#his guarding behavior does not tip the scales

[eqan]

i’m not talking about dew’s new behavior as though it’s disappointed me, to be clear. i’m just venting about a very common and natural behavior that some dogs display sometimes, and that is very genetic and inheritable, and that is an issue in many multi-dog households, and that is trainable. i am still very happy with dewey and he is still exactly what i wanted. corgis are highly food motivated and dew especially is. and he lives in a home with 3 other dogs who are used to taking resources from each other, shrugging it off, then coming to me for more cause their brother took the other one they had! somewhere along the way we likely didn’t do what we needed to prevent dew from feeling like he needed to guard from his brothers, likely because it wasn’t an issue the first month he’s been here. dogs are living things and animals and i never expected dewey to be perfect all of the time (: (but he’s still perfect to me)

[the-bar-sinister]

Lucifer Was an Angel As Well (8940 words) by thesavagesabretooth Additional Tags: Ambiguous Relationships, Dubious Morality, Post-Canon, Inappropriate Behavior, vera has a crush on the man who almost killed her, not ship not not ship but a secret third thing, Extremely toxic

Summary: Miles Edgeworth has been looking out for Vera Misham since her father's death, but he's not the one she considers her guardian angel.

The letters had started almost immediately after the devil was locked away from the sunlight, and she keeps them hidden from everyone despite their influence on her.

Meanwhile in jail, Kristoph tries to weave another spell, and regain some measure of control. Will he be able to secure a deal that allows him his freedom, or anything like it? And what will happen if he does.

-

August 20, 2028– 2:05 pm

"I appreciate your assistance with this, Ms. Cykes," Miles said as he led her through the bowels of the prison. "Your perspective has been invaluable lately."

Athena walked alongside him, flushing with a grin as she tugged her long ponytail with her hands.

“Aww…Mr. Edgeworth, you know I’m doing my best.” She chuckled, shaking her head. “And you know I have a particular talent with exactly this sort of case.” 

She’d taken to wearing a kimono, like her mother once wore, ever since the Lovelace trial. She lowered her hands to adjust the pale yellow haori with a thoughtful smile.

It was true. The evaluation for rehabilitation of those most would write off as ‘hopeless’ or ‘evil’ was something she had intimate experience in, given her much deepened relationships with the former death row inmate Simon Blackquill and the detective once known as the Phantom.

“But would you mind refreshing me on the situation?” 

"Of course," Edgeworth nodded as they walked down the sterile hallway. "The subject in question today is Kristoph Gavin. You may be familiar with the name, given your association with the Wright Anything Agency."

Edgeworth smiled thinly at her, like he thought he was funny for referring to people they were both so entwined with in such a clinical way. From the pulse of amusement she got from him– he did think he was funny.

Athena covered her mouth with a quiet laugh, before she folded her arms with a nod. 

“I am…Kristoph Gavin was Apollo’s former mentor, right? And Mr. Wright’s friend who turned out not so friendly when he killed one ‘Shadi Smith’-- and was implicated in the poisoning death of Drew Misham.” 

"So he was," Edgeworth nodded. "And he was convicted for both killings. Though, admittedly, the details are… ambiguous in some ways. He hasn't made any specific denials, but– hmm.." 

The chief prosecutor frowned for a moment and shook his head. "In any case, he was a popular man before his conviction, and that hasn't entirely changed afterward. He's expressed an interest in being 'of use' during his sentence, and people I trust have spoken for him. Though people I trust have spoken against him as well."

The sideways glance and flutter of anxiety told Athena exactly who had spoken against him. Her own boss– Phoenix Wright. Athena hissed softly through her teeth. 

“Ah…that makes sense. So he’s divisive…but potentially a good candidate for the sort of work release program you’ve been running. And you want me to figure out which way the scales tip?”

Athena always cared about her boss, he was a good man and an impressive force in the courtroom– but they had clashed on multiple cases before, especially over things like this.

“I’m willing to give him a chance. I’ll give him a proper evaluation, Mr. Edgeworth."

"I know that you will, Athena," he said, nodding. They paused outside the final guard station before the special cell area, and Edgeworth quietly checked them in with the guard. "I'll leave you to your work. I'm looking forward to your report."

Athena gave him one last salute before she took a deep breath. “I promise it’ll be…enlightening, one way or the other.” 

Athena passed beyond the final gate by herself, and into the clinical hallway that led to Kristoph Gavin's cell. She heard the security camera above orient to follow her.

So much security, constant observation– almost as much as there’d been when she’d visited Robert for the very first time in the ‘secret wing’ of the hospital.

It made her wonder just what sort of man this Kristoph Gavin was under the rumors and the masks.

Near the end of the hallway, the solid wall ended and the bars began, and there was the cell proper. It was barren for a room, but lavish, perhaps, for a prison cell. There was a large bookshelf, and a small antique style table beside which there was a high backed chair. The little bed looked relatively comfortable, and there was a canvas painting hung above it

Sitting in the high backed chair with a book in his lap was the prisoner.

He looked more like a literature teacher– or perhaps, a defense attorney.

"Ms. Cykes, I presume." His voice was smooth, cheerful and cultured, and he favored her with a smile on his angelic seeming face.

Athena bowed her head in greeting, folding her arms before herself with a bright and cheerful smile as she came to a stop in front of the bars.

“Mr. Kristoph Gavin. That’s right…my name’s Athena Cykes. I’m a defense attorney and licensed court psychologist for the state of California.” 

He snapped his book shut and set it on the table next to him, folding his hands in his lap. "It's nice to meet you, Athena. I was told that you'd be coming. There's a chair behind you– if you'd like to sit down."

Athena looked behind her and tugged the chair a little closer to the bars before she took a seat.

“Thank you! I’m glad my visit’s not a surprise– Mr. Edgeworth tells me you’ve shown some interest in doing some good in the new age of the law.” 

Kristoph smiled wider still, and leaned on his hand. "That's very true. I was telling my friend Lana Skye about my feelings, and she said she'd talk to Edgeworth. It seems word travels fast."

“Miss Skye and Edgeworth are old friends. At least that’s what I’ve heard! It wouldn’t take her long to get his ear.” She leaned on her hands. “So…I’ve read all about your cases, you know.” 

"You have me at an advantage then," he purred. "I'm afraid I don't know very much about you, Athena."

Athena flashed a bright smile “I’m fairly new to the legal scene…or at least, probably new to you, Mr. Gavin. I’ve started taking cases after studying psychology abroad…and was involved in the case of the Cosmos center murder and sabotage…and a handful of interpol cases.”

She tapped her nose with a grin. “Just in case you were thinking of underestimating me ‘cause I’m new!”

"I would never," he purred. "I think it is important to get new blood into the legal system, rather than sticking with the old and entrenched."

It was hard for her to get a read on his emotions. He was one of the more guarded people that she'd spoken to– outside of the so-called Phantom and his fellow espionage assets. But where their emotions had been pruned and repressed to almost nothing, here, Kristoph's true emotions were hidden behind a calm and genteel mask. It would take effort to peel it away.

“I’d certainly say.” Athena said brightly as she folded her hands “I work with the Wright Anything Agency, and strive to bring my fresh perspective to everything I do!” 

She watched his reaction carefully to the boss’ name.

"Ah, one of Phoenix's flock," Kristoph chuckled. "You said you had been studying abroad. I imagine you met while he was galavanting around Europe, then?"

He cocked his head, a few strands of his hair falling across his face as he watched her.

“Wow! You’re pretty well informed! That's right, we met while I was finishing up with my psychology degree and offered to hire me once I finished my law studies!” She clapped her hands together. “and it worked out just fine ever since! You and he were once pretty close, right?” 

"Guilty as charged," he admitted, holding his hands up. "We had dinner together once a week for seven years– except on those times when he was gallivanting off in Europe, and I had to work. Come to think of it, he might have mentioned you once or twice…"

There was a flicker of something dark beyond the clear mask for just a moment, when talking about Phoenix. But whether it was anger, regret, or something else entirely, Athena couldn't tell.

Athena quietly tugged on her AR glove with a smile. 

“Oh, he did? Only good things I hope!” Curiously, she peered into his eyes ��Once a week for seven years is a consistent relationship…and yet..”

She tapped her finger on her chin. “You beat a man to death after one of those dinners, and tried to frame your dinner partner, yeah?” 

Kristoph smiled, and tucked his chin down into his neck as he crossed his arms. The glint of the light on his glasses obscured her view of his clear blue eyes.

"I suppose I may have done something like that. And it's the rude sort of thing that means you don't get invited back. Yes, our last supper ended in blood, as these things do sometimes."

Athena chuckled.

“Dramatic. It's also the sort of thing that means you don’t exactly have his vote of confidence that you’ll behave yourself if brought out of solitary and into the courtroom.” She leaned on her hand. “But I think there’s more to the story here, Mr. Gavin. I think there’s more to you than the mask you’ve put up. It’s my job to convince the others that what I see makes you a good fit for a second chance.” 

"Well, I'd certainly like to help you with that, Athena," he said, pushing his glasses up again, and smiling. That much, at least, was completely sincere, she was sure. "If it helps, I promise never to club any future mysterious strangers over the head with wine bottles."

Athena laughed. 

“I’d like to believe you on that, honestly. It’s not every day a shadow of the past comes up, right?” She folded her fingers “given the ‘mysterious stranger’ was actually Zak Gramarye, a man you’d met years before outside the court.”

"So it turned out to be, yes." He was still guarded, heavily guarded, but she could see the tension in his posture. The slight stiffness at the edge of his gentle smile. "I imagine you, like others, conjecture that I knew this."

Athena hit Widget, and the screen illuminated between them. 

“I don’t know if I’d call it conjecture, Mr. Gavin.” She said evenly, “as much as I think it’s a source of inner conflict. And my job is to help ease and soothe those spiritual wounds.” 

"Ease my spiritual wounds?" he cocked his head. "Well, it's a pretty sentiment, miss Athena. Thank you."

As the screen illuminated, Athena saw widget's hidden power– the Mood Matrix, laid out before her. The technology amplified and clarified her own talent for understanding emotions, letting her see and process the feelings of her subject on the screen as data.

Kristoph Gavin's emotional landscape was laid bare before her. For the moment, there was a genuine, persistent burble of happiness, or pleasure, and an insistent, slow and heavy pulse of anxiety.

“You’re welcome. It's my job. And honestly, I’ve got a lot of sympathy for people in situations like yours. So I promise I’ll work extra hard!” She pumped her fist before looking up at his gentle smile “But what’s got you so anxious?” 

He cocked his head, and that very same anxiety flickered up. "Anxious? I'm not sure what you mean."

Athena smiled and tapped near her ear. 

“...I was born a little different than most people, Mr. Gavin. I hear people’s emotions in their voices and unconscious actions…I can’t help it, I’m afraid…and I’m picking up a strong note of anxiety in you. One that reacted to me pointing it out.” 

He tucked his chin into his neck for a moment again, and brushed his fingers through the strands of his hair. "Very perceptive, Athena. I suppose I am anxious. Wouldn't you be? My fate lies in the balance of this conversation."

“I’d be terrified.” Athena smiled. “I was terrified when my, and my partner’s lives both hung in the balance of one trial.”

She tapped on the mood matrix “but let’s dig into that. Mr. Gavin. You’re anxious. iI it simply because you want to make a good impression on the court psychologist?” ” 

Kristoph leaned forward, with his elbows on his knees and smiled. "I suppose not just. Does talking about murder make you anxious, Athena? I'll be happy to admit it makes me a little anxious. The last thing you asked me was about Zak Gramarye."

“Sometimes…” Athena’s eyes flicked down to the matrix. “but that’s true– the man you claim to have killed as a ‘mysterious stranger’ on a whim. Right?” 

"I've maintained that, yes," he nodded. "I doubt that it reflects well on me."

He was still smiling, but it was little more than a hollow mask. The pulse of pleasure was gone, and the screen showed only the strong pulse of anxiety, and the faint, slow, steady beat of anger.

Athena highlighted the anger and anxiety “the memory makes you angry, Mr. Gavin.” She flicked her eyes up to him. “that implies to me that there’s more to it than a whim.” 

Gavin chuckled, and leaned his chin on his hand, watching her from behind his shiny spectacles. "You must be a very useful young woman to have in the office, Athena. Yes. It makes me angry. You're quite right."

Athena chuckled softly.

“I’m told that. Maybe you can tell Mr. Wright so I can get off toilet duty more often.” She smiled at her own joke, before she nodded “Let’s focus in on that anger. Was it at the situation? The man? The repercussions?” 

Kristoph thoughtfully rubbed his fingernails with the tips of his fingers, looking down at them. 

"I think the repercussions make me frustrated, more than angry." He sighed and put his hands together. "You're here to evaluate if I'm fit company for man or beast. So I won't make you tease it out of me. I'll tell you the secret I've kept from everyone else, Miss Athena Cykes– and hope that here and now it reflects better on me than the lie does."

On the mood matrix his anxiety spiked, pinging and fluttering.

Athena leaned a little forward. “Thank you, Mr. Gavin…it’ll help me make a fair judgment…and I’ll confide that I would like you to get your second chance. So please be honest with me.” 

"I overheard the conversation that Phoenix Wright and Zak Gramarye had that night," he said, his fingers tight together. "That much is known. Do you know, Athena, what they talked about?"

Athena shook her head. “Not very much, no. A little, what I was able to get out of the mason system files…it should be enough to verify that what you tell me’s the truth.” 

He sighed. "Alright. Well, you work with Mr. Wright. So you know that he has a daughter. Almost grown now. An adorable, bright little girl with a big smile. Zak Gramarye's daughter."

Athena nodded with a slight widening of her eyes “Trucy. I know her really well…she’s been a great friend to me since I’ve started working for her agency…” 

"I can imagine," he said, with a little smile. A ping of sadness joined the anger on the screen. "I watched her grow up, you know. Being so close with Phoenix. I saw her often."

Athena nodded slowly, brushing her hair away from her face to look at him in the eyes again

“That makes sense…he’d been raising her since that first trial, after all. It makes sense you’d see her grow…” She tilted her head. “you came to care about her, I imagine?” 

"I'd be some kind of monster, if I didn't." He chuckled, but there was no humor in it. The sadness on the mood matrix pinged instead. "She's very charming. You know– on the day I spoke to Zak Gramarye with the hopes to represent him he said something to me. He said 'today I am praying my daughter won't grow up without her father'."

“....” Athena’s fingers hovered over the screen. “He said that, huh? But in the end she still did, didn’t she?” 

"She did," he said. HIs fingers were laced very, very tightly together. He smiled, brightly, almost like an angel, but now the anger was pinging higher, and higher. "And do you know what he said to Phoenix Wright in that fateful conversation, Miss Athena Cykes? He told him that he had always intended to disappear. That abandoning his daughter had always been the plan. And that he would do the same that night, without a word."

Kristoph's smiling lips had gone pale, and the mood matrix was pinging one of the highest outputs of anger that she'd seen it register. He put his hands on his knees.

"I consider it a personal moral failing of a dear friend that Mr. Phoenix Wright was going to just let him walk out of that room."

August 21, 2028– 3:15 pm

Vera wasn't sure who had come through for her, her manager Mr. Edgeworth, or the devil, Kristoph Gavin. But someone had, clearly. When she got the final paperwork for her entry into the academy, her roommate was listed as Pearl Fey. And soon after that, she'd gotten an excited text from her new roommate, wanting to meet up and discuss their new situation.

She had nearly crumpled the paper hugging it to her chest when she’d first read the words. She was getting better– socially speaking– but it didn’t make dealings with strangers any easier. With a fluttering joy in her chest she’d responded back that she’d meet with Pearl whenever she’d wanted to meet to talk and celebrate. 

And that was how Vera had ended up on the quiet hour long bus ride to the little apartment just on the other side of the famous and secluded Kurain village. Pearl, she knew, had lived most of her young life in the village proper. But apparently once she'd started high school she and her guardian had moved a little bit closer to civilization.

It had seemed like a quiet place to live, just like the quiet home in the woods her father had owned– one that , once upon a time, would have inspired her to paint the vistas and scenes much to her father’s quiet frustration with the time that could have been spent on another forgery.

But now she watched the mountainside town roll past the window with a quiet smile on her face and her notepad firmly folded on her lap. She wondered if Pearl liked the quiet, or if she was dying to get to the Academy set more firmly in the hustle and bustle of LA.

She wondered if her guardian would move there too. 

Pearl had a bright smile across her face when she met Vera at the bus stop, smiling and waving as she got off the bus, though Vera did a double take when she saw her.

