky nod. 

“Dr. Leonard McCoy is Spock’s primary medical provider, as CMO on the starship Enterprise. It was his professional opinion, notated and signed in the file, that this phaser had been set to kill. It was also his opinion that if he hadn’t moved just so, and if he hadn’t been a Vulcan male in peak health, he would have died almost immediately.” 

“Objection,” Areel said. “Conjecture.” 

“Sustained,” Morrow snapped. Ketoul settled her shoulders back. “Fine. It was his opinion that the phaser had been set to kill. Is it not against Starfleet regulation to leave an unholstered weapon set to the highest power?”

April nodded again, one sharp movement. 

“Could you please explain the context surrounding Commander Spock being shot, almost fatally, by friendly fire, during a situation in which you were hoping to convince Captain Kirk to join your branch voluntarily?”

“Accidents happen,” April said, and his voice, previously staunch and confident, dropped to an uncharacteristic weakness. There it was--- the inconsistency in his story, the unerasable hand of Elise in the outcome of that day. The only thing April had seemed to regret, in the last minutes in the tunnels on Kindinos: he hadn’t wanted to kill Spock. Morrow’s gaze, previously focused on Ketoul, shot to him. 

“Your reputation precedes you,” Ketoul said. “You are a man of exacting standards. Did you report to HQ or otherwise punish the officer who, through reckless handling of a dangerous weapon, almost killed a fellow officer?” There was an unbearable pause. April studied his hands, turning them over to look at his palms. Then he looked back up at Ketoul.  

“No,” April said. Morrow frowned.

“Why not?” 

April said nothing. 

“Was it because this officer was following orders? Your orders, maybe?” 

“Objection,” Areel said again. “Leading.” Nobody responded. Ketoul forged on. 

“If you are court-martialing Captain Kirk for refusing an order transfer, and First Officer Spock is his lawfully wedded husband, entitled to serve alongside him and protected from separation by Starfleet regulation, why is Commander Spock not here as a defendant as well? If you truly respect his abilities so highly, why not request him as well?”

April’s hands clenched in his lap as his breathing rate increased. For a second, it looked as though he wanted to respond; he looked up at Ketoul, and then his gaze flicked to Kirk for a half-second. In that brief blink, his exhaustion leapt to the surface, the strain apparent. Then it was gone.

“If you had wanted Captain Kirk to transfer to Section 31, wouldn’t it have sweetened the deal to bring his husband with him? One of the most effective command teams in the quadrant could have been a huge asset to your organization.” Ketoul had seen that moment and she took one step towards him: she had smelled the blood in the water. April watched her with an unidentifiable expression.

“In your own characterization of the situation, you could have rectified Spock’s underutilization and gotten Kirk to agree to almost anything, if you had just offered for both of them to go.” Ketoul took another step towards him. “Unless Captain Kirk’s marital status no longer mattered by the time you actually asked, or ordered, Kirk to transfer, because you believed Spock to be dead. I ask you again, Admiral: how did Commander Spock get shot?” Kirk’s palms felt wet, once again drenched in Spock’s lifeblood in that awful cave, Spock’s body heavy and falling in his arms--- he forced himself to unclench his fists and settle into himself. In the silence of the stone room, he could hear April’s raspy, unsteady breathing.

“A man of exacting standards,” Ketoul said again, softly. April’s gaze flicked to her; there was a desperation in his eyes. “It’s hard to believe that someone like you could be accused of either ordering a subordinate to shoot a fellow officer, or that, if it was an accident, that you would let the matter lie. I ask you again, admiral. How did Commander Spock get shot?”

Silence. Then, Kirk heard it: a nauseating clicking, timed with the jumping of April’s throat. Ketoul took another step towards him. “Maybe the better question is why was Commander Spock shot,” she said. 

“Objection,” Areel said. “Conjecture.” But April turned his head hard to the side, eyebrows pulling together in a pained expression, the tendons of his neck trembling, before he turned mechanically back to Ketoul. 

“It seems out of character for you, Admiral,” Ketoul said. Her tone slid from accusing to something softer. “Tell us. Why was Commander Spock shot?”

April’s head tipped back before snapping back up. Then his eyes slid to Kirk’s, and Kirk saw what he had been hoping for: fear, remorse, and, beneath those, a new determination that he thought he understood. He held April’s gaze, and he did not look away. He held the ugly, warped connection thrumming between them as April shifted forward and said to Ketoul, in a low, choking voice, “Because--- because--- because---” 

He collapsed forward, out of the chair and onto the ground. 

Areel screamed. Drake and Morrow leapt to their feet. Kirk skidded from his chair to April. He dropped to his knees and rolled the other man onto his side. His eyes were open, blank and unseeing, as he craned his neck back and spasmed, and there was a bloody scrape across his nose and cheekbone from hitting the ground. Kirk stripped his dress uniform tunic off, bunching it up to stuff beneath April’s head, and yelled to the clerk by the door, “Call a medic!” 

By the time the Vulcan medics arrived, the seizure had stopped, and April lay unconscious on the stone floor, breathing shallowly. Areel and Ketoul hovered nervously nearby, the admirals and the justice watching intently. The medics carefully loaded April onto a stretcher and lifted, carrying him out into the unforgiving mid-morning sun. Kirk sat back on his heels and reclaimed his now-wrinkled dress uniform, buttoning it slowly over his black undershirt as an oppressive silence sank down over the courtroom. 

“What,” Morrow eventually asked, “the hell was that?”

Ketoul glanced at Kirk as he stood. He settled into parade rest and said, “Evidence of Section 31 violating the right to one’s mind.” T’Lona’s lips pursed, eyes calculating and cold. Morrow’s eyes narrowed, and he looked back at Kirk. 

“You have thirty seconds to explain what just happened.” 

“Section 31 rebuilt Dr. Adams’s neural neutralizer from Tantalus and has been using it on its own agents to control them. Sir,” Kirk said. “I saw the advisor put April under it when I was on the ship. He might be the head on paper, but he isn’t the one making command decisions.” Morrow shook his head, turning away from the group, before swinging back to point one finger at Ketoul.

“You specified, earlier, that you would charge him if he was fit to stand trial.” 

“Yes, sir,” Ketoul said.

“You knew this would happen.”

“We had an idea, sir,” she said, and she withstood the brunt of Morrow’s furious scowl. He turned away from the group, wiping one hand over his face, before turning back. 

“What a mess,” he said. “Counselor Shaw, who did April list as his first officer?”

Areel’s eyes slid to Kirk and Ketoul before she said, voice low, “The security advisor that Captain Kirk kidnapped, Admiral. Her name is Joanne March.” 

“A retired advisor as his first officer,” Morrow said, mostly to himself. Then he said, louder, “Put her on the court-martial forms and have her beam down.” 

“Excuse me, sir,” Ketoul said. 

“What.” 

“Is this the advisor you’re referencing?” Ketoul held up her padd, with Elise Darling’s staff photo displayed. Morrow nodded. “I reached out to request that she serve as a witness for Captain Kirk, but she never responded.” 

Morrow turned to Kirk. “You asked the woman you kidnapped to testify in your own court-martial? Kirk, are you insane?” Morrow’s composure looked like it was hanging on by one single thread. He planted his fists on his hips. 

“She was my psychologist when I was at the Academy,” Kirk said. “But I knew her as Elise Darling.” 

Morrow stared at him for five full seconds. He inhaled and exhaled twice. Then he said, in the stillest voice Kirk had ever heard from him, “I recommend we adjourn for the day. We try this again tomorrow, with this Joanne--- Elise--- woman representing Section 31. Counselor Shaw, call whatever witnesses you like. We’re not waiting, we’ll beam them in through subspace. Counselor Ketoul, bring all of yours in.” He wiped a hand over his face again. Then he leveled a shrewd glare at Kirk and Ketoul. “You’ve made this case very, very complicated. You’d better have the evidence to back it up.” 

Kirk nodded. Ketoul said, “We do.” 

Morrow sighed. “Dismissed.” Then he turned back to Admiral Drake and T’Lona. Areel, Ketoul, and Kirk left the courtroom as silently as they had entered it, emerging into the bright sunlight. Areel turned to them, as if she might say something--- then she decided against it, and split off from them to head in the direction of ShiKahr’s city-center. 