The few times that Vera and Pearl had met in person before, the short girl had been ensconced in flowing and traditional robes, her hair tightly wound in a complicated, and elegant–if antiquated– hairstyle. But today, she looked completely different in a pair of black slacks, with a white button up shirt and a pea green vest. Her long, complicated coiffure was gone, her hair cut short in a fluffy style around her ears.

"Vera! You made it!"

“Pearl!” Vera put her hand to her lips with a smile, “you look great! You cut your hair? W-wow!”

Vera had thought she’d be the one to surprise the other with a change in look. She’d tied her blue-black hair in a braid, and finally put on one of her newer outfits– a pale lilac dress and jean jacket combo she’d bought on an outing with Mr. Edgeworth when he was encouraging her to break out of her shell. But her own hadn’t nearly been as drastic as Pearl’s.

Pearl blushed and covered her face with her hands, smiling widely. "Do you like it? I know it's a big change! I love your dress!!"

“T-thank you.” Vera murmured with a subtle smile “I really do…I love how soft your hair looks, a-and that’s a very handsome vest. Honestly, it’s very ‘future detective’. So I’d say it’s an appropriate change!”

She laughed a little self-consciously and shrugged. "Well, you know what they say, right? Dress for the job you want? And I want detective, not medium!"

Pearl beckoned Vera with her as she headed from the bus stop across the street to a small apartment block.

Vera followed with her notebook clutched tight to her chest, shuffling as fast as her kitten heels could follow. 

“Ye-yeah, much better. Medium doesn’t really sound like t-th at fun of a job,” she murmured quietly “honestly…I’m kind of excited to be a detective too, Pearl.” 

Pearl walked shoulder to shoulder with her as they headed up the walkway to the stairs. "I'm really glad. I know you're a great artist, Vera, but I bet you'll make a fantastic detective."

She paused and opened the door for Vera, giving a teasing little bow.

Vera flushed and gave Pearl a timid grin before bowing back. 

“Thanks Pearl…I…I’m going to do my best. We both are, right? That way we can work together..” She straightened up with a quiet laugh and stepped inside on Pearl’s lead “thank you, d-detective.” 

Pearl grinned and followed her in, and up the stairs. "You're welcome, detective!"

Up the stairs, she opened another door and called inside. "Iris! Vera's here!"

Vera peeked inside over Pearl’s shoulder just in time to see a woman exit the bedroom and turn towards them with a smile and a half wave.

Iris Fey was Pearl’s guardian, and had been for some time– longer than Vera had known Pearl, at the very least. From what she understood, she was a half sister, and the subject of one of the most infamous of Mr. Phoenix Wright’s cases. One that she’d studied along with the rest extensively during his disbarment.

California Vs. Iris Fey had been the case to legally prove the existence of ghosts and the legitimacy of spirit mediums in LA law, and its meek and soft spoken defendant had been sent to prison for evidence tampering and accessory to murder.

She’d come out of it a lot different than the photographs Vera once drew reproductions of scenes from. From shrine maiden’s robes to an army surplus uniform shirt and dark, secondhand jeans; from ornate and traditional hair to a short and messy bob–it seemed it wasn’t an uncommon thing for ex-mediums to change out of the robes at the soonest opportunity. The woman had even gotten a floral tattoo that crawled up over one arm and up her neck.

Vera couldn’t blame them one bit.

“Hey, long time, no see.” Iris bowed her head. “Need me to grab something out of the kitchen for you? I know it’s kind of a long bus ride.” 

"I was thinking we might have some tea, but I can put it on if you're busy," Pearl chirped as she slipped out of her shoes at the door.

Vera slipped out of her shoes and nudged them into an orderly line next to Pearl’s with a nod “tea actually sounds lovely…”

Iris saluted quietly before she gestured towards the kitchen. “You two settle in. I’ll put on the water, alright? Diego gave me the day off, so it’s not like I got anything to do.” 

"Aww, thanks, Iris! If you're sure." Pearl gave her a thumbs up, and headed over to the couch. She patted the cushions and gestured to the other comfortable looking chairs around the room, offering Vera her choice in place to sit. "Let's get comfy since Iris has the tea covered."

Vera looked around before she settled quietly on one end of the couch, folding her hands over her pad on her lap. “She’s looking well…is the practice with Mr. Armando going well?” she asked quietly.

"It is!" Pearl nodded, settling in on the opposite side of the couch. "Honestly it's been really nice. Iris finally got to resign at the cafe. It's a long drive to the prosecutor's office though, so we've been talking about moving closer to the city… especially with me starting academy too."

“I’d been wondering on the ride in if she was going to,” Vera brushed a stray lock of hair back over her ear. “between the long drive and the fact that you’ll be living in the barracks with me for a while…I wouldn’t be surprised if you guys moved into LA.. Honestly… I-I imagine, even at the base of them, that the mountain air gets kind of stale after a while.”

She chuckled softly into her hand, and Pearl laughed with her.

"Honestly," she said, tucking her legs up under her on the couch. "It does get to be a little stale in a way. I'm excited to live in the smoggy city, but at the same time, Mystic Maya just got back from being abroad for two years, so it'll be a shame to be away from her…"

Pearl looked thoughtful. Maybe a little far away for a moment, and then she shook it off. "What about you, though? How are you feeling about the move to the barracks? That's gonna be a huge change for you too, right?"

Vera’s new apartment was, admittedly, already a big change from the isolated and mostly forgotten house in the forested outskirts of LA. Even the relatively quiet suburb was far more active than she’d ever been used to…but the barracks were in the heart of LA, and were full of hopefuls just like her and Pearl, all tightly packed in two-person rooms.

“Y-yeah.” she said with a shaky grin. “It's gonna be kind of a big change. A-admittedly I’m a little nervous? I’ve been getting better…but I’m still not great with people, Pearl.” 

"Yeah, you're really going into the deep end with me with this, huh?" Pearl mused. "You took some catch up classes right? I'm guessing the class sizes weren't huge."

Vera nervously tugged the escaped lock of her curling hair. 

“It was a combination of correspondence classes and a classroom, y-yeah. But it wasn’t that packed. It was mostly me and a couple of older men and women. The academy’s kind of like diving into the ocean, y-yeah? For you too, I’d bet.” 

"Well, not as much as you cause I did go to high school," she mused, chewing on her thumb. "But it's still going to be a huge difference. Like, the first time living on my own. You've got way more practice than me on that."

Vera leaned on her hand, and opened her sketchpad with a thoughtful hum. She began sketching out the start of a doodle of Pearl as she nodded.

“I do, because when papa died it wasn’t like I had anyone to move in with,” She put her pencil to her lips. “Meaning I’ve got experience living alone, and you’ve got the experience of going to a r-real school. ...if we put our skills together, we’ll almost be a complete trainee!” 

She smiled over at Pearl as she continued to sketch.

"It's true! Honestly that's why I'm super glad we lucked out and got put together. We can help each other out with this stuff."

“Me too.” Vera nodded. “I mean, a-aside from you being a great friend, Pearl. I think having someone who can help us through is going to do wonders…Mr. Edgeworth seemed to think so, at least.”

She blew away the graphite and took a look before turning the picture of Pearl…in her new haircut…towards her with a smile. “I’ve got your back, Pearl Fey. I kn-know I’m a little weak, but I’m not going to give up until you and I get that badge in hand in hand…my guardian angel’s watching over us, a-after all.” 

Pearl put her hand over her mouth, looking at the picture with surprise and delight. "Oh, you drew that so fast! I love it so much!!" She swooned there, fawning over the picture for a moment, before she leaned toward Vera. "Guardian angel, huh?"

“You can k-keep it if you want.” Vera started to pull it out of her notebook. She felt her face heat up, as she realized just what she’d said out loud. “Uhm. Y-yes. Guardian angel. Does the Kurain technique have anything l-like that?” 

Pearl chewed on her thumb. "Like, the spirits of our ancestors, I guess. We have great great grandma Ami watching out for us."

“T-that makes a lot of sense. Miss Ami watches over you...” Vera began to sketch again as she worked to divert the subject, the lines forming fingers on the page as she glanced at Pearl. “a guardian angel is someone who watches over you and p-protects you…gives you advice, after all. Mine isn’t…related. To me, I mean.” 

"Oh?" Pearl cocked her head, and her new short, fluffy hair covered her eyes briefly before she pushed it away. "Can I ask?"

Vera hesitated in her sketching to look at Pearl with a tenuous smile “It’s not something I tell a lot of people, Pearl…but it’s someone I met a long time ago…It’s…”

“Tea time.” Iris Fey’s quiet voice called from the kitchen. “Sorry to interrupt.” 

Pearl's eyes widened, and she smiled in apparent understanding of some kind, putting her finger to her lips and nodding. "Thanks, Iris!" she said aloud, hopping up. "I'll be right back with the tea, Vera. Milk and sugar?"

Vera nodded, watching Pearl with her deer-in-the-headlight eyes. “Y-yes please!” 

Pearl hustled away with a rather cute little trot, disappearing into the kitchen and leaving Vera alone in the unfamiliar room for a moment.

She looked back down to her sketch pad, the rough sketch of an idle hand study laid out on the page. She closed it, tucking the pencil away and leaned back on the couch to think.

Pearl looked great. She’d changed so much since Vera had met her, but she seemed happier all the same– even if she was still just as nervous and excited about the wider world as Vera herself. She’d come so far, and Vera couldn’t help but be impressed.

She liked Pearl, trusted her even, which was one of the reasons she and Trucy were the first people Vera told about her new aspirations. So surely she could trust Pearl with the identity of her guardian angel?

She was trusting her to have her back in the terrifying ‘deep end’ of the Police Academy, after all. 

Pearl bustled back into the room with a pair of mugs on a tray and slid it onto the table by the couch. There was a box of cookies on the tray as well.

"There! Now we can talk about the future and snack at the same time." She clapped her hands together. "Multitasking!"

Vera smiled and crooked her arm to make a muscle. “Multitasking! It'll be an important skill in the academy for sure.” She leaned over to delicately pick up one of the mugs. “Thank you, and…” with difficulty she raised her voice “Thank you for the tea, Miss Iris!”

“No problem, Vera!” Iris called over from inside the kitchen as the sound of the microwave started up. 

"Now," Pearl said with a sly, rather teasing grin. "I think we were talking about our new living arrangements, right? We should probably talk about what we need to bring."

They talked about many things. Preparations. How to live together. Pearl never brought up Vera's guardian angel again– but Vera could tell as they chatted that she hadn't forgotten.

[hualianff]

Untethered (Bonus I) 《III》

In the Shadow of Ghosts — The Newton Brothers

Three years ago….

Tap. Tap.

Xie Lian thinks he imagines it at first. After all, it had been a long day of handling commoners’ affairs, entertaining visiting royalty, and carrying out other menial tasks that are required of him as a prince. Not that he minds too much. Xie Lian thoroughly enjoys helping whoever he can and making the kingdom a better place for his people.

But it is exhausting work, and takes both a mental and physical toll on Xie Lian. This is why more often than not, on busy days like this, he requests the servants to have a bath drawn right before he retires to his room for the night. The steaming hot water mixed with Xie Lian’s favorite-scented bath salts loosen his muscles wonderfully, as well as clear his senses.

In the dimly lit washroom, Xie Lian lets himself unwind. It’s a gradual process, one that his body initially rejects after being so wound up for hours on end. Xie Lian lathers a dollop of lavender oil along his waist-length hair, holding it above the water to let the oil properly soak in before rinsing it under the spout.

Simply put, Xie Lian chalks the strange noise up to his restless mind making him hear things that are not there. It wouldn’t be the first time it happened.

Besides, who in their right mind would dare break into a prince’s bedroom chambers, where royal guards surround the premise?

Tap.

At the dusk of twilight?

Tap!

Xie Lian is sure no one is crazy about him enough to scale the palace walls to the third level-

Tap.

-except for someone coming to assassinate him!?

Tap tap tap tap tap-

Okay, now that he didn’t imagine. That incessant tapping is very real.

“Goodness me-” Xie Lian mutters, dunking his head under the water in a lame attempt to hastily clean his hair. He then stumbles out of the tub to grab a gown, flinging it around his body to cover himself up.

Luckily, there are no windows in the washroom. The doors also remain shut, providing the prince with the utmost privacy during his bath times, but also serving as a protective barrier at this moment. However, the distinct tapping continues, clearly coming from the other side of the doors.

Against his better judgment, Xie Lian flattens himself against the wall next to the entrance and knocks back.

The tapping stops.

A muffled “Your Highness” follows in response.

Xie Lian’s stomach violently drops at the familiar drawl. It couldn’t be...

“Prince Xianle,” his tempter calls again.

Xie Lian quietly gasps.

The prince cautiously opens the doors leading into his bedroom. He spots a silhouetted figure standing outside on his balcony, and if the build and height were not a familiar sight, Xie Lian would certainly be freaking out more. By subconsciously wrapping the robe tighter around himself–Xie Lian realizes just how flimsy and inappropriate the garment is for others to set eyes on–and approaches the glass doors

He also realizes he does not care.

Xie Lian pulls aside the sheer, golden velvet curtains.

A lanky, strong-built man in dashing red attire greets him through the glass. Xie Lian’s eyes bulge impossibly wide, mouth parting in surprise.

Crimson Rain grins like the devil he is. He doesn’t say anything more, letting the devious look in his eye do the speaking. When the pirate captain lifts a palm to lay flat against the glass door’s surface, Xie Lian feels a growing urge to intertwine it with his own.

Xie Lian places his own palm on the opposite side of the glass. He knows how terrible of an idea it is to enable intruders onto palace grounds, to let Hua Cheng in and the detrimental repercussions awaiting if they were found out.

City of Stars – Yan Chaojie

Th-th-th-th-thump. Hua Cheng drums his fingers upon the glass, raising an expectant eyebrow. Xie Lian stubbornly shakes his head, making a cutting motion at his neck. The pirate seems to take this as a challenge. He can probably see how close Xie Lian is to giving in, just needs one last push to lure the prince in opening the doors to his chambers.

Hua Cheng frames both hands against the glass, blowing hot air in between, effectively fogging up the surface. He draws a massive heart in the condensation. Xie Lian fails to bite back his smile, yet another one of his actions Hua Cheng notices with a smug look.

The pirate proceeds to drag his finger through practiced strokes, writing backward so Xie Lian can read normally on his side. From where he observes, the concentration apparent on Hua Cheng’s face greatly amuses Xie Lian. The characters are still barely legible. Fortunately, Xie Lian has the experience in deciphering Crimson Rain’s infamous scrawl with the intermittent letters he receives.

谢怜 x 三郎

Xie Lian’s face twists in confusion. He immediately unlocks the glass doors, yanking them to the side.

“Who is San Lang?” Xie Lian demands with a pout, forgetting all about his current state of appearance. Hua Cheng smiles into his fist, then graciously enters Xie Lian’s bedroom.

“Another name I go by,” the pirate answers nonchalantly, sliding the door closed behind him. He towers over Xie Lian, dressed in his trademark black heeled-boots with silver chains, whereas Xie Lian’s feet are bare. Plus, Hua Cheng has only continued to grow since the first time they crossed past nearly two years ago. “Should the weather permit fog in the next few days and anyone happens to see, they will not be able to connect San Lang to me.”

“Hua Cheng, your fingerprints are all over the glass,” Xie Lian reminds in exasperation. Hua Cheng frowns when he is addressed, as if he had eaten something not to his liking. He seamlessly replaces it with a mischievous smirk.

“My fingerprints are not documented in the first place,” he says.

“Oh, I see.”

Pirates abide not by any kingdom’s rule but by the laws of the ocean.

Hua Cheng briefly turns to look back at the fading image of their names, his expression calculated but determined once he meets Xie Lian’s gaze again.

“I believe it would also be safest if you referred to me-” Hua Cheng points to the door. “-as such.”

“As what?”

“...”

“How should I call you?”

Hua Cheng narrows his brooding eye.

“Why ask when you already know the answer?”

“Just spit it out, Crimson Rain.” Xie Lian smiles cheekily.

“Your Highness, do not test me.”

Despite his threatening words, Hua Cheng’s posture is stiff, and can even be described as awkward. His arms have obediently remained by his side the entire time, keeping a respectful distance away from Xie Lian. The prince laughs out loud at how constipated Hua Cheng looks.

Without further adieu, Xie Lian throws himself at the taller man. He glomps onto Hua Cheng like a child grabbing onto a stuffed animal, straining his arms to grasp around the pirate’s broad shoulders.

“If San Lang ever wants a hug, he needs only to ask,” Xie Lian admonishes light-heartedly, squishing his cheek against Hua Cheng’s sternum. Hua Cheng chuckles happily, body finally relaxing into the embrace. He winds his arms around Xie Lian’s middle.

“Gege’s benevolence knows no bounds,” Hua Cheng murmurs tenderly. Xie Lian squeezes tighter around him, having no intentions of letting go soon. He missed his pirate dearly, after all. Three months apart had felt like three years. “This San Lang is gladly indebted to His Highness.”

Hua Cheng gently caresses Xie Lian’s head but pauses when he realizes how slippery the prince’s hair is. The pirate rolls the end of a strand between his fingers, droplets of water escaping the tips.

“Gege, did you recently wash?” he asks. Xie Lian shyly nods, containing his blush when Hua Cheng slightly pulls back to take in his satin gown.

“I was bathing when you arrived,” Xie Lian says. With some space between them, Xie Lan realizes with horror that his damp hair created a huge wet spot on the front of Hua Cheng’s robes.

Before he can apologize, Hua Cheng quickly ushers Xie Lian to sit on the cushioned stool in front of his vanity, muttering “please forgive this San Lang for his untimely intrusion” and “allow me to tend to gege’s hair as atonement for such despicable behavior.”

Xie Lian doesn’t know what to say. Hua Cheng’s submissive words render him speechless. It’s a stark contrast to the way Hua Cheng treated him in the beginning, when they were just rivals holding each other at swordpoint. Only in the last year have they been secretly meeting without the pretense of dueling, and even then, Xie Lian only sees Hua Cheng every few months, whenever the pirate happens to sail near Xianle Kingdom. It would be unfathomable for his past self to consider Crimson Rain anything less than a cunning, vicious pirate.

Now, Hua Cheng stands in the Prince of Xianle’s private chambers, offering to brush his hair.

Xie Lian stares wordlessly at Hua Cheng’s reflection. Hua Cheng’s earnest expression does not fade. How absurd it is that a captain of his own pirate ship would reduce himself to the duty of a simple palace servant. Though the thought often crosses his mind, Xie Lian hasn’t turned Hua Cheng in yet. It feels somewhat treasonous to excuse a pirate trespassing and sneaking around on Xianle territory.

Then again, Hua Cheng hasn’t stirred up trouble in public for one whole year. He merely comes back for Xie Lian. This notion alone makes Xie Lian giddy inside.

Xie Lian reaches for a lavishly jeweled comb, then presents it to Hua Cheng. The pirate accepts the comb with a grateful hum, then takes hold of Xie Lian’s wrist to press his lips to the top of his hand.

Xie Lian’s heart sings.

“Would gege be partial to sharing what a day in Prince Xianle’s life looks like?” Hua Cheng asks as he releases Xie Lian’s hand. He begins running the comb through the prince’s long, weighted locks, effortlessly detangling the lower ends. The sensations are heavenly.

“Only if San Lang tells me what a day in Crimson Rain’s life looks like after,” Xie Lian answers with a sluggish tongue. Through the mirror, he sees Hua Cheng smile in satisfaction. Xie Lian slowly closes his eyes as the continuous brushing motions to his hair send pleasant tingles down his spine.

“Whatever His Highness wishes.”

《Bonus II》

[adraveins]

Thinking about Watcher Bad Endings again, as one does, and this time I’m thinking about what would lead to them:

Hakona’s bad ending is, of course, Death Guard. A Ghost Rider paladin, if you will, which would come about if she never managed to break away from the Bleak Walkers. Her ideals have always been mismatched with the Walker’s ways, but she’s managed to justify it by trying to be discerning in her choice of contract and by trying to curb the worst behaviors and policies within the organization, like her commander’s. By telling herself that the Walkers so often deliver swift and inescapable justice to those who deserve it, which outweighs the bad. But she’s already feeling the strain of cognitive dissonance by the time of POE1, and if she didn’t actually leave the order by Deadfire, then eventually she’d crack under the weight of that dissonance, much like her former commander.

It would be a pretty complex chain of events that would lead to that mindset, and I need to give it more thought. But the end of that road involves premature death, a Hakona who never spent the necessary time growing past the confines of the order, a Hakona who died in its service. She has a tumultuous relationship with death, after all, and to die while still locked in that dissonance keeps her tethered to the world, bitter and furious and cut down into a twisted sense of her ideals. A Death Guard who viciously hunts down those who deal in suffering and who disrupt the flow of natural life and death, a Death Guard who doesn’t care who gets in her way. (Berath tacitly allows it by looking the other way. She has a soft spot for the Watcher, after all.)

Kit, meanwhile, has a good ending, a bad ending, and a bittersweet ending. The bad ending is naturally Apotheosis (Divine Cannibalism Version), in which she becomes a god by means of mowing down most, if not all, of the other gods, and probably much more than that. A god who, like her predecessors, is more of a distillation of ideals than a person, and in this case, it’s her vicious, prideful side that wins out, hungry for knowledge and for the center and foundation of all things with nothing to temper that. The good ending is No Apotheosis, because I firmly believe that any Transcendence should involve some measure of melancholy or tragedy. The bittersweet ending is Apotheosis (Nice Version), in which Kit becomes a god by means not so violent. (In any case of Apotheosis, bad or bittersweet, she’s a god of deep places and gravity and a Guardian of the Wheel.)

Kit has the sense to surround and ground herself with level-headed people, so the bad ending would come about if she lost them prematurely. It would take quite a bit of loss, but Kit is deeply attached to and protective of her inner circle, and she would immediately spiral if enough of them were somehow killed. If Vela was alive, Kit would hold out long enough for her, and then all bets would be off. She’s a grudge-holder, and she doesn’t get over things easily, so without those level-headed people that she’s come to cherish so much, she would spiral towards the not-so-nice version of Apotheosis very fast.

And as a tidbit for the bittersweet ending, this line from Lady Webb struck me the other day, specifically in relation to Edér:

But what would prompt Kit to go for the nicer version of Apotheosis would depend on the situation: a sense of responsibility or urgency, just enough temptation towards knowledge and power to tip the scales in that direction, etc.

For Jordan, I haven’t figured him out enough to get into as much detail, but his bad ending would be Full Storm Blight. Much like the feral druids you can encounter who have lost themselves entirely, it would involve Jordan losing control of his magic and thus himself and making that irreversible transformation into something else. As a very powerful Watcher, he’d be a blight unlike any other, perhaps a little more coherent, perhaps retaining something of himself, but ultimately lost to the storm forever.

I still need to figure out how he’d get there, though, so more on that later.

[sweetbunnykook]

Hi can I rant a bit here, it’s nsfw so please ignore me if you really don’t care. You’re one of the first persons I thought of idk why maybe it’s because of Only You, that I felt like maybe you would understand. It’s a bit long so I do apologize. 1.

I met this guy a couple of months ago, he’s older than me and I’m sure it will cause people to look at us with judging eyes. I am 19 and he’s 25, it’s not much but when people see it as a girl that barely enter high school and a guy that is just a cradle robber. I genuinely hope not, since it’s not that much of an age gap. He’s been very kind to me, sweet, helpful. He’s a lot more mature than I am, he is as good as he is bad to me. Half and half situation. I’d like to see what you advice me. 2.

Last week, I decided that I wanted to make the next step with him. I trusted him and felt ready. And he was so sweet and had the whole day plan out, he set up everything. A romantic dinner and the bed set up with flower petals, honeymoon like. He wanted to make my first time special, I appreciated that. We were in the middle of getting to it, I’m sure there is no need for details. And I got a call from a friend, she called and we talk for a bit. Normal things, yet important to her. 3.

When I got hanged up me and him giggled and he asked me who call. Just normal things between giggles and whispers, however. As we try to get back at it, I started talking about things. Which brought me to a mental breakdown in the middle of our night. He was obviously taken off guard but instead of being annoyed or quickly assure me to get back at it. He embraced me, listened to me and softly advice me. Told me it was okay that I was more than enough. Assured me in my fears.4.

I apologized for ruining our night and he told me not to apologize, that he loved me. That he wanted me to smile, not to force it. I cried for a while and when I was better, I joked about ruining the whole day. He shook his head and kissed me, not sexually but idk emotionally? We felt asleep, I was too tired for anything anymore. Still classified as a virgin lmao, we are finding time for us. But not everything is honey with him.6.

Idk if it might be the age difference or what. But he treats me like I’m naive, he still sees me as the stupid girl that finished high school. He tries to manipulate me in a way, I think. Telling me that I am still young and I have a lot to learn. That only he properly gets me and that only he can protect me. That the other people are the reason why I have mental breakdowns. That I’m just young and that I am clearly lost. In need of his guidance. It pisses me off, but I’m not sure if it’s true.7

He is the best person I met and he treats me like I am the best person as well. He’s patient and sweet, he’s everything that I once wished in a man. But he’s everything I been scared of. He constantly calls my phone, asks me who I’m texting. He wants to know everything about my life. If a spend an extra minute talking with a friend, it’s the same question. ‘Do you like him?’ ‘Who do you belong?’ 8.

He is weird, he wants to meet my parents. However, I’m sure my parents will freak out once they find out. Even if they don’t know about his bad habits. Besides, we have only been dating for 4 months. He makes me feel loved. I wanted to ask what you’d do? In a way I look up to your advice and I understand if this is out of nowhere and you don’t want to answer it. Thank you for your time anyways, have a good day.10.

As nice as your older boyfriend may seem, there are large red flags in this relationship that makes me believe that even his good behavior is riddled with bad intentions. 

I have seen it all. I grew up with women who fell for men exactly like your boyfriend. They convince you that their possessiveness is love, they know exactly the right things to say when you’re upset or sad, they start to tip the scales a little more to see how much they can push your boundaries until you don’t have any. 

Your boyfriend is training you, not dating you. First, the age difference is a big red flag. No matter how many times he, or the people around you, tell you that you’re “mature for your age”, you are 19 years old. Your brain isn’t even fully developed. You haven’t discovered yourself enough to know what you truly want out of a relationship and a lot of older men exploit this vulnerability. Second, abusers often isolate their victims. Constantly asking who you’re texting, who you’re talking to, creating a suspicion that any man within five miles that you know are out to get you - bby, that’s him tipping the scales. That’s him indirectly telling you “I don’t like you conversing with people who isn’t me, if you don’t stop I will keep doing this until you do”. When people show their true colors, believe them. 

Another thing is you’ve only been dating him for 4 months and he wants to meet your parents already. That’s something an abuser I know does; he wins over his partner’s parents to pressure the woman into staying in the relationship because it’s him showing: “Everyone loves me, can’t you see we’re perfect together?”. On top of that, he treats you as a child because he knows you are still in your late teens and wants you to succumb to his wishes to “prove” to him that you’re an adult, even though you are not in the same stage of life he is in. There are plenty of women around his age that he can choose but he sees you, a girl fresh out of high school, and decides he, a 26 year old man, wants you. Isn’t that very shady?

I won’t label him as anything but I do want you to be extra careful and decide what is best for you. Because you asked for my advice, I personally recommend that you leave him and learn about yourself more and experience life a bit more before jumping into a relationship this serious with a man far older and far more experienced as well. Trust your gut. Remember that abusers look like everyone else in this world. They know how to search for your pain points and exploit it, they know exactly what to say to get you to react in a certain why that may look innocent at first but gradually makes you succumb to their wishes, they weaponize your insecurities. 

You may think “you don’t know him like I do” or even say that he has good qualities more than he has bad ones. Then tell me why your gut told you to come to me for advice? It’s hard to leave someone you grew fond of. I understand you completely. A lot of women I know who have dated abusers or are dating (or married to) one have that same gut feeling as you but have been trapped by children, by familial expectations, and by the “honeymoon” phase of the relationship. I beg you not to end up like one of those women. 

Please, please, please take care of yourself and stay safe. When it comes down to choosing this relationship or choosing your freedom, please choose your freedom. 

- 🐰

[de-profundis-ad-astra]

Next Chapter | Project Masterlist

Word Count || 3.5k Author’s Note || These first two excerpts I’ll be posting aren’t exactly chapters, but they’re not quite a prologue either--primarily because of their length. But it’s an introduction to the story and the world and the characters nonetheless. After these first two parts the excerpts will be much shorter; I can’t be giving you all the information about the project ;)

Anyway, enjoy!

Kerri Stevens gripped the edges of the lectern and braced herself for a fight.

“We are on record for review of disciplinary case D08-493214. Please present yourself for the panel,” said a man in a charcoal gray suit, his voice echoing through the spacious, mostly-empty chamber.

From their perch at the elevated, curved table, the four members of Kerri’s disciplinary panel had her well and truly surrounded. The looks on their faces suggested they, too, were here for a battle. Calling upon every ounce of confidence she had, Kerri straightened and faced down the panel of suits.

While it certainly was not her favorite place to be, if she was here, it meant her prison sentence was about to come to an end at last.

The high-ceilinged council chamber was all but a new environment to Kerri. At first glance, it appeared warm with expensive wood paneling tastefully integrated with the modern interior and well-lit atmosphere. She knew, though, that looks did not match the grim nature of several meetings held here. Her job had called her to Austin, Texas frequently as a representative of her region for new inductions, retirements, and the occasional, dreaded, dishonorable discharge. Today, the chamber was empty, save for Kerri, the panel, and a lone guard standing near the only entrance into the room. Whatever was said today would be for her ears, and her ears only.

Drawing a deep breath, she willed her racing heart to slow, and answered, reciting the words she’d been rehearsing over and over again to herself since that morning. “Kerri Lynn Stevens. Call number: 493087. Codename: Foxtrot. May it please the panel, I move to present a defense.”

“If we were interested in hearing a defense, Agent Foxtrot,” another voice, this one from the center of the panel, chimed in, “we would have called for a hearing less than thirty-six hours after the initial infraction.” Kerri’s handler, Director Lawrence Ward, closed one of the buttons on his immaculately tailored midnight blue suit. “Not wait three months.”

Kerri gestured towards the first speaker of the meeting. “As Director of the Southern Reach, it was Director Shaw’s decision to authorize such a severe consequence without providing me with an opportunity—”

“The motion was decided outside of your presence, Agent,” Director Shaw dismissed with a wave of his hand. “We will not be hearing a defense.”

Kerri said, “I followed every directive from the panel without requesting an audience for three months when probationary periods, historically, have been half that or less. Does that not merit an explanation? Or a chance to present my side of the story?”

Director Ward lifted a hand before Shaw could respond. “Why do you push so hard for this motion, Agent?”

Kerri leaned into the podium, the quick flex it required of her muscles stimulating the blood flow necessary to cool the burn that seeped into her muscles from inactivity. “It’s never been denied in the past.”

Bracing his forearms on the long table, Director Ward leaned forward and regarded Kerri through narrowed eyes. “So you would assume that we should continue to follow protocol down to the letter, even when you, yourself, seem to think you are above such things?”

Kerri swiftly backpedaled, “I never meant to assume—”

Director Shaw bade her to be quiet. “The panel determined that your continuing disregard for expected conduct in the field was grounds for increased severity of disciplinary action. We will cover the specifics at the designated time. Concerning your defense: your obedience to directives as a result of your ongoing behavior warrants you no such privilege.”

Kerri’s mouth opened and closed several times over, searching desperately for a response but finding none. None that would be to her benefit, at least. The cavernous room remained unvoiced for another moment, the fluttering of turning papers from the panel filling the void before they turned back to her. She sought out Director Ward for solace, but found none in the hard lines of his face.

She said directly to her handler, “Director—”

“This is a review of your disciplinary case, and nothing more,” said the woman to the right of Director Shaw. Her nameplate identified her as Adeline Kim, Director of Active Agent Relations. “We are not here to listen to your agenda.”

Kerri bristled. “If helping others sounds like an agenda to you—”

“You broke protocol to fulfill needs that were not pertinent to your direct orders, Agent, did you not?”

Kerri, desperate to get a word in edgewise, huffed, “I’d say they had some relevance.”

“Now is not the time to play Devil’s Advocate, Agent. Did you, or did you not, break protocol?”

Everyone already knew the answer to that question, which made it redundant and, most infuriatingly, unproductive. Time and time again, the panel seemed to think that making Kerri confront and acknowledge her disobedience in the field would prevent her from putting herself in this position again. And yet they always seemed to find themselves here, each side waiting for the other to relent only for nothing to change. They were better than this. She was better than this.

She had taken accountability for her actions. Just not the way they might have wanted her to.

Kerri clamped down on her tongue before she could say any of that out loud. Doing so would only put herself at greater risk for more punishment. She strangled her features into neutrality, straightening her back as she faced down the panel of directors.

It was futile to hope that she could hide her true intentions here. Everyone here knew her secrets without her having to open her mouth.