Spock emerged from a zen garden in the center of the courtyard, his light robes billowing around him. His eyes searched Kirk’s face for evidence of how it had gone, and Kirk let him read his face and his nerves, only extending his hand for the comfort of Spock’s fingers kissing his. 

“It worked,” he said, and Spock nodded. They wound through the justice complex, Kirk trying to avoid analyzing which of the sandy footprints on the paths might have been the medics carrying April, until they arrived where they had parked. Spock drove them home, soaring through the streets of ShiKahr, and they escaped back into the blessed quiet and cool of Sarek and Amanda’s home. 

Kirk and Spock stayed in the main house for most of the day. They sat in silence as Ketoul reviewed her notes and occasionally asked a clarifying question. Kirk twined his fingers together in increasingly painful configurations until Spock took one of Kirk’s hands and pressed it between his own. Dinner later was a somber affair. 

If this goes right, Kirk kept thinking as he half-heartedly pushed cubes of vegetables around his plate. If this goes right, tomorrow we could be with the others, with my kids. We could celebrate together. We could be free of all of it. If this goes right. 

Kirk rolled over in bed long after the nightbirds had started to sing, pulling Spock by the hand. Spock rolled with him, pressing his chest to Kirk’s back, his breath ruffling the hair on the back of Kirk’s neck.

“Share what troubles you,” Spock ordered, his voice quiet. His fingertips brushed over Kirk’s wrist in a gentle back-and-forth. 

“April had it so much worse than I did,” Kirk said. He stared into the darkness, remembering the seizure, the scrape across April’s face. “It was awful. I can’t help but wonder now if we did the right thing.” 

Spock’s hand settled on Kirk’s forearm, pulling him close against him. “I am sorry, k’diwa. But he will receive the highest level of care that the VSA can offer, and you have given him the same opportunity that you received.” 

“The opportunity of passing out somewhere on Vulcan?” 

Spock was silent for a minute, a warm presence enveloping Kirk. Then he said, “I believe that Admiral April could have remained silent, or further prevaricated, if he so wished. But by forcing the issue in public, far from the neutralizer and Elise, he now has the opportunity to defect from 31.” Spock was quiet again before he said, “It will remain to be seen how many of his actions were his own, as opposed to those programmed into him. The man I knew during the war was cynical and hawkish, but he never would have worked for such an organization of his own free will.” 

Kirk lifted Spock’s hand from his arm and pressed it to his face. Spock’s palm was smooth, cool and dry, and he curled his fingers lightly against his forehead, his temple, his cheekbones. Even through the light contact Kirk could feel a spark of something between Spock’s fingertips and his psi-points. He wished, suddenly, that they were melded, that he could feel that comforting presence inside his head and not just pressed against him. But until he was certain that he was not going to be sold to Section 31 and its secrets for the rest of his life, he would not ask. Instead he rolled over inside the circle of Spock’s arms, breaking the connection, and pressed his face instead to Spock’s neck. Spock put his chin on the top of Kirk’s head, and they breathed until Kirk fell into a restless sleep. 

☆☆☆

Kirk, Spock, and Neera Ketoul walked again through the winding pathways of the ShiKahr judicial complex in the early-morning quiet. There were very few people around; only a handful of Vulcan clerks moving purposefully from building to building, and their own, who led them back to the same building they had occupied the day before. They were early, and the first people there; the other survivors would be checking in at the front gate any moment. Kirk was jittery despite the calm of the morning and the lack of caffeine in his system. Today he would face Elise and publicly testify about his time on Tarsus. Only time would tell if it would be worth it. 

In the center of the courtyard, the air began to shimmer with gold resonance. Spock pressed the back of his wrist to Kirk’s, a steadying presence at his side. But the body that materialized was not Elise; it was a dark-haired southern gentleman, one who started moving towards him nearly before he had finished beaming. 

Kirk threw his arms open to hug Bones for the first time in four months. His friend collided hard with him, gripping the back of his shirt tightly. They held onto each other; subspace calls were a weak substitute for the joy of seeing him in real life. Bones pulled back, patting his shoulder hard and scanning his face. Kirk held his gaze, and his first genuine smile of the day started to pull the corners of his mouth up as Bones gaped at him. 

“My God, Jim,” he said. “You look like a new man!” 

“I feel like one,” Kirk said, and grinned in earnest as Bones slapped his back. 

“We’ve missed you,” he said, nodding to Spock and falling in on Kirk’s other side. 

“The feeling is mutual,” Kirk said. Bones and Ketoul shook hands as they met in person for the first time, and from the other side of the courtyard Kirk could see a young Vulcan leading a group of humans towards them: the twins, Kevin, and Tommy. Mira waved enthusiastically as they approached.

As the clerk let them into the courtroom, where the panel of judges already sat waiting, Kirk changed his mind. His husband, his best friend, and his childhood chosen family--- a veritable army of people who loved him--- were all in the same room. They were safe and whole, prepared to testify for and with him, despite time and distance. No matter the outcome, this moment alone was already worth it.

Kirk sat again at the table reserved for the defendant, and the other witnesses filed into the row of chairs behind them. Ketoul set down her padd and bag before leaning down to him. 

“We got them,” she said. 

He looked sharply at her. “I thought you didn’t hear back from anyone else.” She shrugged. 

“I didn’t, at first,” she said. “But since Morrow offered Areel an option for her witnesses to testify virtually, I asked if we could have the same offer.”

“You just… asked him for it?” 

“Yes,” she said, as if asking favors of admirals was all in a day’s work to her. “I thought those who wouldn’t or couldn’t travel might be willing to call in.” He hid his smile at her audacity in his hand and looked down at the table instead. 

The door in the back of the room opened, and an icy finger drew a line down the back of his neck. He felt, even before he turned to see her, the chilling presence of Elise Darling. The quiet chatter of the room fell silent as she entered, striding confidently down the center aisle with a furious Areel on her heels. 

He turned. There she was. Gone was the black Section 31 uniform; instead, in juxtaposition to her military bearing and demeanor, she wore a soft pair of khakis and a pink cardigan. Her hair was a softer gray in the warm lighting of the room, more raincloud than gunmetal, and the soft wrinkles of her face feathered across her cheeks and forehead. She looked almost exactly like she had when he knew her. 

She found his eyes unerringly, and she smiled gently at him, as if to say, now what’s all the fuss about, Jim? Then her eyes flicked to the row of witnesses behind him, his army, and the kindness faded from her face. A wave of protective fury rose within him, one that urged him to hide his kids from her poisonous tongues, shove her backwards out of the room so that she did not get to see what they had grown up into. He glanced quickly at them, gauging them, ready to intercede. But where he had expected fear, or trepidation, he saw only the steel of their resolve. He looked at his husband, and felt a little thrill of delicious fear. The trappings of Spock’s civility had all but melted away at her entrance; his eyes were night-dark and burning, posture threatening and angled towards Kirk, one hand slowly fisting and unclenching at his side. When Elise looked back at Kirk, her eyes were cold, but he did not look away.

Then she settled gently into the seat that April had occupied the day before as Areel stood next to the table. Morrow looked up at her from his padd and, frowning, said, “You didn’t submit any more witnesses, Counselor?” 

Areel’s lawyering voice was back. “The plaintiff has refused to provide any.”

Morrow said, “Excuse me?” 

“The plaintiff informed me that she will not be calling any other witnesses to testify.” Areel’s hands were clasped behind her back, so tightly clenched that her knuckles were white. “As her counsel, I advised her otherwise, but she remains firm in her decision.”

Morrow looked at Elise. “Is that correct?”

“Yes,” she said. Her voice was warm, friendly; it floated through the air like a dust mote. Kirk clenched his jaw. Morrow stared between her and Areel before sighing. He settled both hands onto the table, leaning forward, and said, “All rise.” They stood. “Thus continues the court-martial of Section 31 versus Captain James T. Kirk, and the countersuit of Captain Kirk versus Section 31. As the original plaintiff and countersuit defendant has been found medically unfit to stand trial, his first officer will stand for him. She will testify, and then the counselors may call witnesses and submit evidence. Counsel was given dispensation to call witnesses via subspace. Counselor Shaw, you may begin.” 

Areel stepped forward again. Her quiet self-confidence from the day before had been replaced by a bubbling frustration. “I call the plaintiff to the stand.” Elise stood carefully, smoothing her hands down her khakis, and walked to the witness chair without a single trace of concern or remorse. This courtroom was just one more deck on the ship of her obsessive control. 

“Advisor, place your hand upon your heart. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, as an officer of Starfleet and a citizen of the Federation?”

“I do,” Elise said, laying a wrinkled and sun-spotted hand over her chest. 

“Please state your name for the court.” 

Elise smiled gently at Areel. “Does it matter?” 

“Does it---” Areel stuttered, her mouth dropping half-open in shock. Kirk almost felt bad for the Herculean task she had been assigned. “Yes, it matters!”

“Why, may I ask?” 

“It matters because Admiral April gave the court one name, and Captain Kirk gave another, and it seems as though both of those names are yours. Please state your name.”

“My legal name is Joanne March,” Elise said. Areel gave a sharp nod. 

“Has your legal name ever been Elise Darling?” 

“Oh,” Elise said, and gave a self-conscious little laugh. “Not for a long time. But yes.” Her eyes found Kevin, seated behind Kirk, and Kirk fought to keep himself still in his chair instead of putting his body between that gaze and Kevin. “At one point it was Siobhan Murphy.” 

“Ms. March, what role do you play in Section 31?” 

“I’m just an advisor now,” she said, crossing her legs at the knee. “Before I retired, I spent a long time in 31, and in its predecessor.”

“Its predecessor?”

“Intelligence and Information Operations, dear,” Elise said. Her voice was patronizing, as if she were giving Areel a lecture on a topic she should have already known. “In the years before the Klingon War, more and more departments were folded into I and I until it became what you now call Section 31.” 

“What role did you play in Captain Kirk’s transfer order, and in the events on Kindinos VI?” 

“I was the one to suggest the transfer,” Elise said, and Morrow and Drake’s faces blanked out in surprise. “Admiral April expressed frustration that very few of our commanders had the improvisation and creative thinking that other Starfleet captains displayed. I suggested that we transfer the best to our staff, in order to provide learning opportunities. I had hoped that Captain Kirk could, as they say, show them how it’s done.” She turned her head away from Areel then to meet Kirk’s eyes, and when she smiled he heard her words in his head: I always knew that you were going to be special. 

“And Kindinos?”

Something closed off in Elise’s face. It was as subtle as a door slamming shut. “Dilithium is a finite and necessary resource for the Federation. Kindinos VI is strategically valuable.” 

Areel stared at her, waiting for her to provide something more concrete, and Elise looked politely back. She changed course. “When Captain Kirk refused the transfer order, what was your next plan of action?” 

“I was unwilling to accept no for an answer,” Elise said. She looked at the panel then, directly at T’Lona. “As the Vulcans say, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few, or the one.” T’Lona held her gaze, face unchanging.

“Who are the many, in this case, Advisor?” 

“The citizens of the Federation, of course,” Elise said. She frowned slightly. “I don’t know if you had noticed, Counselor, but the galaxy is a dangerous place. Section 31 is frequently the only line between order and chaos. It would have been better for having Captain Kirk.”

“Would you mind returning to the events on Kindinos, Advisor? I’d like you---” 

The door in the back of the room swung open. A woman with graying red hair burst through, a flustered clerk on her heels. The other clerk blinked in surprise, catching the door before it could bang against the wall. 

“Excuse me,” Morrow boomed. “This is a closed--- Sarah?” The indignation in his voice faded as the woman approached. “Announce yourself.” 

“My name is Dr. Sarah April,” the woman said. She slowed as she approached the tables, a data card clutched in her hand. Elise watched her with a vague disinterest as Areel backed away, allowing a clear sight-line between Dr. April and the panel. “I’m acting on behalf of Admiral Robert April through power of attorney, and I want to submit his medical records as evidence.”

Everyone in the room turned to the petite woman. She held up the data card in her hand, breathing hard through her nose. “Robert is in a hospital bed right now because of what happened here.” She snapped the card into her other palm and her voice turned desperate. “I read the countersuit. I am a doctor. I know my husband. I want to submit this scan as evidence of what Captain Kirk said.” 

“Sarah April,” Elise said, an odd light coming into her eyes. She tilted her head to the side. “I’ve heard so much about you from Robert.” 

“Do not talk to me about Robert,” Dr. April hissed, pointing at her with one finger. She marched to the table and slapped the datacard onto it. “This is an MRI of his brain yesterday.” 

Morrow reached across the table, taking the card. Dr. April took a shuddering breath, meeting Morrow’s gaze--- then she turned and marched back to the row behind the survivors, where she remained standing. 

Morrow said, “Counselor, I’m sorry. Do you mind?”

The look on Areel’s face said that this day could not possibly get any worse for her, but she said, “By all means.” Morrow slid the card to T’Lona, who inserted it somewhere beneath the table. There was a click, and a whirring, and a panel in the wall across from the witness stand slid into a hidden pocket to reveal a holoscreen. T’Lona pushed a few more buttons, and the holoscreen began to glow. The screen glowed for a few more seconds before the brain scan loaded completely. Kirk registered it blankly: it was just a picture of a brain.

But Bones leapt to his feet, hands gripping the back of Kirk’s chair hard, and cried, “My God!” He stared at the image, his face paling, before he stalked closer. He pressed a hand to his mouth as he inspected the scan, eyes huge and luminescent in the glow of the holoscreen. He turned back to the room at large, opening his mouth to speak---

“Objection,” Areel said, through gritted teeth. “I want an explanation from a doctor unaffiliated with the countersuit.” 

There was a painful silence. “Sustained,” Morrow bit out. He turned to T’Lona and they had a harried, whispered conversation. 

“Counselor Shaw, please continue. Advisor March, your testimony?”

Areel turned back to Elise, where she still sat patiently in the witness’s chair. She said, hesitant at first before regaining her momentum, “Kindinos VI, Ms. March. Yesterday, Captain Kirk implied that Section 31 had broken regulation during its mission to reclaim the dilithium that had been left on-planet. What was your role in that mission?”

Elise considered Areel for a moment, twinkling eyes calculating. “No,” she eventually said. “I don’t think I’d like to talk about that.” 

“Advisor, I strongly recommend---” 

“Counselor Shaw, your client---” 

Elise stood. Areel fell silent, and Morrow said, “Advisor, if you step down now, I’m holding you in contempt of the court.” 

Elise tilted her head, looking for all the world like someone’s kindly grandmother, and said, “That’s fine.” Then she crossed the room, only her footsteps interrupting the shocked silence, and took a seat. 

Morrow stuttered for a second, then leaned over to T’Lona. They exchanged a few brief words before she swept down the center aisle, catching the clerk in her wake, and disappeared. Morrow said, “We will take a brief recess. Sarah, a moment.” 

Kirk turned from the debacle in front of him to find Elise watching him. Her eyes scanned over him and the army of witnesses behind him, and she gave him a what can you do? kind of smile. Then she turned back to Areel, saying something to her too quietly to be heard, and patted her arm. 

Kirk turned around in his chair to find his kids talking quietly to each other, Kevin’s eyes flicking uneasily to Elise every few minutes. Spock sat statue-still, unblinking alien gaze locked on Elise as well, his lip twitching closer to a snarl with every passing second. Kirk scooted his chair closer just to bask in the company of his people, content to let their voices roll over him, Spock pressing one knee protectively against his. 

Sarah April had submitted the admiral’s brain scan as evidence for his countersuit. Elise was going to be held in contempt of the court. 

He tried not to let his hope get ahead of itself, but he thought the tide of the war had just turned.

A chaotic hour passed before T’Lona, the clerk, and an older Vulcan doctor returned to the courtroom.

“Order!” Morrow shouted, and the room fell silent once again. “Justice T’Lona, if you please…?” 

“I introduce you to S’Ren, a neurologist at the Vulcan Science Academy. He is of the clan Archenida.” 

Areel rose and lifted a ta’al. “Greetings,” she said formally. Then she glanced between T’Lona and S’Ren. “You are not--- related to anyone represented in the countersuit?” 

S’Ren inclined his head. “Correct.” 

Areel nodded. “Thank you.” Then she gestured back to the holoscreen. Morrow tapped something, and the screen lit back up as the room dimmed. “Please.” S’Ren approached the screen, hands clasped behind his back much in the same way that Spock held himself, and peered at the MRI scan. He studied the date and time at the bottom before continuing his assessment. For three minutes this continued, and the audience watched him in silence as he paced before the holoscreen. Then he nodded once to himself and turned back to T’Lona. 