Which meant lying would be pointless.

“I did.” Kerri squared her shoulders and stood with as much authority as she could muster before the imposing panel.

Kerri had been in this position enough times to know that controlling the room was a hopeless endeavor. So she clung desperately to what she knew she could control.

Director Ward pressed, “How, precisely, did you breach protocol?”

Kerri masked her groan with a sigh. “I deviated from the mission plan.” She stuck to the facts. “It was not a misinformed decision. I did it of my own free will.”

As she said it, Kerri looked towards the remaining member of the panel. Director Rachelle Frost had supervised her training during her earliest days in Legion. If there was anyone who could vouch for her, it would be Frost. The look she gave Kerri was unreadable before she made a note on her legal pad. Kerri felt her confidence wane at the gesture.

Ward’s voice called her back to the present. “And this, deviation, was to interfere with bystanders, correct?”

“I specialize in defense,” Kerri replied. “Shouldn’t my priority be the wellbeing of the people we’ve sworn to protect?”

“We aren’t looking for your mission statement, Agent. Answer the question.”

That was it.

Kerri snapped, “If by interfere you mean assist with the evacuation of a collapsing building, then yes, the deviation involved dealing with bystanders.”

“Do you understand the risks associated with your actions, Agent?” Director Kim sounded as exasperated as Kerri felt.

Averting eye contact, Kerri drummed her fingers against the underside of the lectern. “Yes, Director,” she said through a wired jaw.

“Elaborate for us, please.”

It was as if they wanted to humiliate her.

“Because my actions have again put Legion at risk of exposure.” She resented how robotic her voice sounded as she delivered the answer.

“Again.”

Director Ward’s voice was a low force. Kerri’s stomach tightened, the sensation drowning out the otherwise distracting thought of whether she’d have been able to hear him if she’d elected to not wear her hearing aids that morning. What was worse was the way he said it as if he was embarrassed on her behalf. Embarrassment which then transferred to Kerri. Clenching everything from her jaw to her knees, Kerri began keeping count of her deep, even breaths.

Director Kim said, “This is your fifth offense of this caliber in the past five years you’ve served in this capacity. Legion cannot continue under this pattern, nor can we afford to keep erasing any documentation of you every time you wander in front of a camera.”

“This manner of conduct can be forgiven once, maybe twice,” added Director Shaw. “The only reason you are still standing here is because Alpha has determined that you are more of an asset than a liability when you do follow directives. She is concerned that the scales may be tipping out of your favor. This kind of behavior is unacceptable from someone in your position.”

“All due respect,” Kerri said, “but are those who share my rank not expected to make challenging decisions when faced with a crisis?”

“Those who share you rank, Agent Foxtrot,” Ward countered, “are expected to make those challenging decisions in order to see their missions accomplished. Not go out of their way to get caught on camera.”

“So you would  stand by and watch innocent people die over something they can’t control?”

“Agent!”

The moment she said it, Kerri knew she’d crossed a line. But the blatant disregard for human life was something she refused to stand for.

Director Kim said, “People die in the name of the greater good frequently, Agent—”

“Not if they don’t know what they’re dying for!”

“And you must understand that there is nothing we can do to change that!”

Kerri went silent, absolutely stunned at the ignorance of the panel. Was there anything she could say to remind them that what she had done was good? Perhaps against instructions, perhaps dangerous. But those whom she’d saved from an untimely death or lifelong physical ailments might have told a different story.

Though three months had passed, she still remembered clearly how it’d felt to be inside that building—wood crackling and popping all around her, her eyes streaming from the onslaught of smoke, sparks and tongues of flame licking against her hands when she reached for a trapped child. Heat filling her lungs until she thought she might burn from the inside out. But most importantly, the frightened screams and cries from others. Frantic coughing and hacking  from those without proper protection. The terror etched into their faces… and then relief. Relief that, because of her, not all was lost.

Yes, she understood that she could not keep everyone she came into contact with from dying. That didn’t mean she wouldn’t try. It was her duty, the duty her employer, to try.

That was the Legion she’d signed up for. The tales of daring heroism, the best of the best fighting for peace, woven for her by her father on the balmy Texas nights. Not… this political mess.

Ward’s voice cut through her thoughts. “Do you understand, Agent Foxtrot?”

Despite her efforts, she could not wrest back the memory that took her back to fire and rot and decay and the crushing guild that she could not save them all.

No. She did not understand why she faced punishment after punishment for doing the right thing.

Letting out a long breath, Kerri forced herself to nod. “I understand, Director. I will improve my conduct where it is necessary.”

“Make sure those improvements align with your code of conduct, not your personal morals,” Ward sniped.

In a perfect world, those two might have overlapped. But they hadn’t hired Kerri for her morals, apparently, just her ability to shoot straight and win in a fight. She stared straight ahead and strangled the urge to scowl at her handler.

“Commitments to improve are well and good,” said Director Shaw, “however, this panel is not in a position to turn you loose and trust you to not cause any more problems.”

“What can I do about this?”

“Ward.”

Director Ward pushed a slim, manila colored folder to the edge of the table. The motion drew her attention to where he sat. Her gaze flickered back and forth between the file and her handler’s face, which was still heavily shrouded with an emotion she could not entirely place.

She felt her heartbeat thrum over her body. Another assignment? So soon after being cleared?

His hand remained flat over the cover of the folder. “You swore an oath to support and defend our corporation. To bear allegiance to us and no others. Do you still swear it?”

Anxiety—equally powerful and equally terrible—filled Kerri’s chest. “I do.” She forced her voice to remain steady.

“You swore to serve as a living example of this organization’s philosophies and beliefs and to uphold these values at all times. You took this obligation freely and of your own accord. Do you still swear it?”

Freely. Of her own accord. “I do.”

“Do you swear to give yourself wholly to this assignment and swear to complete the request of its commissioner?”

“I do.”

Ward removed his hand from the file and said, “You may approach the table, Agent Foxtrot.”

Slowly, Kerri stepped around the podium and approached the panel with slow, stiff steps. What normally might have filled her with a sense of honor and duty was now tainted with doubt and uncertainty. She felt acutely aware of every pair of eyes on her, burning hotter and hotter with each step that took her closer to the table. Ward gave a small nod as she took the file. She quickened her pace as she walked back to the podium and settled the file against it, eager to be as far away as possible from the ones who held her fate in their hands.

Flipping open the folder, Kerri was immediately faced with the image of a smiling woman. Her skin was pale, smooth, which brought out the green of her eyes and the mane of bright red curls framing her attractive face.

She turned the page over, and found in the following pages little information outside of basic information and demographics about the stranger. The panel waited, scrutinizing every action as Kerri skimmed the folder.

“What’s the assignment?” asked Kerri after finding nothing indicating why, precisely, she was looking at this woman.

“This,” said Director Ward, “Is your newest target.”

Kerri’s stomach flipped. She knew precisely what that meant.

Almost four years had passed since her last commission for an assassination in her five year career. Overall, she’s only ever completed two. One as a part of her initiation trials to earn her Name, and a second one year later. Both had left a bad enough taste in Kerri’s mouth that she’d requested to only be assigned to them if it was a last resort. Shockingly, Legion had obliged her. It seemed it was time to break that streak.

But she imagined they’d start her out with something small, quiet. Literally anything but an assassination.

She had to tread carefully, moving forward. Everyone was on edge. “All due respect,” she said slowly, “but perhaps this is a job better suited for someone not just cleared to re-enter the field.”

“We don’t have the time to call in another Named Agent to an area already occupied by one.” A beat passed during which Ward rubbed his chin. “I expected more enthusiasm from you about being put on a job.”

“I am honored by the panel’s show of trust in giving me an assignment with such a high degree of urgency.” Kerri looked down at the photograph inside the cover of the folder. Her target’s smile was so broad, so unlike the headshots from her previous assassinations which contained scowls and frowns. She looked, shockingly, friendly. “But what has Charlotte Moore done to earn a hit from us?”

Indeed, there was nothing in the file indicating that Charlotte had done anything so abhorrent that it warranted Legion’s attention. Her criminal record included little more than a few cases of petty theft and arson. Since when did they concern themselves with such relatively minuscule matters?

“Everything you need to complete your mission is in that file,” said Director Ward. “Can you show us that you can do your job?”

Although rare, it was not unheard of for agents to turn down assassinations. Kerri was a living, breathing example of that. Her jobs, which tended to focus on protecting life rather than ending it made her more likely than the average operative to do so. It was an interesting thing to be said of someone who worked for a company willing to kill others in the name of world peace.

And she might have said no, were it not for her audience. There simply was not enough information in the file for Kerri to accept a job with such heavy ramifications in good conscience. She was already on such thin ice as it was, she wasn’t willing to take the risk of saying no when tensions already ran so high.

Kerri’s eyes snapped up to Ward’s as she bit back, “Of course I can.”

As if sensing her discomfort, Director Shaw said, “Understand that all we are asking, Agent Foxtrot, is that you complete the assignment as it has been given, and there will not be an issue.”

Kerri’s fingers clenched around the lectern so hard her knuckles hurt. “An issue with what?”

“Given your acts of impotence in the field over the past half decade, Alpha has decided that it is in Legion’s best interest to move up your re-evaluation concerning your standing as a Named Agent.”

Terror wrapped its icy claws around Kerri’s chest and clenched, driving the air from her lungs. Every five years, Named Agents were put through a series of evaluations and assessments as a means of checking their skills and overall functioning. The results were used to make a recommendation concerning whether that agent was in good enough standing to continue serving in such a demanding, high profile capacity. Really, it was just a fancy way of saying “are they fit enough and sane enough”. Kerri’s evaluation, which had been scheduled for the end of this year, had hardly crossed her mind, until now.

At her silence, Shaw added, “Consider this a test run.” His tone was not warm. “Complete your mission with no infractions, and we will consider moving forward with considering you for a renewal of your credentials. If you fail, you will be immediately discharged.”

The world stopped spinning beneath Kerri’s feet. Gripping the lectern for support, she looked at each member of the panel. Nothing in their faces, their posture, indicated that they were being facetious. She actively struggled to maintain straight, untangled breathing—her mouth and through suddenly bone-dry.

After all she had done. All she had given to these people, this organization, this was what it came to?

A new voice, this one female, spoke up, calling Kerri’s spirit back into her body, “Perhaps this is a consequence we should reconsider, Director Shaw.”

“You have something you would like to add, Director Frost?”

Director Rachelle Frost straightened, pursing her plump lips into a line. She glared at Director Shaw with eyes so dark they seemed black. “I had the privilege of overseeing Agent Foxtrot’s training in my facility. She was one of my youngest and fastest graduates. She has done more than enough to earn her title.”

“It’s no question whether she earned her title,” said Kim. “That is separate from being worthy of keeping it.”

“Losing her would be a detriment Legion. I would recommend that the panel considers a customary demotion.”

Shaw said, “The order came directly from Alpha; she did not ask for the panel’s input on the matter. Agent Foxtrot has become too much of a liability to consider keeping her around, even in a smaller capacity. Our job as a panel is simply to pass the motion.”

Kerri pushed her hands into the podium, exerting as much pent up energy as she could without physically leaning into it. Doing so would only call more attention to her. Her lungs suddenly felt too small for her chest, and her breath came out in short, patchy puffs. Charlotte Moore’s face stared back up at her, her green eyes seeming to pierce into her as if she stood there in the flesh. Kerri swallowed when she felt her breakfast crawl back up her throat.

“All in favor, say aye.”

A chorus of ayes filled the empty space, punctuated by a single nay. As the echo faded from the chamber, Kerri felt she was truly in danger of emptying her stomach onto the floor.

“The motion passes,” said Director Shaw, flat. “Do you understand your task, Agent Foxtrot?”

With trembling hands, Kerri flipped the folder shut. Though it covered Moore’s face, she still felt her eyes burning into her through the thick cardstock. She hoped the podium covered her movements well enough to conceal that small detail. Her voice felt oddly detached from her body when she said, “I understand.”

“Best work on getting the color back into your face, Agent,” said Ward without a shred of sympathy. “If you’re serious about keeping your job, you’re going to have to watch her die.”

Despite her best efforts, she could not muster the strength to look away from her handler’s face. She locked her knees, pleading with her body to stop shaking.

“We want a confirmed kill in seventy-two hours. Get it done.”

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[itsuki-minamy]

BEFORE ZERO: CHAPTER 1 "SHIDEN ISSEN" (SWORD FLASH)

Translation: Naru-kun Raws: Ridia

The main forces were on the brink of destruction.

The "Scepter 4" Mobile Task Force, which was urgently dispatched to deal with a person with superpowers, was overwhelmed by the enemy, causing a large number of casualties, forcing the defense.

A personnel transport vehicle rushing to receive a site report is equipped with a late-arrival booster unit, along with "Scepter 4" deputy director Shiotsu Gen.

"How many people are there, Shiotsu?"

Gouki Zenjo, one of the reinforcements, asked from the back seat to the front passenger seat.

Shiotsu replied briefly while receiving the status report from the communication device.

"One person. Hiragi."

"It is not a matter of counting. He is a tough opponent."

Zenjo entrusted his weight to the handle of a Strain control saber. The registered name is "Hekireki”. The specially made blade is long, thick and heavy. It is a substitute that cannot be handled without extraordinary physique and sound power.

"…Interesting."

Zenjo laughs like a beast sharpening his fangs.

"It's not boring."

A member sitting next to him snorted. He is small as a child, but there is no point in drawing on the scale of writing. It is an irreverent attitude.

"You're going to clean up by yourself. Would you like to go?"

A small hand struck the head of his saber. The name of the saber was "Shiden", a special product made from the same material as Zenjo's "Hekireki".

++++++++++

The arrival site had become a mountain of lame tiles.

Three five-story buildings in a downtown area have been completely burned down, one of which has completely collapsed. Additionally, firefighting activities have not been conducted against flames that spread to surrounding buildings. You cannot approach the scene. For a single man who is on the scene.

A man in a black suit sits on a rugged black rock shore against a thick black smoke background.

Eyes bright as a bonfire, he looks around.

"Purgatory" Executive Officer Hiragi Toma.

The red clan, "Purgatory", that even lower-class clan members are comparable in destructive power to other clan executives. Hiragi is the executive, and the current rank is number 3 after the "Red King" and his lieutenant.

He was one of the strongest infidels on earth, except for the "Seven Kings", who had non-standard powers.

His power is individual and equal to a group of combat units. Even if it is "Scepter 4", which is an expert group in different battles, he is not an opponent that can be easily suppressed.

In fact, Hiragi's girth had already been painted with multiple deaths.

The number of ordinary people involved in the structure that quickly collapsed in flames is unknown. Most of them are burned bodies whose identity is difficult to identify.

Some of the bodies that fell around could be identified from the unburned clothing. The guards, general police officers, firefighters who responded to the scene, and the two bodies lying to the left and right of Hiragi were members of "Scepter 4".

Three on the "right" and three on the "left". An unsheathed saber stands out from each back.

A Strain control saber stolen from deceased members pierces the bodies and is deeply nailed to the ground.

The death of the civilian population to be protected and the death of the companions of "Scepter 4" were expected when they arrived. However, what they actually see is a horrible scene that exceeded their expectations.

"…Regrettable."

The moment Shiotsu coughed after seeing the state of the scene.

The reinforcement unit was replacing the injured members. There were some who leapt out of the formation like arrows.

"Scepter 4", Gouki Zenjo, Head of the Mobile Operations Division.

There was anger in his eyes, a smile on his mouth, and the expression of a ferocious beast. The extraordinary blue light flashed on his saber and the muscles of his entire body, turning the body into a meteorite running across the ground.

Zenjo approached Hiragi at a speed that far surpassed ordinary people and nullified the common sense of Strain people. Kick the ground in a low position and use a long saber in the back. The fiery villain and black robes are ready to be cut as he goes.

Hiragi was waiting for him. The moment to burn the lost life. One of the few men in "Scepter 4" that is unimaginable.

"Come on, Zenjo... Demon Zenjo!"

When Hiragi got up and shouted his name, the flame went out from the upper half of the body, burning the suit from the inside. Shoulders, chest, arms and back. A Japanese carving tattoo that was carved on the body when Hiragi became a member of the "Red King" clan and belonged to an antisocial organization. All of them have become wide area burners and put out high temperature and high pressure flames.

Hiragi, who became a human torch, grabbed the sabers caught in the left and right bodies at random. One on the right and one on the left. If he holds both swords with both hands, he will put more effort into the hand holding the handle.

The flames that inhabited the body traveled through the left and right arms and towards the blade of the saber. The condensed power of red talent burns the saber blade, which is the medium of talent, to make it glow red and then more incandescent.