“I have gleaned all that I can without further detail,” he said. 

“Will you testify to your observations?” 

“I will,” he said, and crossed to the witness’s chair. He sat, his robes draping down over it and hiding it entirely from view. Areel stepped forward once more. 

“Dr. S’Ren, please place your hand on your heart.” He did so. “Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, as a citizen of Vulcan and the Federation?”

“I do,” he said, and she nodded. Then she asked, “Will you share your observations of this image with the court? In layman’s terms, if possible.”

S’Ren looked back at the MRI on the screen across from him, slanted eyebrows pulling together thoughtfully, before he said, “This is a scan from a magnetic resonance imaging machine. The name of the patient is known to me, as I was present when he was brought into care yesterday afternoon. I understand him to be a human male of between fifty-five and sixty-five years. I must state before any further observations are made that it is difficult to make concrete diagnoses without further information from the patient or his caregivers. I cannot guarantee that what is shown in this image depicts the entirety of his health.” 

Areel nodded. “Your point is well taken, Doctor. Please continue.” 

S’Ren said gravely, “There is scarring within the patient’s brain. The presentation and formation pattern is consistent with reactive astrogliosis, which is a defense mechanism of the brain in many bipedal species. Reactive astrogliosis is,” and here he hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “a response to brain injury or infection. The scar tissue creates a barrier between the wound and the rest of the brain to prevent the spread of either bacteria or inflammation.” 

“Is there a certain part of the brain that shows this reaction, doctor?” Areel’s voice was measured. 

“The entire thing,” S’Ren said, and Dr. Sarah April stifled a little wounded noise into her clenched fist. “Scarring presents between each lobe and between the hemispheres.” 

“What kind of injury or infection triggers this response?” 

“It is difficult to say without knowing the patient’s full medical history,” S’Ren said. “Though, if I were the diagnosing physician and did not have access to his history, I would proceed under the assumption that it was an injury, rather than an infection.”

“Why?”

“Because of the even spread of scar tissue. An infection in the brain typically blooms in one section; one lobe, or perhaps the brain stem. Reactive astrogliosis would then spawn to create a barrier between the point of infection and the rest of the brain. This image, however, indicates that whatever caused such damage did so to the whole organ at once.” 

“Is it possible to tell when this injury occurred? So we might compare it to the patient’s medical history later?” 

“It is not possible to tell how old the scarring is without a biopsy,” S’Ren said. “However, I can say that there were multiple injuries.” 

Areel’s voice was sharp. “What do you mean?”

S’Ren held her gaze. “There are layers to the scarring.” His eyes slid past her to focus on the holoscreen again. With two fingers, he traced in the air the thick white lines along the brain in the image. “The scarring has formed along the same lines again and again. It is thinner, more transparent at the edges; those are new scars, more recently formed. Where the scarring is thickest is the opaque section in the middle.” 

Dr. April started to cry in earnest. She stifled the noise in her palm, but her shoulders shook. Mira tapped Ellie on the thigh before she shuffled around her, claiming the empty seat next to Robert April’s weeping wife. Then she slid her hand into that of a perfect stranger, holding onto it with both of hers. Dr. April gripped her like a lifeline.

“Is there anything else that you believe relevant, Dr. S’Ren?”

“I see no fractures of the skull, or any other indication that the damage has a physical source,” S’Ren said, and his voice hardened. “The even distribution of the astrogliosis in conjunction with a lack of blunt force trauma…” He trailed off, and in its wake Kirk saw horror crack through T’Lona’s stoicism. Then S’Ren said, words harsh and tripping off his tongue, his perfect Standard accent slipping, “Something was repeatedly done to this brain that this brain fought against, and fought hard.” 

Areel took one small step backwards. “The prosecution rests,” she said unsteadily, and returned to her seat. She did not look at Elise. 

Morrow, aghast, said, “Counselor Ketoul?” Ketoul shook her head, her hand pressed to her mouth. “Thank you, Doctor. I believe you are free to go.” S’Ren, composure regained, stood. He inclined his head to the humans, raised the ta’al to T’Lona and Spock, and departed--- but not before one last long, searching look at the holoscreen and the damaged brain on it. The door swung shut behind him with a click.

Justice T’Lona had become a marble statue of a Vulcan woman, staring ahead unblinkingly. Her hands rested on the table, framing the padd of information before her. There was a beat of silence before she slowly turned to Morrow and Drake. 

“We continue,” she said. Morrow nodded once, twice, before he turned to Ketoul. 

“Counselor, you may begin.” She stood immediately, shaking off the stillness and horror from Dr. S’Ren’s testimony over the two steps that took her to the center of the room. She turned back to Kirk where he still sat at the table, and met his eyes. In her gaze there was a question: Are you ready for this?

He pressed his palms to his thighs. He allowed himself one steadying breath. Then he nodded.

“I call the defendant Captain Kirk to testify.” 

He stood, straightened the bottom of his dress tunic, and took the witness stand. He leaned back and crossed one leg over the other. Like in my chair, he thought, picturing his bridge in his mind. He held the image of his ship and his crew in his mind as Ketoul said, “Captain Kirk, place your hand upon your heart.” He looked at the bench of witnesses, his family, and his eyes found Spock’s. Spock’s gaze was steady, firm, comforting; he was here with him, had made all of this possible, and would not leave him now. Kirk made the ozh’esta with his hand and laid it over his heart. Across the room, silently, Spock mirrored him, and laid it over his. 

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, as an officer of Starfleet and a citizen of the Federation?”

“I do,” Kirk said. 

“Captain Kirk, can you please state your name and tell the court how you came to know Section 31?” 

Kirk inhaled to speak, and nausea rose up within him. Elise’s quiet presence was like poison in his veins. She had haunted his steps, dogged him his entire life, had hurt him and his family in ways he was only starting to understand, and now she sat across the courtroom from him and watched him with detached curiosity. He could spill his testimony across the room like lava, fueled only by how much he wanted to hate her, and let it burn everything in its wake. She would probably understand. She would say something like, “You have so many reasons to be angry, Jim,” and then push him to isolate himself further, until all he had left was his rage and his empty hands.

Kirk let the wave pass through him. He had his fury, and probably always would, but it was far from the most important thing about him. He looked at the others: Tommy and Kevin, Mira and Ellie, Spock and Bones. The people he loved most in the galaxy, all seated side by side in a courtroom so that he could finally lay the ghosts of Tarsus to rest. So instead it was love that swallowed the nausea, that expanded his tunneling vision, that settled his shaking hands. He looked back at Ketoul, waiting expectantly. 

“My name is Jim Kirk,” he said. “I survived the genocide on Tarsus IV.” 

In the end, the only detail that Kirk left out was that he and Spock had not technically been dating when they got married. His throat was dry, and his eyes had stung with tears at some points in the telling, but he made it from the beginning at Farm School up to leaving for Vulcan. Mira, halfway through, had returned to her seat next to Ellie, and she clutched her and Kevin’s hands as they listened. When Kirk had talked about the neutralizer, and what Elise had done to April, Dr. April’s tears started again. Ketoul was impassive, unsurprised by any of the revelations; Spock, quietly and righteously furious. But Bones, even after helping them put together the countersuit, stared straight ahead at the stone wall behind Morrow’s head as tears dripped silently down his cheeks.  

“Thank you, Jim,” Ketoul said softly, when he had finished. “I have no further questions.” Morrow blinked, shaking his head as if to clear it, and then turned to Areel. 

“Counselor Shaw, you may cross-examine the defendant if you wish.” 

Areel refused to look at Elise, and said, “The prosecution rests.” Morrow raised his eyebrows, but nodded. 

Kirk stood, unbearably light. Twenty years of silence, of censorship, over. The rest was out of his hands. He reclaimed his seat at the table as Ketoul said, “I call Lieutenant Kevin Riley to the stand.” 

Mira released his hand so that Kevin could take his seat. He moved with more confidence than he had when Kirk had last seen him, and when he turned to the side, there was the undeniable curve of a tummy behind his dress uniform where before there had been ribcage. Kirk couldn’t stop the flush of pride that spread through him at the undeniable proof that Kevin had followed his orders, had gotten help, had tried to see his recovery through this time. 

Kevin swore on his honor, and then he began. 

Kirk’s story had been focused on his panic attacks and his need for secrecy; Kevin’s was centered on his need for control. He had returned from Tarsus, separated from the children who had loved and protected him, to slide back into anonymity in a big extended family that never had quite enough space or time for him. His eating disorder had started as a manifestation of that need; Elise, under the name Siobhan, had seen it and teased it out of him. She enabled that obsession with control to take over everything, leveraging it to make sure he never talked about Tarsus.  

“Jimmy stepped in when he realized that something wasn’t right,” Kevin said, his arms crossed over his chest. “If he hadn’t, I’m not sure if or when I would have ever done anything to get better, myself. That changed everything.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant Riley,” Ketoul said, and she looked over her shoulder to Areel and Elise. Areel shook her head, and Ketoul turned back to Morrow. 

“Continue,” he said, and she did. She called Mira to the stand, who turned around and lifted her shirt to show the shiny, scaled skin of her back; some of the burns had resisted the regenerator, and instead had grown with her over time. Mira was all energy and bounce: she tapped her feet and shifted in the chair, her hands flying with her words as she explained the Starfleet doctor who had replaced their pediatrician, who had insisted on being present at every single appointment no matter the specialty, who had so insinuated himself into their lives that he became their parents’ best friend. They had run away on their eighteenth birthday, the only way they could see escaping his ever-tightening grasp. They had gone to school, and they had become teachers. 

Ketoul turned to Areel again; Areel shook her head. 

Ellie went next. She was still where Mira was restless, quiet where she was loud. But their cadence, their vocabulary, were eerily similar. 

“He was obsessed with Tarsus,” Ellie said frankly. “And that turned into an obsession with us. We left before he could dig himself any further into our lives.” Areel’s lower lip was white with tension, pulled between her teeth. Drake sat with her hand pressed to her mouth, her eyes closed, and Morrow had bowed his head into his hands. Only T’Lona still sat upright, looking intently at each witness. She was drawn as tight as a bowstring; Kirk would have paid a lot of money to see what happened when she snapped. 

Then it was Tommy’s turn. Tommy, whose deep voice still held traces of the child he had been, in his up-talk and turns of phrase, said, “I don’t think we need to hear the same story again.” He looked around the room, and when his gaze landed on Kirk he smiled that same sweet and sad half-smile, only part of his face moving. 

“Part of why I stayed away was because I didn’t want you to see me like this,” he said. “I wanted you to remember me how I was.” Then he looked back at Ketoul, and to the panel. “We supposedly all had mycotoxicosis from the fungus that killed the harvest. But no one could ever explain this to me.” He bowed his head, both hands on one side of his face. Then he released the seal on his mask and lifted his head without it. 

Kirk shot to his feet. There were a few audible gasps. Tommy smiled wryly as he turned his head, inviting them to stare. The eye that had been covered was a dark blue, from iris all the way through the sclera. The color glistened wetly under the lights, like the ocean at night. The eye did not move in his skull with the other, the pupil remaining pointing stubbornly ahead. The skin that had been beneath the mask was a gray-blue, almost periwinkle. It sagged and bunched unnaturally. Across his scalp, hair refused to grow where the skin was stained. “Fusarium graminearum isn’t supposed to do anything like this,” Tommy said. Kirk sat heavily back down.

Kirk stared at Tommy, at the stained skin, and his stomach threatened to rebel in his body at the memory of the dead gray guards in the town. Tommy reattached his mask to his head, sealing away the damaged skin and his unseeing eye. He patted it once self-consciously and said, “Good thing my wife likes blue, huh?”

Tommy reclaimed his seat when Ketoul dismissed him, but as he passed by, Kirk reached out and grabbed his wrist. Tommy looked down at him. Kirk squeezed as he thought of everything he wanted to say--- but instead, he said quietly, “You were just too handsome, huh? The universe had to balance things out for the rest of us.” 

Tommy let out one loose laugh and smacked Kirk on the shoulder. “I’m still better-looking than you, mister. Don’t get too worked up about it.” 

Ketoul continued to call witnesses, an inexorable wave of evidence breaking over the panel. When she called Spock, he swore to tell the truth with the ozh’esta over his heart; Kirk mirrored it over his. He skimmed over his entire history with 31 with a brief, “That information remains classified,” but discussed in detail what had truly happened to the crops on Tarsus, a tense anger building in his voice with each memory recalled. When he had talked about Tarsus, his focus remained on Kirk; but when Spock told the court how he had found Kirk on the Section 31 ship, what Elise had said about his parents, his broken wrist, his dehydration, his phaser burn--- Kirk shivered at that cold, inhuman intensity, the absolute lack of compromise in his voice. Spock stared down Elise in a promise of what he would do if they ever went head to head again; in the end, she looked away from him, unsettled. When he was done and stalked back to his seat, Elise flinched, almost imperceptibly. Kirk couldn’t hide the vicious delight that he felt in her fear. The Spock rule applied everywhere; Spock would never let anyone harm him again.

Bones took his padd to the stand with him, and put that bloodhound mind on display: he held the rapt attention of the court as he walked the panel through every lie and misdirection in Kirk’s medical file from his return from Tarsus up until he had been handed over to McCoy’s care on the Enterprise.   

“Cleared for duty, my ass,” Bones snarled at Elise, padd in one shaking hand as he thrust it in her direction. “Not even a licensed medical professional, and you have the nerve to---”

“Thank you, Dr. McCoy,” Ketoul said loudly. McCoy chewed on his lip for a second, looking like he was considering whether or not it would be worth the contempt of the court if he threw himself at Elise, but in the end he nodded, acquiescing to Ketoul’s legal advice, and sat. 

“Esteemed panel,” she said, turning back to them. “I know that it is atypical, but I would like to submit additional evidence for the case.” 

“What do you have, Counselor?” Morrow’s voice was exhausted. 

“The witnesses that I called that could or would not attend--- three of them sent a holovid testimony after I contacted them again. I would submit that, if you’ll allow it.” 

“Which other witnesses?” 

“The last of the Tarsus survivors.” Behind Kirk, Ellie and Mira sucked in simultaneous gasps. Kevin said, low and shocked, “There were more?” 

Admiral Drake wiped angry tears from her eyes, and when she and Morrow looked at each other he nodded. “We’ll allow it. Counselor Shaw, any objections?” 

Elise sat behind the table, watching her life’s work crumble with nary a blink. But Areel sat next to her, roped into defending this monster by both career and duty, and Kirk had never seen her so furious. 

“No objections,” she said, the words coming out in a hiss, and Ketoul nodded gratefully. She took a data card from her bag and brought it to the panel. 

“Thank you,” she said, and handed it to T’Lona. Then she took her seat next to Kirk again while T’Lona loaded the card onto the holoscreen.

Kirk leaned towards her and whispered quietly, “Just one? I thought there were four others.”

She looked sympathetically at him. “I’m sorry, captain. One passed away a few years ago.” Then the holoscreen flashed back to life, and the thumbnail of a holovid file appeared. Three adults sat side-by-side; Kirk would have pegged their ages as between sixty and seventy. They looked solemnly at the camera. The man on the left looked as though he had been crying. All three of them were varying shades of gray-blue. The holovid juddered to life. 

“My name is David Eames,” the man in the middle said. His voice was deep and even. “This is Deirdre Eames.” He gestured to the woman. “And Elias Molson.” This, the man on his other side. David took a deep, unsteady breath. Then he said, “I swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, as a citizen of the Federation. We worked for the colony government on Tarsus IV, and survived what happened there.” He paused, gathering his thoughts; then he began. 

“We’re chemists; we managed the wastewater system. On a new colony like that, everything gets recycled. At first, it was a usage problem. There was a building in town that was using far more water and producing far more waste than we expected. I thought it might have been a pipe break, or that the building had been incorrectly zoned; there are always a few hiccups like that in the first thirty years of a colony. But I started to investigate, and I got blocked. Tarsus had a security force, but they were municipal staff like us. I had never had any reason to think that their loyalty lay somewhere else until I tried to enter the basement of that building and they threatened to shoot me on sight if I ever came back.” 