In the end, he waves the saber and throw it away. Right and left. The two blades that have become high heat arrows of light reach Zenjo's body as if sucked.

Zenjo avoided a sword with a slight movement, and struck another unavoidable with his own sword.

But…

The difference between the blade that was thrown in full force and the blade that swayed while running, and the difference in posture, was the difference in power.

He lightly defeated the incandescent blade, and Zenjo's blade shook. The swing of the blade became a swing of posture, and Zenjo's momentum was slightly dull.

Hiragi has already pulled out the next two swords from the left and right bodies and is holding them. It is slightly faster for Hiragi to hit the incandescent blade than Zenjo to reposition.

"I have you, Zenjo!"

At the moment when he stalks...

A small shadow like a child emerged from the shadow of the handsome giant. It appeared in front of Hiragi's eyes, to jump over Zenjo's head. As he twists his entire body hard, use a long blue lightsaber.

"Scepter 4" Mobile Task Force, Akio Minato.

"No!"

In the end, the remaining left blade slammed shut.

Zenjo's sword, which fell into the middle, stopped it.

Thus, for a moment, the situation changed...

A flash of sword spins in midair blowing Hiragi's neck.

Aki fell to the ground, leaving the momentum of haste and lateral rotation, and rolled.

A tall parabola was drawn, and the Hiragi's neck fell a few meters away.

Akio stood up as Zenjo approached his neck and lifted him up. The long Shiden encased in the rear sheath and hitting the hips ending looks like an armed boy. Although she is such a small soldier, the young girl in front of Zenjo, tense and with her arms crossed, she is tough and arrogant.

"It was dangerous, Zenjo. If you weren't there, I would have died."

"No, it was dangerous."

Zenjo, who was inspecting Hiragi's neck, looked up.

"Without me, you would have two parts."

"That is the same as you."

"No, no. Hiragi is a strong enemy, but if you give me a hand, I win. I was the one in danger."

"Don't say regret."

"Right."

He does not resign before Zenjo. In fact, when it comes to combat and fencing, the declaration of good faith is always accurate and there is no exaggeration or fantasy.

But Akio is also bad. Looking back, it seems unsatisfactory.

"What's wrong, Brother Gen?"

"He is the "Deputy Chief", Shiotsu."

Shiotsu, who ran from behind, stopped in front of Akio.

"The "Brother Gen" on the scene."

Ignoring the astringent face, Akio continues speaking.

"That neck is my credit, right?"

Shiotsu replied, deepening the wrinkles between his eyebrows.

"Instead of credit, they're both punitive. Don't be arrogant."

"No, it is bad."

Akio pointed to the tip of Zenjo this time.

"This guy suddenly jumped, so I went into the next one."

"Is no different."

Zenjo argues.

"He just jumped off me. I helped him."

"Both of us. They both have behavioral problems. We will eliminate them later. Return to the transport vehicle."

"But brother Gen."

Extinction and rescue work has begun around the site of the fire. In addition, the work of containment of the remains.

Akio said, looking around at the terrible situation and pointing at the neck held by Zenjo.

"Hiragi from 'Purgatory'. It was really dangerous. If I hadn't acted immediately, there would have been more people killed."

Zenjo nodded with a serious look.

"That's right, Brother Gen."

"Stop calling me "Brother Gen". I have no reason to be called that way.”

Shiotsu said to Zenjo.

"And don't walk around with his neck. Put it in the bag."

"Hm? Ah.”

"Wait in the vehicle!"

To briefly tell the two of them, Shiotsu escaped to instruct on-site personnel and related organizations.

Zenjo and Akio stayed behind. Standing next to each other, they looks like an adult and a child wearing the same saber. Not "like father and son". Two children, a giant and a short young woman.

After a few seconds, Akio said to Zenjo.

"Zenjo. Did you intend to take it to Commander Habari?"

"Hmm? ...Oh, yes. That may be true."

"So you're going to have the commander praise you? You're like a dog."

"Hey, I'm not a dog."

"You're a dog. You are a stupid dog.”

Leaving Zenjo with his neck in his right hand, Akio started to walk towards the transport vehicle.

++++++++++

"It's a dog. It looks like it was a vivid trick."

Two hours later, “Scepter 4” Headquarters, the Principal's office.

When he saw Shiotsu's face at the report, the "Blue King", Habari Jin said with a bitter smile.

"After all, it was the right answer to have partnered with Zenjo."

"Which is the right answer."

Shiotsu does not try to hide the astringent face.

“It is like having two Zenjos. If you don't tighten the reins anymore, eventually you will have a fatal accident.”

"The situation is already deadly."

With a smile on the edge of his mouth, Habari said.

"As far as I know, today's deceased and missing people are estimated to have more than fifty names."

"Six of them are members of my "Scepter 4" Mobile Task Force. If I had tried to control Hiragi with normal tactics, the damage would have multiplied.”

"So is..."

Shiotsu frowned. The wrinkles between the eyebrows get a little deeper.

"Zenjo is correct."

"People with powers are treated by people with powers. That is the importance of the existence of" Scepter 4 "as a security organization. If the Strain is out of the standard, non-standard personnel need to be reapplied."

"Then it is a matter of luck. We are not in a good position to bet while betting on the security organization. This time we were lucky, but if we repeat this many times, it will eventually become serious. It will cause a collapse."

"It is my role as the 'King of Order' to find an opportunity in chaos... but Shiotsu. You are right. I want to reduce the frequency of tremors."

"What does that mean?"

Habari often makes such innocent speeches, but Shiotsu decides to listen honestly each time. Also for this man, it may be necessary to have some kind of reins, he has that thought.

Breathe softly and look out the window, Habari said.

"The reason the fugitive Hiragi Toma appears to be an overreaction to the general questions of police work. It is not the reason. Just like the smell of sake the other day, the wind blew up a bomb on the road and that's it.”

Got distracted? No, that is not the case. Shiotsu responds without breaking his solid stance.

"Oh, there's no reason for their sabotage. We need to be more vigilant about it."

“This is the same as saying nothing. But from a public point of view, we can only say it.”

Habari continues speaking, shaking his feet.

"No matter how vigilant you are, it may not be enough. It is not just Hiragi. They, the members of the red clan, are a swarm of live bombs. This situation continues and the tragedy repeats until a clan called "Purgatory" is dismantled and all its members are under proper control.”

"Hm, that is... but it would not be possible to crush "Purgatory". It is that man who is on top of them."

"The "Red King" Kagutsu Genji."

Perhaps to his dismay, when Habari spoke his name, he felt that the temperature in the room had slightly increased.

As usual, Habari keeps his face cold, cuts out words, and listens to Shiotsu's expression.

But Shiotsu said, feeling the sweat on his forehead.

"What do you mean, Habari?"

"Today's case is considered an important touchstone. We will discuss the new formation and operation of combat units and their effects."

"Stop saying things that you carry with you. Say it clearly."

Even in Shiotsu, the answer has already come out. However, he cannot be convinced until it is clearly said from the mouth of the Blue King himself.

With wrinkles between his eyebrows, Shiotsu looked at the Lord.

"That's…"

Habari smiled radiantly, with a cold look from his murderous gaze.

"That is, there is a rule to kill Kagutsu."

(To be continue…)

[needtherapy]

soaring, carried aloft on the wind...continued 5

A story for Xichen and Mingjue, in another time and another place.

The Beifeng, the mighty empire of the north, invaded more than a year ago, moving inexorably south and east.

In order to buy peace, the chief of the Lan clan has given the Beifeng warlord a gift, his second oldest son in marriage. However, when Xichen finds out he makes a plan.

He, too, can give a gift to the Beifeng warlord, and he will not regret it.

The story continues...

Part 1: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / …  HOME

It’s on AO3 here if that’s easier to read. 

NOTES: This story starts out G but will eventually be E for Explicit.

For translations of the entirely fictitious Beifeng language, you’ll have to scroll to notes. I’m only going to translate something that’s not clear in the text. Sadly, there’s just not any other good way to do it on Tumblr! 

Chapter 5

Xichen has no idea what he’s supposed to do with himself. The guards outside his door make him believe he is not free to leave the tent. He considers unpacking his things, but as soon as he opens the trunk with his clothes, he panics and slams it shut. It feels like an acknowledgement that this is his life now. This tent, this language, these people are the rest of his life, and he can’t bear it.

So he plays the guqin, which is a fine instrument. The music soothes him, and he considers shifting to a song of power. Would it work to play Silence or Rest? Could he send enough of these barbarians into sleep to escape? He dismisses the thought. Even if he could, it would risk the treaty the warlord has already agreed to and maybe even endanger his brother’s life. He has chosen this, he reminds himself.

Hours pass, and the darkness in the tent deepens. His nerves jangle, and Xichen wishes he had at least played Tranquility. Huaisang did not elaborate on whether this tent was meant for him alone or whether he would be sharing it with the warlord, but Xichen is aware that he is a bride, of sorts, and he expects that sooner or later, the man is going to demand that Xichen fulfill their treaty. The thought makes Xichen lightheaded and his fingers stumble across the guqin strings before he can compose himself.

It is finally too dark to continue playing, and Xichen rummages through his trunks to find candles. He lights them with a touch of magic, one thing he has not lost, at least.

“Et orodit eko doro eta aranakeram,” a deep voice says from behind him, the sounds of the unfamiliar language harsh in his ears, and Xichen nearly drops the candle he is holding.

“Elder Brother says you look beautiful in candlelight,” Huaisang translates, flushing and shooting the warlord an aggrieved glare that tells Xichen they must be brothers indeed.

Xichen reddens too. He lowers the candle so it isn’t as obvious, but the grin on the man’s face says he wasn’t fast enough.

“Edi eta dikani eko? Da adi eidar eko em outam?”

“Elder Brother would like to know if you are hungry, and if you would join us for dinner,” Huaisang says. “Also,” he adds, “There are lights.”

The boy draws a pattern in the air with two fingers. Crooking them at the second joint, he pulls a kind of darkness from the air and flicks it toward the roof of the tent. Tiny golden globes illuminate around the perimeter of the tent and into the apex, almost as bright and welcoming as sunlight. It looks completely different from his own power, and Xichen is fascinated by the novelty before he remembers Huaisang’s question.

It’s not much of a choice. He hasn’t eaten since before he arrived this morning.

“Yes,” he says, forcing a smile. He chose this, he chose this, he chose this, he tells himself savagely, over and over and over. Eventually, maybe, it will be enough.

The food is richer and spicier than he is used to but not inedible, although the tea is atrocious—too dark and too pungent—and Xichen can barely keep it down as he listens to Huaisang. The warlord is surprisingly talkative, asking Xichen about the music he had been playing earlier, whether he needs anything for his comfort, his opinion of the art that decorates the tent, even about the local plants and animals. He very carefully avoids asking anything personal or anything about Cloud Recesses, and Xichen can’t decide if it’s strategy or kindness. 

It is strange to eat this way, answering questions and waiting for a translation. But, Xichen supposes, it’s no more strange than talking over dinner, which is forbidden in his home, or talking this much at all. He’s never used words excessively. The Cloud Recesses is a quiet place, and his brother is a quiet person, so their words were selected judiciously and sparingly.

“Thank you for allowing us to join you,” Huaisang says at the end of the meal. “Elder Brother asks if you will play the guqin?”

The warlord interjects, watching Xichen’s expression closely. “Odero ti mau odinga. Odero di he ti roka em ateipa.”

“Elder Brother says you may call him Mingjue if you wish. And you don’t have to play the guqin if you don’t want to.”

Xichen doubts that very much, but he nods serenely and returns to the guqin. It occurs to him that it very likely belonged to someone else recently, perhaps a resident of Qinghe or Ouyang. His stomach roils and threatens to spill the dinner he just ate, but he steels himself. He is not a squeamish child. His clan has taken spoils of conflict as well, and it is no more or less noble, even if the scale is different.

He plays for a few minutes before he looks up. Huaisang is gone. The warlord is sitting across from him, legs folded and arms crossed. When they had met earlier, he had been wearing the full leather armor of a man used to sitting a horse—thin and flexible, reinforced around the chest and thighs. His nearly black hair had been pulled back, a tight cap of what had looked like braids. Now, Xichen can see that they are indeed tiny braids, dozens of them twisted into thicker plaits and loosely arranged on the back of the warlord’s head. He is wearing black wide-legged pants and a deep blue tunic with an open jacket woven in vibrant shades of red and yellow. For Xichen, who never wears fewer than five robes, it is scandalously little clothing, and he can see the outline of the muscle on the warlord’s chest when he inhales. Xichen glances away, but he makes the mistake of looking at the man’s face.

The warlord is watching Xichen with that same flickering smile, there and gone before Xichen can properly verify its kind. His relaxation, and perhaps the lack of armor, makes Xichen realize he’s not as old as he looked earlier. His skin is the rich color of aged tea, whether natural or from the sun, Xichen can’t tell. A stray thought—you will find out eventually—makes his breathing stutter. With a flare of exasperation at himself, Xichen acknowledges that yes, the man is handsome, but it should make no difference to his behavior. He is cool water. He is a quiet breeze. He looks back down at the safety of the guqin.

He doesn’t hear the warlord get up—how can such a big man move so quietly—until his fingers touch the edge of Xichen’s long hair.

“Soft,” he murmurs, and Xichen jumps, knocking the guqin to the floor and scooting to escape his surprise.

His heart is pounding, and he stammers, “You...you speak my...my language?” It feels like a betrayal.

The warlord’s mouth quirks in what is definitely a wry and apologetic smile. He holds up a hand, an entreaty for Xichen not to move, and kneels forward. He runs his fingers through Xichen’s hair again, holding up a lock of it. This close, Xichen can see that his eyes aren’t the pitch black wells they had seemed, but a deep brown, like the color of rich earth after the rain, with flecks of gold near the pupils. They tip up at the corners, making him look curious. Or perhaps he merely is curious.

“Soft,” he repeats. 

Xichen is paralyzed.

The warlord brushes the back of his hand against Xichen’s cheek. “Soft.”

He touches his thumb to Xichen’s mouth. “Soft.”

This time, Xichen knows enough to expect the kiss. The warlord slides both hands behind Xichen’s head to pull him forward, but instead of Xichen’s mouth, he kisses his forehead, just below the band of silk that every member of Xichen’s family wears until their marriage. If this had been a contract with one of his people, or even another clan, Xichen would have removed the ribbon on his wedding night, but he is not certain of the protocol in this situation and anyway, the warlord can’t possibly understand its significance.

The man is motionless, not pulling away, not moving closer, but his breathing shifts, deepening, perhaps less regular than it had been before. Slivers of ice glide down Xichen’s spine. Warm breath tickles the space between his eyes, and the warlord seems on the cusp of a decision.

And then he kisses Xichen’s mouth. He isn’t cruel, but he isn’t chaste either, angling his lips against Xichen’s and pressing into him. He catches Xichen’s lower lip in his and tugs. It feels like a rope tied directly to his groin, and the sensation almost makes Xichen moan; he only barely stops himself before the sound escapes. The warlord’s long, straight nose drags against Xichen’s, a silent demand, and his tongue flicks across the line of Xichen’s lips. Xichen’s mouth drops open, either from surprise or desire, and he can’t hold back the muted groan at the feeling, the unbelievable fire, of the man’s tongue touching his. He leans forward, closing his eyes, willing to accept this duty, but with a soft sigh of resignation, the warlord releases him.

They stare at each other, the warlord’s eyes searching Xichen’s, and for once, Xichen has no idea what expression is on his face. The man raises an eyebrow. Asking permission? Critiquing his performance? Xichen doesn’t know. He hadn’t asked permission before, but either way, it seems safe to smile, so he does. Whatever the warlord had been asking, Xichen seems to have given an acceptable answer. The man smiles back, and Xichen is stunned, absolutely stupefied, by the way it transforms his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes and carving deep dimples into his cheeks.

“Da iko auha oriho,” he says before he leaves, and although Xichen has no idea what he’s said, it doesn’t really matter. (1)

He curses some ingrained notion of courtesy that won’t allow him to keep calling a man he’s kissed “the warlord” anymore.

Fine.

Huaisang had said his name was Mingjue. Xichen could say his name. 

It was only a word.

Mingjue.

Translation Notes

(1)  Da iko auha oriho. / I will return tomorrow.

[loveafterthefact]

Love After the Fact Chapter 48: The Mental Kind of Growth

Keith and Lance practice their skills as warriors, rulers, and a couple.

First  Previous  Next

It's been a phoeb and a half, and Lance’s sparring has improved dramatically. From one strike, to two, and onward into minutes, into technique, into refinement, Keith's amazed at his progress.