He coughed, looking somewhat ashamed of himself, before he said, “So we broke into it later. I don’t think people realize how close new colonies are to failure at all times. For a new one, especially in one as isolated as the Tarsus system, you’re one system failure away from a catastrophe for a good fifty years. Without clean water, everything else breaks down. I thought I was protecting the community.” His gaze, anchored out past the camera, went somewhere a thousand lightyears and twenty years away. He started to say something, but lost his momentum. Diedre stepped in and said bluntly, “We found a laboratory. It wasn’t registered anywhere in the colony manifest, and there were no files or names for anything; nothing to imply who worked there or what they were doing. The only thing we could find was a locked walk-in freezer with paper across the window that said ‘radio blue.’ But then we heard someone coming, so we left.” 

Her voice strengthened as she spoke, and she gestured with her words. One hand was gray, her palms crossed with darker blue lines; the other hand, and the wrist that disappeared into the sleeve of her shirt, was the luminescent black of a carbon fiber prosthetic. “We couldn’t do anything about the usage levels without controlling water access for the whole town, but we could monitor the wastewater. And that’s what we did. We didn’t know what we were looking for, but in the end we didn’t need microscopes or tests to see the problem.” She gave a harsh laugh. “You see a lot of stuff in wastewater. But we had never seen this before. It was blue, and metallic, and moved like mercury. We raised the flag immediately. We went all the way to the top, to the governor, and he promised that he would call Starfleet for help.” 

“We monitored, and alerted, and went to the governor’s house to talk about it,” Elias said. His voice was quiet, and he sat perfectly still with his hands cradled in his lap. “He told us Starfleet was on its way, and that everything would be fine. But the harvest started dying, and nothing we tried would remove the blue from the water. It was unresponsive to chemical intervention, and structurally unsound. We were so desperate to keep it from getting back into the reservoir that we tried to set up a filter to catch it. But when the blue hit the filter, it popped like a bubble and dissolved.” He fell silent. 

“A month after we first discovered it and brought it to Kodos, we received a summons from him. We had hoped…” David trailed off. “Well, it doesn’t matter what we hoped anymore. We went, and then we tried to leave, and his guards hunted us through the streets. We pretended to die and hid with the other bodies, and then we ran south that night. There was a sewer entrance down there. We hid for a month, only coming up to steal food when we could, which wasn’t often. We missed the fire completely. And we missed the arrival of the Valiant. We only found out that Starfleet had arrived because it was my turn to scavenge and I walked straight into the middle of the investigation.” 

“We stayed on the Maddox until the CMO declared us stable. They kept calling it mycotoxicosis, saying it was a fungal infection, but what we had was nothing like that. A month down in those tunnels, walking through the wastewater, absorbing radio blue through our skin… Let’s just say the shit they were pulling out of us didn’t look like any fungus we had seen before. Then they declared us better and sent us on. We went back to Luna, but…” Elias looked at David and Diedre, and when he turned his head it revealed the odd gray mottling of his hairline behind his ear, and the tinges of blue in his sclera. 

“Turns out people only don’t mind blue skin when you’re born with it,” David said, and Elias nodded. “We found another colony to work on, one of the stable quiet ones out near Beta VI. We’ve been there ever since.” He paused before looking straight at the camera. “I hope that this is what you needed.” He reached out to turn off the camera, but Elias stopped him with a hand to the wrist. 

“We asked about other survivors,” he said, and his voice shook. “When we were on the Maddox. They told us the Farm School children had all died.” He took a quavering breath. “Getting word that some were alive, that some made it out…” He blew out his breath. “It means a lot. It means everything.” He dropped David’s wrist, and David shut off the camera. 

There had been others. There had been other survivors. If they hadn’t been lied to, if they hadn’t been played off each other to hide the failures of someone else, maybe they could have--- Visions of a life that Kirk and his kids could have had played in front of his vision as his blood boiled. Then his mind cleared, leaving behind only crystal clarity, and the memory of the first thing that Kirk had ever learned about the real Elise. Kirk looked across the room to Elise, sitting placidly, and said, “You used to serve on the Maddox, didn’t you?” Morrow let out a disgusted noise. Ketoul stood. 

“I’d like to call Elise Darling to the stand.” 

“I already testified, dear,” Elise said.

“As Joanne March. I want to talk to you as Elise, and Siobhan too.” Elise inclined her head, like Ketoul had made a particularly clever remark, and stood. She slowly made her way to the witness chair again and sat. 

“I swear to tell the truth as an officer of Starfleet and a citizen of the Federation,” she said, before Ketoul could ask her to do so, and crossed her legs. 

“What division did you serve when you were an officer?” 

“Security,” Elise said. “Information, specifically.”

“So why were you masquerading as a psychologist to a vulnerable teenager?” 

“Masquerading,” Elise repeated, laughing. “It was no mask, I assure you. I am a psychologist. I simply used that understanding as a means to a different end.”    

“You knowingly provided Captain Kirk and his parents with false medical information to secure your own objectives, isolating a traumatized child from his family and harming his recovery.” 

“He wanted to become a captain and I helped him do it,” Elise said. Her voice was a mockery of gentility. “I heard no complaints about my methods until he decided that he wanted something else.” On ‘else,’ her eyes slid from Ketoul, to Kirk, and then to Spock behind him. 

“You still violated his civil rights and Starfleet regulations in doing so.” 

Elise’s smile turned sharper, a vicious scythe across her face. “Tell me, Neera Ketoul,” she said softly. “You haven’t always been such a fan of Federation civil rights. When your people were rejected from Federation inclusion, would you have argued so passionately for Federation laws? Would you have defended the validity of its constitution?” 

“Some ideals are universal,” she said. Her voice was steady. 

“When the Klingons come knocking at your solar system’s boundary, or when the Romulans smite an unarmed civilian ship out of existence, will those ideals mean anything to you?” Elise seemed to grow in size with every breath, a nightmare made flesh. Her words rang through the courtroom, filling Kirk’s head, smothering him. He fought to breathe. “Will you be proud that you stood on principle, or will you wish for a tool that would have prepared you for the wolves at your door?” Elise leaned forward, her eyes locked on Ketoul, her face curling in a snarl.

“Yours is a false dichotomy,” Ketoul said serenely. “And I reject it. Did you know about the experiments occurring on Tarsus IV?”

Elise sat back in her chair, equal parts amused and annoyed at Ketoul’s refusal to play with her. “I held little responsibility at that point in time.” 

“That does not answer the question.” 

“Here is my answer, to this question and all others. Everything I have done, I have done to protect the Federation. There is no one who cares more for its citizens than me. There is no one more willing to sacrifice than me. The difference between me,” she said, and she looked at Morrow, Drake, and T’Lona, “and you, is that I care for the pragmatic, and you hide behind the symbolic. The strength of my organization comes from its willingness to do the hard thing for the right reasons. You can make whatever decision today that soothes your conscience, but I think you’ll find that snipping one thread will not unravel the whole knit, and someday you’ll be grateful it didn’t.” 

Ketoul stared down Elise, and Elise refused to look at her. Her eyes crawled disdainfully instead over the panel, over Areel, and over Kirk and his witnesses. 

Ketoul said quietly, “Your organization?” Elise’s attention snapped back to her, and when Ketoul smiled at her it was all teeth. “The defense rests.” When she turned away from Elise, there was a victorious fire burning in her eyes, and when she caught Kirk’s gaze she grinned. Then she sat back down as Elise slowly rose from the witness stand and returned to the prosecution’s table. 

Morrow cleared his throat. “Counselor Shaw, would you like to offer closing remarks?” Areel stood, straightening the padd on the table in front of her with agitation. 

“I…,” she said, looking down at her padd. Then she looked back up at the panel. “I believe that we have all seen today that breaking the law can be the just thing to do.” Her voice was blank, oddly level. “I trust that this esteemed panel will determine how justice can best be served.” Then she sat. 

“Thank you, Counselor,” Morrow said softly. “Counselor Ketoul?” She stood. 

“I had thought to argue Captain Kirk’s rationale again, but I think that would be unnecessary after the evidence brought forth today,” Ketoul said. “Instead I will read to you his own words, something that he said to me when we were preparing for the case.” She cleared her throat and lifted her padd, and Kirk bowed his head to look at his hands as she spoke.

“He said that he didn’t join Starfleet only to pay lip service to the ideals enshrined in the constitution. He said, ‘We have to be accountable to the people we’re supposed to be serving. We have to be accountable for the face we show to the rest of the galaxy. If the Federation is going to say it cares about the values in its constitution, 31 has to go down.’” She looked up from the padd, setting it down gently. “Even after Captain Kirk was so profoundly betrayed by the organization that he pledged his life and loyalty to, he still acts in its best interests. I ask that you now also consider the best interests of Starfleet and the Federation, and the balance between what is legal and what is just. Thank you.” 

“Thank you, counsel,” Morrow said. His voice was dry and quiet. “We recess to deliberate.” Kirk’s stomach clenched. He closed his eyes in one silent prayer as the panel stood and vanished behind a back door. They sat in silence, not even their breathing audible in the muted acoustics of the Vulcan architecture. 

One minute passed, then two. Then five. As a cold sweat began to trickle down Kirk’s back, the panel returned at the same time that the stoic Vulcan clerk in the back opened the main door. Morrow returned to the center of the room, his eyes crawling over Elise before landing on Kirk. Justice T’Lona and Drake stood at his shoulders, impossible to read. The silence was like a knife between his ribs.

“We, the panel agreed upon jointly by Starfleet Command and the United Government of Vulcan, do find Captain James Kirk not guilty of the charges of which he is accused.” 

Kirk dropped his head into his hands. Relief flooded every corner of his body. His friends leapt to their feet behind him, one grabbing his shoulders as they stood. “Section 31, as represented by Joanne March, is found guilty of severe violations of the Starfleet Regulatory Code and the Federation Constitution.” Armored Vulcan guards in desert-red uniforms marched down the aisle. “You will be returned to Earth for sentencing.” Morrow continued speaking, but Kirk’s brain stopped processing it. The four guards, one at each corner, surrounded Elise, and without touching her urged her from her seat towards the aisle that would take her away. She came towards him, her silver hair glimmering under the lights, her fingers lacing together in front of her in the posture that always reminded him of a schoolteacher. That cardigan, her khakis, that smile--- it was all he could see. He was on his feet without realizing he had moved. 

He was eighteen again, standing in her office for the first time. She watched him, kind eyes twinkling, asking him, “Do you like Jimmy? Jim? JT?” She was almost within arm’s reach now, in the cage of her guards, eyes on him. He pulled himself back into his body, and met her gaze. He put down the mask. He let her see him for all that he was now: whole and strong, his mind, for once in his life, utterly his own. For a moment she looked at him, not as a pawn to be moved, but finally as the player on the other side of the board. When she tilted her head sideways, and one corner pulled up and deepened the wrinkles along her cheek, he saw her pride in him and thought, despite everything, it might even have been genuine. Checkmate, game to Kirk. 

The guards marched her past him, and the moment was over. The sounds of his friends and Ketoul and the panel broke over him, crashing into him. The circle of their arms surrounded him, his kids under his arms and Tommy at his back, Bones pounding his shoulder as Spock watched with a nearly invisible smile. He let his head hang and let them take his weight. 

There was work to be done, somewhere. But not by him, and not tonight. He lay the ghosts of Tarsus down and followed his family out into the hot desert evening.

☆☆☆

Kirk did not think that Spock’s house had ever been so full of humans and their noise before. The Tarsus survivors, Spock and his parents, Bones, and Neera Ketoul sat on every available surface in the largest room, Vulcan and human foods and beverages on every table. Amanda and Mira were discussing early childhood language acquisition theories, Mira hanging on Amanda’s every word. Ellie sat on Mira’s other side, arguing with Spock about the applicability of Grafftner’s equation to astronometrics. Upon learning that he was Kirk’s husband, the twins had adopted Spock into their confidences. Martha and Tommy sat with Kevin, talking quietly. And Neera, to Kirk’s great surprise, posted herself next to Sarek with a glass of fruit juice and silently observed.

Bones sat on a low ottoman next to Kirk, their shoulders pressed together comfortably. Amanda had pressed a glass of some kind of liquor on Bones. Vulcan didn’t produce any, and when Kirk asked about its source she had only smiled at him and handed him one of his own. 

“I’m proud of you, Jimmy,” Bones said, looking at the room full of people. “You moved mountains today.” Kirk took a sip of Amanda’s mystery liquor. It burned pleasantly, and reminded him of honey. 

“Part of me doesn’t believe it’s real,” Kirk said. “Part of me is still looking for her over my shoulder.” 

“I think that might take a while to shake.” Bones was silent for a minute before he said, “Hey, wait. Have you told the others yet?” 

Kirk grinned. “What shift is it?” He grabbed Spock from Ellie’s side, leaving apologies in his wake as she frowned, and dragged him and Bones into a quieter room. He flipped open his long-abandoned comm and fiddled with the dial. 

“Kirk to Enterprise.” There was no response. “I repeat, Kirk to Enterprise.” 

There was a crackle. “Captain!” Uhura’s pleasure was unmistakable, and Kirk grinned as her voice washed over him. “It’s so good to hear from you! We’ve been thinking of you.” He heard the tenor of Pike’s voice in the background, and the chatter of others, and his smile grew. 

Chris shouted, loudly enough to be heard through Uhura’s earpiece: “Put him on audio!” There was a fizz and a pop, and then suddenly the ambient noise of the bridge was audible. Kirk was struck with a wave of longing so powerful that it threatened to take his feet out from under him. He was going back. He was going home.

“How’d it go, son?” 

Kirk breathed through the lump in his throat and found his voice. “Not guilty.” The explosion of celebration from his crew, waiting for him in orbit, was the most beautiful noise he had ever heard. Spock’s arm snaked around his waist as he closed his eyes. He leaned back against Spock’s chest, smiling, as Chekov shouted, “I knew it!” and Sulu said something quiet and cutting in response. The three of them basked in the raucous joy from the crew, and when they said their goodbyes, Kirk knew it was only for a little while longer. 

When they returned to the main room, Mira scooted away from Ellie and patted the couch between them. Kirk sat as commanded, and Mira immediately laid her head on his shoulder. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and breathed in the smell of her hair. It wasn’t familiar; she was an adult now, one that he hadn’t seen in twenty years. But it was clean and vibrant, vaguely floral. It seemed right for her. 

“What are you thinking about, Jimmy?” Mira asked. Ellie tucked her feet under her and turned to look at them both. Kirk looked from one sister to the other, wrapped one arm around each, and squeezed them both to him. 

“That I am very, very grateful,” he said, voice low with emotion, “to have the chance to get to know you again.” Mira hummed in agreement, and they sat together for a few moments more. 

Then Mira said, “Your Mr. Spock is very handsome. Does he have a brother?” The surprised laugh that burst out of Kirk was too loud for the quieting room, and he tried and failed to stifle the rest of it in a fist. 

“You are too much,” he said. “And out of luck.” Mira frowned, mock-disappointed, but Amanda made a funny little ‘hmm’ noise and looked between Kirk and her son. She looked… amused? Benevolently annoyed? Spock, however, had replaced himself with a marble statue of a half-Vulcan and refused to meet Kirk’s eyes. Kirk looked between his mother-in-law and his husband, and remembered with a start their conversation about Michael Burnham.

“Honey.” 

“Captain.” 

Kirk jerked to his feet, displacing the twins. They giggled as they tumbled into each other. “Do you---” 

“I believe I am needed elsewhere,” Spock said, turned on his heel, and marched directly into the back garden. The room dissolved into howls of laughter behind him as Kirk chased him out into the night.

When the last of the food had been consumed, Sarek and Amanda had slipped away to their room, and Mira had fallen asleep on the arm of the couch like a child, Kirk’s family said their goodnights and goodbyes. 

“We won’t be leaving for a while yet,” Tommy said. “We’ll see you again.” 

“Please,” Kirk said, and hugged him firmly. Then he hugged Martha for good measure. An idea blossomed in the back of his mind, and he put it aside for later consideration as he hugged the twins and Kevin and watched them call aircars or walk back to where they were staying. Kirk and Spock watched from the doorstep until the silhouettes of his kids had been swallowed by the darkness and then shut the door behind them. They installed Bones and Ketoul in spare bedrooms. Then they crept through the now-silent house, through the backyard, and into the guesthouse they had inhabited for the past four months. Even in the dark, it was familiar and comforting to him; this was where he and Spock had built a life and a routine while he put himself back together. Part of his heart, he realized, would always be here on Vulcan, just as part of Spock’s was. 