He’s come to move, if not entirely with confidence, then with enough grace to convince otherwise. The natural poise that carries him through the halls of the castle has transferred well into a mixed swordsman style, taking influence from the Alteans’ refinery and the Galra’s tenacity.

It suits Lance well, Keith thinks, the combination of dignity and violence. It fits the burn in his blue eyes whenever he draws his sword. He wonders what his husband thinks of to make his eyes blaze like that. He’s not certain he wants to know. He is certain he wants to see how Lance handles combat with his bow, but Lance has yet to bring it to training.

“Well done,” Keith murmurs, softly smiling. They’re keeping their budding romance behind closed doors for now. Keith supposes it’s because Lance is afraid to make fuss in case he doesn’t meet the Altean’s expectations. He certainly doesn’t live up to Lance’s typical opulence, decked out in jewels and gold ornaments for breakfast and new ones for lunch. Keith’s style is far more… holistic.

“Thank you.” The Altean’s skin glitters with perspiration, chest rising, straining against his stiff clothes.

Keith reaches out, undoes the clasps of Lance’s delicately embroidered vest, listens to the great breath Lance takes in. “We need to find you something better to train in. Armor or something. I won’t have the Crown Prince of Altea fainting on us.”

“I have ceremonial armor, but it’s heavier than the clothes we had for the frost ball. Heavier than my wedding clothes!” Lance beams goodnaturedly despite the obvious strain on his body.

“Still.” Keith makes to inspect the Altean’s fingernails for some indication of oxygen intake, but they’re painted blue. His gaze roves over his face instead, over cheeks flushed beneath scales and paling skin around his lips. “I don’t like you training in these clothes. It’s fine if you're just doing a few forms here and there, but now? It’s not healthy. No more until you get something suitable.”

“Always so confident when you’re on the training field.” Lance leaves his vest open, gives a cocky spin of his sword to match the crooked smile on his face. “I quite hope to see more of it.”

“Shut up and swing your sword,” Keith growls, extending his own blade. They meet in a flurry of sparks, Keith’s platoon pausing to watch as the first strike of a new round rings out across the yard. Keith leaps back, turning to his soldiers. “Did I tell any of you you were done for the day?”

“No, but watching you flirt is more interesting.”

“Extra lap, Ryan. Gods forbid I flirt with my own husband.”

“Disgusting, Prince Yorak. Shameful, unprofessional behavior.” Lance leans on the point of his sword, squealing, flailing as it gives way beneath him.

Keith drops his ears, letting his tail swish across the floor, feigning unamusement. “Shameful behavior, eh? You would be the expert.”

The soldiers laugh.

“Expert in fun, you mean. Don’t worry. You’ll learn soon enough.” Lance gives an exaggerated wink, and Keith just groans, rolls his eyes. The soldiers laugh some more. They’re easily charmed by the geniality of the crown prince, the familiarity between their future kings.

It’s grown easier, being together. Keith feels at ease with Lance, with his place in the castle. Lance has begun to ask him if he’ll be coming to meals, to court, to some meeting or tea or another, always looking hopeful, always looking at him with eyes made of moons.

It makes Keith feel so light he might float away.

Sitting through court makes him feel the exact opposite. Listening to Ladies Seran and Renli prattle and scream about the latest slight against their children for some doboshes strains his patience and his ears, finally forcing him to close his eyes, tipping his head back against his throne.

Lance attempts to coax the ladies out of their fury, citing his spouse’s sensitive ears, but his errant concern for someone other than them sends the women into renewed screaming. The constant assault on one of his most delicate sensory organs has Keith’s head and ears pulsing. Eventually, his patience evaporates.

“Ladies, enough!” Lance does nothing to stop Keith as he rises to his feet. “Do you know what sort of complaints I would be hearing back on my home planet? Kits without parents and parents whose kits have died. On my home planet, kits starve or have been killed by your soldiers, and yet you stand here and scream because a vendor refused to hand over their wares to your kits for free? You are both perfectly well, as are your… well-accommodated kits. Be grateful for your blessings and be on your way!”

“HOW DARE-”

“Leave now, or the guards will show you out.” Keith throws himself back into his chair with a groan, massaging at the fronts of his ears, jostling his new circlet. “And do learn how to project your voice as opposed to shrieking. My poor ears…”

Lance merely bites his lip against a laugh, taking a moment to compose himself while the furious women are shown away. Once they are gone, he clears his throat. “Thank you, beloved. I’m very sorry about your ears. Now then, who’s next?”

“I am, your Majesties.” An older Altean, older than the kings, marches up to the edge of the dais. Oddly enough, Lance realizes, he rarely sees people of this man’s status here: those of the lower classes, the farmers, the smiths, miners, the people the court don’t wish to look at.

Keith envies the old man’s clothes, the way they’re loose except at the waist, which is cinched with a wide belt. He’s missed clothes like those. They make him think of home. Glancing around, no one seems to share his interest, all muttering, some frowning at the dusty prints on the pale blue carpet.

“And how may we be of service to you, sir?” Lance asks. Keith sighs with relief at the smile in his spouse’s voice. The elder man draws himself up, proud, dignified, important. It’s immediately evident that this man is someone of importance where he comes from.

“Your Majesties, I must tell you the road between the city and my commune is quite damaged, and our vessels cannot travel into the city to deliver our crops. They rot in the fields!”

“Damaged?” Lance raises an eyebrow, frowning. “Then why has it not been fixed?”

“It is the King’s Road, your Majesties, and thus my commune does not have jurisdiction. I was not even permitted to acquire the necessary materials.

“I have inquired as to the road a decaphoeb ago now, and it still has not been fixed. I understand your Majesties are very busy, but my commune… We have no way of transporting our goods. My people are suffering, your Majesties. They are relying on me to rectify this problem.”

“Wait. You’re telling me that you came here once before seeking help and were turned away?” Keith asks.

“No, your Majesty. I was assured that the roads would be fixed. But they haven’t been, and my people are struggling to get by. Our resources have been depleted. The last of our coin went toward the royal taxes, coin we need for clothes and supplementary foods. We will soon have no choice but to take to poaching.”

Lance’s frown deepens at the thought of his people scraping their resources together to pay taxes to a Crown that failed them. He turns his gaze to Adam, who searches through his datapad. “There is no record of the headman’s request, your Majesty. It must have been lost.”

“Not good enough,” Keith declares. “What is your name, headman?”

“Riel, your Majesty. Headman of Commune Larsemik.”

“Headman Riel, my husband and I apologize for the disservice done to your commune, and we humbly ask your forgiveness. Workers will be dispatched promptly to repair the King’s Road. In the meantime, please speak to Adam regarding your losses due to the Crown’s error. You will be compensated, both in money and material. Feel free to be a bit… hyperbolic.”

Lance cuts in where Keith drops off. “Furthermore, if you would do me a service, in return?”

“Of course, your Majesties. It would be my pleasure.”

His response makes Keith sick. The man genuinely means it.

“Stay, if you can, until this evening. Prince Yorak and I rarely hear from the lowlands, and we understand the journey is a long and treacherous one. Still, your commune and those of your fellows are valuable, and the people in them are as valuable as any here. If you would stay, we would hear of our brethren and their well-being, and see if there might be some way that communication from the lowlands might be made more feasible for both of us.”

Riel regards them both for a moment, then nods his head. “I thank you, your Majesties. I would be happy to stay.”

“It is we who thank you, Headman Riel.” As he speaks, Keith takes Lance’s hand. He imagines that to this old farmer, they seem beautiful, untouchable, all-powerful. It’s all a matter of perception. “It is a duty, a pleasure, and an honor.”

Speaking to Riel proves invaluable. As it turns out, he is sort of the headmen’s headman, and knows practically everything that happens in the communes skirting their mountain kingdom. He’s happy, too, to teach the princes. He doesn’t even bat an eye at Keith, who still receives his fair share of odd glances and side-comments on the daily.

Lance learns that, thanks to his new tax system, certain communes will be able to afford much-needed equipment or more seeds for a larger harvest. Some communes would still benefit from subsidies. Riel’s commune would gladly host the princes should they wish to visit the lowlands during planting or harvesting season. And-

“These days, we find ourselves shorthanded.” Riel sighs. “Not dangerously so, but just enough to notice. Still, we must produce the same or greater harvests as commerce goes to the stars. There are fewer of us, your Majesties, and no way to fill out our numbers.”

“It is the same everywhere, my friend. There are just enough empty homes, empty stores, and empty chairs to feel an absence.” Lance smiles, a little small, very sad. “I may raise our child limit very slightly. Just to one-point-five-to-one. It will take time for our population to recover, but we cannot be allowed to grow beyond our means.”

“Well,” Riel rises to his feet. “I am glad to know that the future of our planet rests in capable hands. You are both well on your way to being legendary leaders.”

“Thank you,” Keith says, rising also. “That means a lot, coming from one such as you. We look forward to seeing your commune, and I look forward to seeing the lowlands.”

“Agreed.” Lance shakes Riel’s hand. Keith’s surprised when the old Altean grips his arm instead.

“Good to meet a Galra under these circumstances. Ancients know I got tired of killing you.”

Keith laughs. “We got tired of killing you, too. I’m glad we’ve move forward after all this time.”

“As am I, your Majesty.”

"Are you sure you won't stay? It will be quite late by the time you arrive at your commune." Lance smiles, much like he already knows the answer.

"I cannot, your Majesty. My son and his wife did not survive the war, and my grandchildren will no doubt be waiting up to see me. Triplet girls, eight. I'll tell you something: fear the age of eight. They get mean, and they get sassy!"

Laughing, Lance slips his arm around Keith’s waist, smiles when his tail twists around his ankle. “Very well. You will find a shreika waiting for you by the gates. No need to return it. Consider it a gift. Also, there will be some dinner for you in the saddlebag.”

Headman Riel bows as he exits, leaving the princes alone. Lance’s cordial smile fades, replaced by the usual post-court exhaustion and some deeper troubles.

“Lance? You don’t seriously think Alfor would disregard a headman’s request, do you?”

“N- No, of course not. He wouldn’t do that.” Lance sighs, smiling. He takes the time to give his spouse a kiss. “My father is a lot of things, but needlessly cruel isn’t one of them. All the same, I hate that it happened. Come on. You’ve been quite hungry lately. We should get you something to eat.”

Keith heaves a shaky breath, thinking of everything coming his way. It’ll be good, he knows, full of new discoveries and experiences. But first? Dinner.

“Are you gonna join us, beloved, or do you want to go back to our rooms?”

“I’ll join you.” Lacing their hands together, Keith leads the way out of the sitting room. Lance grins, more than happy to follow. “After dinner, I’d like to research more about the lowland communes. I was able to follow along alright, but I’d like to know more.”

“As would I, truth be told. We’ll grab some tablets and head back to our rooms. Maybe Adam will join us. Hunk and Pidge might, too. We can all do a work night together.”

“Sounds good. I can keep arguing with them about whose kits will be more useful.”

“They’re only arguing about usefulness because they know ours will be the cutest.”

“Oh, absolutely. No contest. Except maybe Allura and Lotor’s baby.”

“Pfft, they wish. Hello, Dad! Hello, Father!” Lance dances his way into the dining room.

“Hello, Lance!” Coran smiles. “And hello, Keith! How are you boys doing today?”

“Pretty good.” Keith settled in front of his plate. There was noticeably more food on it than usual. “Lance, would it kill you to accept the boundaries of normal people who can’t slip inside my skin and find out all of my biological secrets?”

“Were you going to ask for more food?”

Glaring at his spouse, Keith shoves a spoonful of beans into his mouth, flicks another spoonful at Lance’s face. “That’s my business.”

“Rude!” Lance pulls back his own spoon, eager to retaliate-

“Lance…”

Leave it to Coran to be the one who cares about table manners. But underneath the table, Keith squeezes his hand. The smile on his face promises they can goof around later.

Then Keith stomps on his foot with a snicker. Unbelievable.

[ofxwordsxandxletters]

Giving Aid

Series: Wynonna Earp

Disclaimer: The pairing is mine and the plot is “requested” while the rest is borrowed in this work of fan-made fiction off of which no money is made.

Pairing: Hollirey

Rating: PG-16

Because everyone agrees that Doc chained to a stripper-pole is something...there is this. There will be a far more explicit sequel in the future...so stay tuned. 

*~*~*~*~*

He needed to stop getting himself into these situations. Clearly. Gritting his teeth and jerking again has the same result as the last fourteen tries; doing absolutely nothing about his current state. “Goddammit,” he grits out, “This is embarrassing and I am not doin’ this again. What is it with these goddamn stripper poles?!”

Doc Holliday could live without this sort of embarrassment. And who had one of these in their own home?! Several more fruitless attempts leave him hissing through clenched teeth and getting very, very prickly about the whole situation.Of course the sound of a door opening from a different room isn’t as comforting as it should be and he tenses almost immediately.

And it’s not long before light falls as the door opens before there’s a familiar chuckle followed by, “My goodness, Henry, you just cannot seem to keep yourself out of trouble now can you?” 

“Bobo Del Rey,” he groans softly, “Is there any chance you could just get me off of this thing without making it an ordeal?” 

“I mean, I could,” the Revenant responds as he makes a show of walking around to face him before crouching down with an unsettlingly delighted smile, “But then I’d miss a chance at you bound like this and I don’t think I want to ignore such a tantalizing...opportunity as it were.”

Doc Holliday does not at all like the sound of this conversation. “I will remind you that we have a treaty in place and that…” 

“Spare me the threat of Wynonna Earp,” the male interrupts, still amused, “I am aware of how this works. I only negate that if I let harm before one of you. Embarrassment, however, is not on the list of punishable sins unfortunately for you, Henry. And I do so love the thought of making you squirm.”

Somehow, Doc is pretty sure it would have been less an ordeal had literally anyone else found him in this predicament which is why it had to be him didn’t it? He gives the male a baleful look before retorting, “Could you please just get me off of here.” 

“Oh, not to worry, I have every intention of doing so,” comes the reply before is added, “After I have some fun with this.”

Doc groans softly even though he knew that was coming. How could he not considering who Bobo Del Rey was? “Is there a way I can convince you not to?” 

“Let me think about that for a moment...Mmm, nope.” 

He sighs leaning back against the object with a huff. “Honestly, I don't know why I bothered askin’ that.” 

“Me, either,” Bobo agrees mildly, “Anything else you’d like to try at this point? Let me just preface this by saying no one else will be dropping in unexpectedly.” 

“They found the target then?” 

“Mmhmm, and I told Wynonna I’d find you.” 

“And she believed you?” 

He gives him a very dismaying smirk. “Why Henry, I am hurt that you don’t trust me to play nicely with my allies. Besides, Earp seems to think that I am, in fact, a man of my word. Minus the obvious threats with Peace Maker on what would happen if I didn’t or if something bad happened to you.” 

“Which still doesn’t answer as to why you won’t unbind me from here.” 

Fingers reach and lightly brush along his jaw and he flinches before he can get ahold of himself making the demon grin. “Oh, Henry,” comes the amused crooning tone, “It would be an absolute travesty were I to ignore such an appealing situation as this.”

“In other words, you are going to be an insufferable dick until you feel like letting me off of here,” he snaps, “Honestly, don’t you have better things to…” 

The feel of the male’s lips pressing hard against his takes him quite a bit off guard in all honesty and leaves him merely blinking at the other startled by the turn of events even as he realizes that he should not be. 

They’d been toe-ing the line of acceptable behavior with one another for a few weeks now; the tension almost unbearable in some ways as neither of them seemed to know if they wanted to tip the scales into territory that neither of them would come back from. It seemed like Bobo Del Rey was done considering the situation and had chosen to meet it head-on in his usual brash fashion. 

“Del Rey…” he starts unsure if he’s asking a question or warning the other. 

“Are you really getting cold feet now?” comes the teasing remark as the male leans closer letting his lips press lightly against his throat to nip at the skin, “We’ve been circling ever since you stumbled from the well into my part of Purgatory.” 

Doc groans as his eyes close and he can’t help tilting his head to the side. “Th-this...ain’t...quite…” 

“What you had in mind?” Bobo chuckles, “C’mon now, Henry, I’m a demon, remember? Besides, I think you like being at someone’s mercy.” A hand slides down to lightly palm him making him squirm slightly, “Ah huh, I’m right, too.”

“M-might I point out to the overly amorous demon that we are right now in someone’s basement and should not be doin’ this here.” 

Bobo chuckles softly. “Is that your only complaint? I did tell you no one was going to interrupt didn’t I? It’s not the crime scene or close to it. You got drug to one of their familiar’s houses and locked up for later. Honestly, I shouldn’t be too surprised at that considering how everyone responds to you these days.”

“Glad to know I’m still wanted as a snack,” he murmurs before another nip has his breathing hitching, “C’mon...that’s...really not fair.” 

“Neither am I.” The words are followed as the hand lightly groping him works it’s way into his pants making him arch and pant heavily. “Mm, there we go. Why don’t you relax and leave things to me?” 

Doc’s eyes flutter and he’s really torn between wanting to be angry and seeing how far the other was willing to take this. He isn’t sure he trusts him but knows that at least his agreement with Wynonna will get him out of here with his life and most of himself intact. His pride? Probably not but then when had that ever been something kept when it came to this particular demon? “D-doin’ somethin’ that monumentally stupid might kill a man, you do realize.” 

“In any other instance, you’re probably right but in this…” The look he levels is full of heat and intent, “...in this, what I want is you; naked and hot and willing for me.”

“And bound to a stripper pole,” he deadpans trying to ignore the flush coloring his skin.

“Oh, that’s just a very...fantastic coincidence. But I have to admit that you do look very appealing trussed up like this.”

“You just get off on someone at your mercy don’t you?”

Bobo grins devilishly. “Depends very much on the person, Henry.”

Doc just bets it does.

[springvaletales]

Nothing was a more welcome sight than the lights of a cozy tavern after a long day on the road.

Vashael shouldered open the door to the warm lights and bustling atmosphere, and sighed in quiet relief as he held it open for his friends. Naoka gave him a grateful smile as she passed, with Haaruma close at her heels. The naga slithered to one side and quickly coiled to keep her long tail out of the way of other patrons as one of the wait staff hurried over from across the floor.

"Hi there! Welcome to Bethany's Tavern and Inn!" The young lady chirped. "My name is Evalia and I'll be your server tonight! Is it just the three of you?"

"Four, actually." Vashael spoke up as he let the door swing shut. "One of our party is settling our mounts in at the stables up the road. He should be joining us shortly."

"Great!" Evalia jotted something down quickly in the parchment book she carried, and then tucked the stick of charcoal behind her ear. The dark smudge against her pale skin spoke to how much of a habit the motion was. "We've got a nice, big table open and ready! Will any of you need any particular accomodations?" She asked, her brown eyes darting from Haaruma's coiled tail to Vashael's towering height. "We have a variety of chairs, cushions, and mats available for customer comfort!"

"Ooh! May I have a cushion?" Haaruma requested eagerly. "It's a bit challenging for me to use most chairs." She laughed, wiggling the tip of her tail.

"Certainly, miss!" Evalia jotted something down again, and then closed the book, smiling widely. She grabbed four pamplets of stiff paper from the podium beside her, and tucked them under her arm. "Please, follow me! I'll show you to your table!" The woman led the party across the tavern floor, taking as straight of a path as possible, for Haaruma's benefit, and Vashael trailed at the back. Mmm...he could already taste those honeyed bread knots...

Something about Evalia's parchment book must have been magical, because when the party arrived to the table, there was already a large, plush cushion waiting for Haaruma, and complimentary mugs of the house mead waiting at all four seats. Evalia handed each of them a menu, and then placed the fourth one down at the empty chair before giving the party a wide smile.

"Our special of the night is Pumpkin Surprise - a small pumpkin that's been hollowed out, roasted, and stuffed full of a homemade mixture of rice, bean shoots, and your choice of shredded chicken, pork, or fish!" Vashael was starting to think her smile was a permanent fixture on her face. "I'll give you all a little time to decide what you'd like, okay?"

"That sounds fantastic, thank you." Naoka smiled back, and Evalia practically skipped away from the table. Haaruma leaned across the table to her wife.

"Someone's had a bit too much of the gigglewater, methinks," The naga whispered. Naoka rolled her eyes and nudged her wife back upright.

"Oh, hush." She scolded. Vashael looked down at the menu, and licked his lips. Ooh, the honeyed bread knots were half off tonight!

Bashur joined them a few minutes later, having secured all their horses in the stables for the rest of the week, and Evalia came bouncing back to get their dinner order. Vashael would be hard-pressed to remember what he even ordered when the morning came, but it was some of the best food he'd ever tasted. Between the four of them, the party ate so much that Evalia enlisted some help to clear their table away - a gorgeous young man with some of the brightest blue eyes Vashael had ever seen.

Bashur had to nudge him pretty firmly to get him to stop staring.

"Ooh...does anyone else want desert?" Vashael asked after they'd been drinking for some time. Mmm...this 'three layer chocolate cake' sounded absolutely divine!

"I don't think I have the room..." Haaruma complained, leaning her head on the table beside her mug. "Those stuffed pumpkins were really stuffing!"

"I'm sorry, Vash, but I don't think it's in the budget tonight." Naoka shook her head. She had been carefully keeping track of their available coin, despite their drinking, and what they had left needed to last them the week. "Until we can pick up a few good local jobs, we've got to watch what we spend."

"Aww..." The dragon in disguise pouted childishly, and dropped the menu.

"That chocolate cake does sound heavenly..." Bashur patted his friend's shoulder. "Perhaps we can try it later in the week?"

"...and what's on the secret menu, sugar?" The seedy tone of the voice drifting from a few tables away caused four sets of ears to prick up, and Vashael cast a glance sideways at the table in question. That blue-eyed server who had helped clear their table was standing at it's edge, clutching another partchment book in his hands and looking decidedly uncomfortable.

"...-on't know wh-what you mean, sir," Had they not been actively listening, the party would not have heard the server's quiet voice beneath the noise of the tavern. "We don't, um. We don't have a secret menu."

"Come on, sugar, you know what I mean." One of the dragonborn at the table leaned forward and his fellows licked their sharp teeth. "What do you serve here that's as...let's say..." He lashed out with one clawed hand to grab the server's arm, and stop him from pulling away. "As sweet as you?" The server was now visibly shaking, and an uncomfortable quiet had fallen over the tavern floor. Patrons were staring - some openly, some more discreetly - but none seemed too eager to leave their seats.

"Um...th-the chef's Ch-Chocolate Layer Cake is p-...p-...pretty good...?" The server trailed off into silence as the dragonborn stood up out of his chair, and tightened his grip on the human's arm. His hand was so large, it covered most of the poor man's bicep.

"I'm not in the mood for chocolate, sugar." The dragonborn purred, and darted their tongue out to lick the server's face. The server went pale at this blatant display, and the parchment book fell from his limp hand. "But a full serving of you sounds like it'll hit the spot~"

Vashael was standing before he really knew it, and crossed the room in just a few long strides. The screech of chairs told him that his friends were close behind him as he grabbed the dragonborn's own arm, and squeezed until the scales creaked.

"Let him go." He growled, baring his own teeth in warning. "They don't serve what you want here." The dragonborn hissed angrily, and the server whimpered as the clamp around his arm tightened to a painful degree.

"Stay out of this, stranger!" The dragonborn warned. "This is an argument between me and dinner." The server made a choked sound of fear, and Vashael's eyes flashed. He twisted his grip on the dragonborn's arm, forcing him to cry out in pain and drop the server. Bashur quickly grabbed the young man and shuffled him into the middle of himself, Naoka, and Haaruma as the dragonborn's companions stood up from their seats.

"The Queen's Peaceful Co-Existance Proclamation would make that statement quite illegal." Vashael growled back. "You may want to think over your wording."

"He can think it over all he wants on the streets." A strong voice cut through the tension, and an irate Orc woman quickly thrust the dragon and dragonborn an arm's length apart. Vashael quickly let go of his opponent as they were separated, though he kept the villain pinned with a fiery glare.

"And just who do you think you are?!" The dragonborn flared his crest, and his cronies followed suit. "I'm a paying customer! I can-"

"I'm Bethany. Bethany Herself." The towering woman poked the dragonborn hard in the chest, winding him, and deflating his crest. "And I have no tolerance for the harrassment or threatening of my staff!" As the dragonborn gasped for air, Bethany turned with a face like thunder, and her look softened ever so slightly as she made eye contact with the server peering out from behind Bashur. "Michael, are you alright?"

"...." The human swallowed hard before opening his mouth. But his words seemed to stick in his throat, and after a few false starts, he gave up trying to loosen them, and simply shook his head. Bethany's expression hardened again, and she waved over another server from the crowd that had started to form a few tables away.

"Take him behind the counter." She ordered. The server - a teifling with pale orange skin and curving horns - hurried forward from the crowd to wrap an arm around Michael's shoulders, and quickly pull him away from the scene. "I'll meet you there after I take out the trash." Turning back to the dragonborn trio, Bethany cracked her knuckles, and then her neck.

Vashael - wisely - took a good step back.

.......

After the dragonborn trio had been thoroughly removed from the premesis (and the town guards notified of their behavior), Bethany returned to give Vashael and friends a very stern 'no fighting in my tavern!' lecture. Only once they had all sworn to be on their best behavior had she let them return to their table, and the atmosphere of the tavern slowly began to return to normal. The party quietly finished their drinks and paid their bar tab for the night, and then retired to the rooms Bashur had secured on his way in.

Just as he had begun to settle in the room, Vashael heard a faint knock further down the hallway. After a few minutes, he heard it again, but slightly louder. After a few more minutes, he heard a third knock, just one room away from his own. Vashael's ears twitched curiously, but when he heard Naoka's gentle voice answer, he shook his head, and tried not to listen. Eavesdropping on your friends was rude, after all.

But after another few minutes more, then the knock came again at his own door.

Curious, he stood up from his chair and moved to open the door. On the other side stood the blue-eyed server from earlier that night, and when he looked up, their gazes met. Vashael felt a shiver run down his spine.

Wow...those eyes were so much bluer than he remembered, now that he had time to stare at them...

"H-hi! Hi..." Michael swallowed nervously, and quickly adjusted his grip before holding up a lacquered wooden plate with a mouth-watering slice of the very same chocolate layer cake the dragon had been coveting earlier that night. "The-. Um. The house would like to o-offer you our signature desert," He explained as Vashael took the plate with both hands, eyes as wide as saucers. "Free of charge, of course! Consider it a courtesy, and...and also...a thank you," Michael's gaze flickered down to the floor, and he adjusted the strap of the sling about his shoulders. Vashael frowned. Cearly, the dragonborn's grip had done more damage than just a mere bruise...

"You know...for stepping up and helping me. You didn't have to and-." Michael stopped, and cleared his throat, briefly glancing up at Vashael before looking away again. "I...really appreciate it." For a moment, he hesitated, and opened his mouth as if to say something else. Then he laughed again, still nervous, and bowed his head. "I'm s-sorry for intruding. Please, enjoy the cake...!"

"Wait-" Vashael dashed back inside the room to quickly set the cake down on the provided table, and hurried back to the door. "You don't have to apolo-...?" The dragon in disguise stopped mid-word as he stepped out into the hall only in time to see Michael's form disappearing down the stairs. Vashael's shoulders drooped in disappointment, and he banged his head lightly against the outside of the doorframe. Shoot...

Naoka leaned her head out of her own adjacent door, and - having heard the full exchange and having known her friend for many, many years - shook her head knowingly.

"The night after a traumatic experience is a terrible time to ask for a date, Vash." She advised. Vashael's face turned red, and he snorted. But - quite tellingly - he could not meet Naoka's eyes.

"I wasn't going to ask for a date!" He protested as loudly as he dared. Gods only knew who else could be listening in. "I just...wanted to talk with him more." He lied. "That's all."

"Of course, of course..." Naoka nodded, not fooled in the slightest by her friend's panicked denial. "But all the same, why don't we all get a little shut-eye, first?" She continued. "I'm sure you'll see him again soon enough. We're going to be in town for a while, after all." Grumbling under his breath, Vashael turned and stepped pointedly back into his room. Naoka shook her head fondly, and ducked back into her own.

[bryanfaganlaw]

Family violence and family law in Texas

If you have need a best suitable service your Child Law experience, Family violence and family law in Texas with the great process!

Houston Family Law Attorney: When a family law attorney considers important factors in a potential divorce or child custody case, perhaps none is as quite as impactful as family violence. The reasons for this are obvious. Acts of family violence are irredeemable, despicable and any other term that you would want to use that connotes something extremely negative about the person who engages in that sort of behavior. I wanted to make note of this early on in today’s blog post because for the remainder of it I would like to take this opportunity to write only about the impacts of that behavior on a family law case in Texas.

What family violence is considered to be

Family violence is more than just hitting your spouse or your child. What’s more- the people that are considered to be in your family seem to grow every year, with a greater number of relatives potentially counting as family for the purposes of assigning a person punishment for having acted violently. If you are in a dating relationship with someone and he or she is violent towards you then this would typically qualify for a crime of family violence.

The only major factor that needs to be mentioned at this stage is that while being found guilty of having committed a criminal act of family violence is more difficult (beyond a reasonable doubt is the criminal standard), in family court you must only present sufficient evidence that a judge would find that it is beyond the preponderance of the evidence presented that an act of family violence did occur. Imagine the scales of justice for a moment. A preponderance of the evidence means that one of the scales would be tipped slightly below the other. However, beyond a reasonable doubt means that the evidence you present must weigh your scale down significantly compared to the other side. The burden, therefore, is much heftier in the context of a criminal case.

Conservatorship issues related to family violence

If your spouse were found to have committed an act of family violence then he or she will be in for a tough time during a divorce or child custody case. For instance, rather than being named as a joint managing conservator of your child, which is what is done in the vast majority of child custody cases, your spouse would be likely named as merely a possessory conservator while you have Sole Managing Conservatorship rights. This basically means that your spouse will have times that he or she can see your child (often in a supervised location) but that his or her rights to make decisions on behalf of your child are severely curtailed in comparison to your own.

Courts typically proceed with a great deal of caution when it comes to family violence

From my experiences, family courts will usually err on the side of caution when it comes to deciding that family violence has occurred in a case. The reasons for this is that most judges will not want to move on from this issue without seriously addressing it. Furthermore, if something were to happen down the line in a case that was the result of additional incidents of family violence then that judge would be at risk of a reprimand.

What types of punishments and restrictions will be imposed in a family law case when family violence is an issue? Let's consider that protective orders are usually very effective at deterring harmful acts in the context of a family law case. We will discuss more protective orders later in this blog post but I wanted to introduce the topic at this stage. Safety is the number one priority of a judge when it comes to a family law case, and being overly cautious in this area is something that is very difficult to argue with. The family violence in question does not have to be something that resulted in major injuries or even the police. However minor the incident may have been it is something that could result in your case changing dramatically for the worse if you are the perpetrator of the violent acts.

An example from our time in the family courts

Divorce Lawyers in Houston: In a recent case, an opposing party made an allegation of family violence against our client that was quite over the top. The incident in question involved our client getting upset at the opposing party’s use of a cell phone in order to contact other men. Our client took the phone out of her hands in order to see what it was she was doing. Well, that act led to his wife alleging that he has acted violently towards her.

A divorce was subsequently filed and this issue was taken up with the judge. What ended up happening was that the judge did make a finding that family violence had occurred but that finding carried with it no immediate restrictions on conservatorship rights or anything related to that. However, what did end up happening is that in the final decision of conservatorship the judge made rulings that were not favorable to our client and I couldn’t help but think that it was because of the family violence issue.

False allegations of domestic violence are unfortunately a reality in divorce cases

What I have found to be the case is that family violence allegations become more and more common in divorce cases. The reason, I believe, why this is the case is that people are willing to go to greater lengths in order to ensure their goals are met in a divorce. Family violence can impact conservatorship issues as we have already mentioned as well as the division of property in a divorce. When courts are as willing (rightfully so) to take all allegations of family violence seriously it makes sense that some people would be willing to bend the truth or make outright lies that family violence has occurred in order to meet those goals.

This is not to say that if you think you have been the victim of a violent act by a spouse or significant other that you should hesitate to bring those issues before a judge. On the contrary- a judge is there to keep you safe and to keep your family safe as well. However, if you are in a position where you have been accused of having committed an act of family violence it can spell disaster for you in your case both in the short and long terms.

The bottom line is that you need to think hard before you commit any action towards your spouse or significant other. You never know what he or she may be thinking or who is watching you. Acts that could be totally benign or non-violent in your mind may actually end up being considered to be violent by your spouse and more importantly by a judge.

Protective Orders and Family Violence

Protective Orders are one of the means by which a court can seek to diminish the future impact of acts of family violence. It can take a great deal of courage in order to bring acts of family violence forward to the authorities especially if you are a person who has been a victim of family violence for years. Violence between spouses or even people that are merely dating can be about control as much as it is about the anger or other emotions that are behind the acts.