Spock’s hand found his wrist and slid up his arm, leaving goosebumps in his wake. There was electricity in his fingertips everywhere he met Kirk’s skin, as they scaled from the soft skin of his inner arm up to his shoulder, then over his neck. When Spock pulled him closer, Kirk met him halfway, mouth already opening to accept Spock’s. 

Against Spock’s lips he whispered, “Will you come somewhere with me?” 

Spock breathed, “Kwon-sum.” Always. Kirk pulled him by the hand to their bedroom, and Spock went willingly; then Kirk dropped his hand to pull out their running clothes and Spock’s eyebrow charted a doubtful course up his forehead. 

“Trust me,” he said, stepping into his tights. Spock’s dark eyes hungrily followed the lines of his exposed thighs, but he acquiesced, and when they had dressed he followed Kirk out into the Forge. 

They ran. They left ShiKahr far behind them until they were bathed solely in the light of T’Khut, the only sound their feet against the packed sand and the life of the desert around them. Kirk breathed in hard, relishing the burn in his lungs and the ache in his side, the sharp edges of the thin air against his throat. This was the desert where Spock had endured his kahs-wan, had lost I-Chaya, had come to meditate when he couldn’t bear to be in his parents’ house anymore. This was the desert where Spock had taken him when he had spent too much time in his mind, where he had spilled his secrets in the dark and then left them behind. 

Kirk slowed to a walk, catching his breath. Spock walked a few steps ahead of him, rolling his shoulders back, looking out over the Forge. Kirk admired Spock’s lanky frame in his tight running clothes, the span of his shoulders and the taper of his waist, the way the light sharpened the alien angles of his face.

Butterflies erupted in his stomach as he braced himself. He had only done this once before, and never imagined for a second what it would come to mean; he had stood across Spock in his quarters and asked him a question that would change both of them in ways that he never could have predicted. It had been strategic, then. It had only been means to an end. This time, it would be different. Everything was different because of the man who stood before him now. 

Kirk got down on one knee. 

“S’chn T’gai Spock,” he called. Spock turned. His eyes swept over Kirk where he knelt in the sand, and shock softened the shadows of his face. 

“Jim,” he said, and came closer. “What are you doing?” When he was close enough to touch, Kirk reached out and snagged Spock’s hand where it hung by his side. He cradled it in both of his own, smoothing his fingers over the lines of Spock’s palm, and pressed his lips to the back of Spock’s hand. T’Khut hung low in the sky, casting them both in shadow and light. 

“Taluhk nash-veh k’du,” Kirk said, and kissed Spock’s fingertips. “Will you take me as your bondmate?” Spock’s hand tightened around his, and he looked up: his husband looked back at him like he was more precious than water in the desert. Spock pulled him to his feet, one hand twining in his as the other came around his waist and pulled Kirk tightly to him. Spock’s heart thrummed in his side, and as he pressed their foreheads together, his eyes slid shut. Kirk wrapped his arms around his waist and swayed them, T’Khut the only witness to the dance.

“Yes. Ha, ashayam. Yes,” Spock said, and kissed him, and kissed him, and kissed him. 

[beardedmrbean]

LAS VEGAS (AP) — A Nevada judge was attacked Wednesday by a defendant in a felony battery case who leaped over a defense table and the judge's bench, landing atop her and sparking a bloody brawl involving court officials and attorneys, officials and witnesses said.

In a violent scene captured by courtroom video, Clark County District Judge Mary Kay Holthus fell back from her seat against a wall and suffered some injuries but was not hospitalized, courthouse officials said.

A courtroom marshal was also injured as he came to the judge’s aid and was hospitalized for treatment of a bleeding gash on his forehead and a dislocated shoulder, according to the officials and witnesses.

The attack occurred about 11 a.m. at the Regional Justice Center in Las Vegas.

The defendant, Deobra Delone Redden, 30, was wrestled to the floor behind the judge's bench by several court and jail officers and courtroom staff members — including some who are seen throwing punches.

He was arrested and jailed at the Clark County Detention Center, where records showed he faces multiple new felony charges including battery on a protected person — referring to the judge and court officers.

“It happened so fast it was hard to know what to do,” said Richard Scow, the chief county district attorney who prosecuted Redden on a case that stemmed from an arrest last year on allegations that Redden attacked a person with a baseball bat.

Redden’s defense attorney, Caesar Almase, did not respond to later telephone and email messages seeking comment.

Redden was not in custody when he arrived at court Wednesday. He wore a white shirt and dark pants as he stood next to Almase, asking the judge for leniency while describing himself as "a person who never stops trying to do the right thing no matter how hard it is.“

“I'm not a rebellious person,” he told the judge, later adding that he doesn't think he should be sent to prison. "But if it's appropriate for you then you have to do what you have to do.”

As the judge made it clear she intended to put him behind bars, and the court marshal moved to handcuff him, Redden yelled expletives and charged forward — amid screams from people who had been sitting with Redden in the courtroom audience.

Records showed that Redden, a Las Vegas resident, was evaluated and found mentally competent to stand trial before pleading guilty in November to a reduced charge of attempted battery causing substantial bodily harm. He previously served prison time in Nevada on a domestic battery conviction, state records show.

Holthus, a career prosecutor with more than 27 years of courthouse experience, was elected to the state court bench in 2018 and again in 2022.

In a statement, court spokesperson Mary Ann Price said officials were “reviewing all our protocols and will do whatever is necessary to protect the judiciary, the public and our employees.”

[ananke-xiii]

related to this, just jotting down ideas here, but I was thinking about how revenge is, at its core, if not aristocratic, a concept strongly associated with privilege. It's the "wild justice", the "family justice" against codified, civic justice. it's also very, very related to fathers (and, broadly speaking, men) because, western-mythologically speaking, the first (aristocratic) courthouse was created to establish what's more "worthy" of revenge: the death of the mother or the death of the father? needless to say, it was established that the death of the father was to be considered superior.

so, in this light, the reason why revenge-motivated characters like rowena and john could only be exile who couldn't operate within society is, first and foremost, because the motivation for their revenge is not only personal, but it's also not father-centered.

they have to be exile all the more so if we consider that the object of their revenge is supernatural. however, precisely because the nature of revenge is aristocratic and father-centered, both rowena and john are left in a difficult position even within the jurisdiction of a world that acknowledges the supernatural. even if other hunters can actually understand what john was going through, they also acknolwedge that the man was a "paranoid bastard" that was unable to contain his obsession within accepted standards (which, of course, fair, because he did have two kids with him, but crazier, more revenge-obsessed characters than him are usually met with more understanding). rowena, on the other hand, was "dirty" and "unworthy", a "raggedy ann" that wasn't accepted into the privilged coven of powerful witches.

this is well exemplified by the existence of the men of letters, for instance. john belongs to them via privilege but lack of knowledge prevents him from accessing it. rowena, on the other hand, has plenty of knowledge but she's portrayed as lacking privilege.

nick's story is also a case of "wild justice" that's made darker by the fact that he's on lucifer's side, hence his revenge is motivated by "real evilness"TM.

john's revenge, on the other hand, is portrayed as "justice" because, for instance, the colt has the "Non timebo mala" inscription on it. Coming from the Psalm:23 this implies that whoever holds the gun has his back covered by none other than god. john's revenge is, therefore, divine justice.

but divine justice in supernatural is... retaliation justice. we're back to sqaure one! it's the "equalizer" that was previously called "hammurabi". the code of hammurabi is older than the aristocratic courthouse and it was written precisely to avoid private revenges. but it was also based on privilege!

I don't know where i'm actually going with this, lol. in john's case revenge seems to be divinely justified but publicly demonized. his lack of knowledge didn't give him the possibility to access his inherited privilege (that could've helped him in his quest by giving him the necessary means that he was lacking). in rowena's case, privilege is non-existent, even knowledge doesn't give her enough credibility and prestige. however, unlike john, she'll get enough privilege and power after her death as queen of hell. not because in death we're all equals but because hell is the supernatural dimension where she can access enough prestige and where her knowledge can grant her status.

(btw, i need to point out the difference between justification and understanding: i'm trying to deepen my understanding of these two characters but that doesn't change the fact that they're both awful, horrible parents).