What is a protective order in a Texas family law case?

Family Lawyer Houston: Safety is the name of the game when it comes to a protective order. Many people think only about a judge’s responsibilities when it comes to conservatorship, possession, visitation, property division and similar subjects in conjunction with a divorce but a judge’s top priority in your case will be to keep you and your children safe if you are the victim of an act of family violence.

We can extend family violence to incidents that involve sexual abuse and dating violence as well in order to get a full picture of what a court will be guarding against by considering the possibility of implementing a protective order within a divorce case. You would need to produce evidence that family violence has occurred but typically police reports, witness statements, photographs, and visible injuries are sufficient for this purpose. If a judge believes that it is likely that acts of violence could likely occur in the future then you can expect a protective order request to be granted.

The goals of a protective order are to create a situation where your violent spouse is held accountable for their actions while best ensuring your safety in the case moving forward. Your spouse will likely not be allowed to come within a certain distance from you or from your children unless your children are being supervised ... Continue Reading

[sally-mun]

Episode 1: Breaking Up is Hard to Do

So back 100 years ago when this RP began, the scale was pretty small and I wasn’t thinking about what the rest of the world was doing at the time. When it came time for the scope to expand and we had to start thinking about other areas, I decided to default to some of the Archie status quos since we were already playing in an Archie-inspired universe anyway. Eventually this required the presence of the Acorns, so I went with the basics: Elias is king/high chair of the Acorn Council, Max is a rather discontent former king, Alicia is the former queen who mostly just looks after her husband (as he’s not the healthiest), and Sally still primarily works in the field. Most of the details weren’t greatly established at this point because, honestly, I didn’t care. When it comes to the Dark Ages of the comics, “details” translates to “shit that doesn’t make sense.”

Due to a bit of plot that I won’t be going into here, Hamlin (as some of you know, a key character in several of my RP arcs) takes an interest in Albion and starts making moves to more or less invade. For the most part he’s stymied by the rest of the council, and when that happens, typically the current monarch will tip the scale one way or another. Eventually, Elias comes out to make a decree (in my head there’s a specific balcony for this so the press can take note), which to the surprise of basically everyone is him giving his blessing to the motion to invade. However, ALL of his body language suggests that this isn’t what he really thinks. He gets to the point quickly and then retreats back inside without taking any questions.

This draws the attention of the Brotherhood, who know for a fact that this is 100% against Elias’ character. Thunderhawk in particular (who had the heaviest hand in raising him) is adamant that something is wrong and they need to look into it, so they approach Knuckles and Finitevus to get them access to Elias via a warp ring. They oblige and everyone steps into the castle, specifically in Elias’ chambers. They find him slumped in a chair and wrapped in a blanket, looking like he hasn’t slept or bathed in a few days. Thunderhawk is horrified and asks what’s going on, but for the most part Elias can’t even speak; he’s so on the edge of an emotional landslide that simply opening his mouth is enough to threaten a meltdown. The BH continue to coax him into explaining what’s going on, and after several attempts, Elias explains that Max is harshly pressuring him to allow the council to invade Albion. At this point Elias completely loses it and latches hold of Thunderhawk begging for his forgiveness. The BH all assure him that they aren’t holding this against him and they’ll help get to the bottom of it.

Side note, it’s worth reiterating here that Elias has a degree of internalized specism, which I’ve mentioned in another post ages ago. One side effect of being raised by the Brotherhood (aka some of the most arrogant people on the planet) is that he genuinely believes echidnas are better than other people. This is why it’s absolutely breaking his spirit that Max has forced him to condone something that is contrary to every fiber of his morality. He wouldn’t want the council staging an invasion in the first place, but to have the target be Albion is the worst case scenario.

Anyway, the fact that this “invasion” (they had another word for it so it wouldn’t sound so bad, but I forget what it was) is now in motion causes a huge division in the kingdom. Max is repeatedly pushing Elias to make more decrees to calm the masses and get everyone on board with this plan, and viciously berates him when he either refuses to comply, or when he does but puts in the most bare minimum effort that the decree has basically no effect. After a while, Elias really does reach his breaking point: He rejects his crown entirely and runs away with Megan and Alexis in the middle of the night, without telling ANYONE -- not even Sally -- that he plans to do so. As he would later explain, he would rather not be king at all than to be a king that causes suffering. He and his family essentially go off the grid for a while and make a very humble home back in Feral Forest.

With Elias missing, the Acorn Kingdom becomes even less stable. Sally falls back on her years of diplomatic training and tries to calm everyone down and give them some more solid leadership, but she’s repeatedly undermined by Max. He’s now taken to making decrees of his own again now that he’s currently the only crowned monarch (something he repeatedly rubs in Sally’s face) and makes a series of firm announcements that they WILL be moving in on Albion. Sally does what she can to explain that this isn’t going to help the divide that’s rapidly separating their people, but given that Max never takes her seriously and she’s so desperate for his approval, these discussions go nowhere.

Meanwhile, Sally is proven correct, as a large sect of their citizens feel that Max’s firm hand is just confirmation that their government isn’t listening to them. As the royal guard moves in on Albion, various protests break out across the Acorn Kingdom. These protests are met with severe backlash from those still trusting in Max and the Acorn Council. The two factions eventually come to be known as Nationalists (those loyal to their leaders and willing to trust that they know best) and the Separationists (those who are SO disenfranchised that they want an entirely new government, period). The bad blood continues to escalate until the factions are literally fighting each other; this is the period that I usually refer to as the Acorn civil war, as it literally resulted in carved out territories, groups attacking one another, steep escalation in what sort of weapons and tactics are being used, and a total failure of the government to get it under control.

Now, I’d like to take an aside for a moment and address the one family member we’ve only glossed over here and there: Queen Alicia. Part of the reason we haven’t heard from her much is because, well, she too has been pretty well beaten down by Max’s emotional abuse. She rarely speaks up and tends to make excuses for Max’s toxic behavior -- he’s in a lot of pain, he spent so long in the Void, he was raised to expect obedience, etc. No matter how far he goes, it seems as though she’s determined to smooth things out for him after the fact, which leads some to wonder if she can be trusted at this point, either.

However, if anyone in this family would be acutely aware of just how different Max had become over the years, it’s Alicia -- and honestly, I think that’s part of the problem here. I never really got to go into it, but I think she probably has some undiagnosed depression, because she knows that the man she once fell in love with is pretty much gone. The worse he gets, the worse she gets as well, and her will to stand up to him diminishes more and more over time. Eventually this begins affecting her physical health as well, and she ends up very weak, but still she sticks resolutely by his side and makes it her duty to take care of him, even when that means making excuses for inexcusable behavior.

In the end, a peaceful ceasefire was agreed upon, and that’s when the country split in two: the West Acorn Republic, still governed by the already established council, and the East Acorn Kingdom, which reverted back to the pure use of a monarchy. Acorn citizens had a window of time to choose which side of the border they wanted to live on, and then it was a done deal. Ironically, King Max -- the man who had abhorred the idea of the Acorn Council at its conception -- stayed behind in West Acorn with Alicia, largely because it was the site of the original Castle Acorn. Sally had been immediately petitioned by the citizens of East Acorn to be their queen, so unsurprisingly she moved on and finally got to put her years of training to use. Sometime later it was confirmed that Elias was living in Feral Forest, but he rejected any suggestion that he go back to either half of the former Acorn Kingdom.

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[atiyasnake]

The psychologists and therapist never lasted long at the asylum. The tended to reach their expiration rather quickly. Either with being run off, mysteriously disappeared or paid to have a long vacation, manipulated into becoming a rogue, or killed in the many breakouts.

The same pattern was expected when Jasmine Fenton joined them for an internship.

She had come in with her bright hair and eyes. A kind smile, positive attitutde, and a lightness that showed that she was definitely not from Gotham and had not been dimmed by the gloomy city. All the inmates and employees had the same idea: It was only a matter of time.

But within that time, the young Ms.Fenton had tipped the scales towards the path of her being killed or mysteriously disappeared. Afterall, the inmates didn't take kindly to what looked like a 'naive' young woman who didn't at all looked scared. Or how she has a small little smile whenever the analysis she made regarding their behavior or thoughts seemed to be correct. Even the fellow employees like the guards were disgruntled with how unworried she seemed about the inmates or various safety procedures she had to follow. The whole time she would have a bored look on her face.

It didn't sit right with the others . It was an outsider who was ignorant to how things worked in Gotham and who seemed to resist what Gotham did to you the longer you stayed.

Ms.Fenton had been there for 5 months but yet, she still seemed as light and positive as the first day she arrived.

Even when the inmates described what they would do to her indetail at lunch or loudly at night, where surely the words would eventually reach her ears. But even after the Joker threaten her little brother that he had found out, she still smiled (almsot as if she were amused) at their next appointment. Even as the Riddler insulted her intelligence she still confidently stated her evaluations. Even after Scarecrow promised that she would live her very worst fears in the building, she remained comfortable sitting across him.

All of it only made them eager for the next breakout. Then when their doors opened courtesy at a plan finally being used, they smiled and headed towards her office.

A few vials delivered by loyal freeman that had been snuck in to Scarecrow were thrown into the room. The others had gas masked and after a few seconds ran in excited to see those aqua eyes finally filled with fear. To hear her screams instead of that calm steady voice that never seemed to falter.

But instead they were met with the sight of Jasmine Fenton sitting calmy at her desk sipping a mug of tea. She looked up.

"Oh, I didn't know we had an apointment," she said in that damned steady voice.

The Joker stepped forward. "Well you see Doc, we have a few issues we wanted to discuss with you. And" - slowly a crowbar slipped smoothly within his hands, the end already dripping red - " you always said your door was open."

_______

Batman had arrived at the asylum as quickly as he could. Oracle already telling him where it looked like several inmates had went.

"B it may already be too late. You know who they are with the doctors there and a lot of them went towards the woman's office. Even Joker and Scarecrow" Oracles voice said sadly resigned that B may have been too late.

But that didn't stop him from rushing over.

But the sight he was met with did.

There sitting at her desk, visually unharmed and sipping at a mug was Jasmine Fenton. Surrounding her office and desk were roughly 13 inmates, among them an unconscious Joker and Scarecrow.

"Evening Batman." The woman said despite not having looked up from some paperwork on her desk.

"Dr.Fenton."

"Oh its actually not doctor," she said. "I still have 7 months until that. But Dr.Fenton does sound nice so thanks for that."

Batman didn't respond to that but simply looked around the room more. There weren't a lot of sign of scuffle. No bullet holes or broken furniture other than the broken door. And Oracle hadn't shared any information about another individual coming to take care of the inmates.

"Who did this?" He asked since Ms.Fenton was a witness.

At this, the woman finally looked up from her paper. Her eyes bright and face kind, not at all showing that she had already spent 5 months at Arkham in the presenceof villains. Her voice was steady as she responded it Batman despite never being in his presence before.

"Oh," she said. "That would have been me."

Batman could have sworn her teeth looked oddly sharp in the smile she gave him before taking another sip of her tea.

-----

A lot of people asked Danny why he let his sister work at the asylum whenever he told them.

"Don't you think it's too dangerous?"

"What if she gets hurt?"

"The inmates there hate the doctors!"

"Have you thought about being a guard there and watch our for her?"

Aren't you worried?"

So many concerns. But each time Danny would wave a hand in dismissal. His teeth sharp like his sister's when he smiled.

"She can take care of herself."

DC X DP PROMPT

So you know the fanfics where Jazz becomes a psychologist interning at Arkham Asylum? It’s always either Danny scaring everyone or she just kinda befriends some villains but what about if all the villains were annoyed at her, after all she can tend to be a little smug

What if she was just unafraid of everyone there and people were confused, you can use this also as a reason for them to be annoyed at her or even hate her (Joker, Scarecrow, Riddler. Villains that hate not being feared) and the guards were just there thinking she was just another young idiot that was going to get herself killed.

Until..A breakout happens

One of the villains (your choice) happen to find her but she’s still unafraid of them and this angers them so they attack Jazz and BOOM

Jazz has a shield formed around her protecting her from the attack, while the villain is confused she just calmly pulls out one of her lipsticks and stuns them and they just fall unconscious severely confused and angry at her

This continues to happen until one of the bats just she her calmly drinking tea while a patient is pounding on her force field when she spots them and just punches the patient before turning to the bat

“What? I didn’t have mad scientist for parents for nothing. You learn a few things”

[tmnt-spear-verse]

Spear-Verse: Hamato Leonardo

He is their leader, both nominally and in fact, but his leadership is a relaxed one. He knows his family, his team, well enough to trust in their abilities— just as they trust in him to strategize and know how to move the pieces to make certain they all come out alive. Hunting has honed them, honed him into knowing their quirks— their harshness, their sharp edges, the ways they move, their sounds —and that he can trust that they will be where he expects them to be in a fight. Not because he has ordered them there, although he does use his knowledge of them to put them where they’re most effective, but because he has learned how to play to their strengths without demanding they do things his way.

There is a sense of relief for him, a weight off his shoulders, in knowing that his brothers are perfectly capable of handling themselves and that all he has to do is move the pieces to where they each can be the most effective and then just let them go. He leads, but he doesn’t control.

Why try to exert control or enforce some hierarchy when they have all learned the lessons that come from being a pack on the hunt? Hamato Leonardo learned early on that hierarchy and leadership didn’t matter in the hunt; what mattered was coordination, trust, and letting whoever was closest to their prey be the first to engage to take it down. He learned through the exhilaration of swinging and leaping through treetops after prey, the heart-pounding near-misses, the overwhelming joy singing in his veins as he or one of his brothers caught up to land the first strike, and the blood-rush that made celebratory calls bubble up from his chest and pour forth from his throat as they successfully took their prey down. Perfect control and behavior don’t count for much when it might cost them being able to eat, and so Leonardo has learned to be their brother first and their leader second.

Learning that has paid off. It opened him up to learn the value in his brothers’ ways of being— to see how Raph’s strength and carefully wielded anger was shaped by his need to be their wall, their protector, the one to scare off threats before they could even get started; how Donnie’s technical and medical interests, as well as his dedication to knowledge that might have been lost, is driven by his need to keep them healthy and sate his never-ending curiosity; how Mikey’s need to goof around and play softens his sharp edges and keeps the world bright when there is so much that could have made it dark and unbearable. Learning from them opened him to later learning from April and Casey— how her sharp wit and careful words can cut through so much unstated nonsense to get to the heart of a matter, diffusing fights and preventing problems before they can get started, almost like the verbal counterpoint to Raph; and how Casey, for all of his chaotic loudness, seems to have the bizarre ability to know exactly when to say ‘fuck it’ to being tactful and go all-in.

His pack, his team, his clan are everything to him. They are his family and he trusts them with everything. Hamato Leonardo is a ninja and the leader of his small clan, but he’s so much more than that.

In recognizing Raph’s need to protect them he was able to step back and accept the help— adopting the leather sleeves and lower-leg guards almost as soon as Raph finished the first sets. They’re effective; it’s much harder to end up with gashes or ripped-up scales on their arms or legs since they started using them. The same with the carved-bone breastplate that Raph strung together and presented to him after a particularly bad night that had resulted in Leo getting a nasty gouge in his plastron. A little deeper, with a little more force, and Leo might not have walked away from that fight— and thanks to some human-supremacists his family might have been down by one. It’s an injury that has since healed up and all physical signs of it had been shed, but the memory of it still lingers. Wearing the breastplate has become an ingrained habit.

In recognizing Donnie’s need to learn more he was able to stop and listen— accepting that where there are things he doesn’t or can’t see the value in, Donnie can and is more than capable of bringing what’s in his mind into the world. There’s so much that they’ve gained and learned how to do thanks to Donnie’s perpetual curiosity and enthusiasm for recovering information that might otherwise have been lost to them that it’s almost impossible to quantify. They’ve come so far from the rough home of woven branches covering the entrance of a hole in the ground that Splinter had scrambled to create when they first arrived in the forest, and it’s in large part thanks to Donnie and his persistence. Given enough time and resources, Leo wouldn’t be surprised if Donnie manages to give them their own contained electrical system with a functioning computer to go along with it. Maybe a functioning refrigerator while he’s at it. As it is, even with the tech limitations they have to live with, Donnie has still managed to be one of the most effective medics in the area— which has certainly kept Leo from dying more times than he cares to think about.

In recognizing Mikey’s need to play he was able to let go and be in the moment— enjoying humor, silliness, and opportunities for bonding moments that he might otherwise have let slip by without even noticing what he’d missed. Affection came easier, made it easier to read the others, made it easier to avoid unnecessary fights and work things out. Mikey’s humor and play kept all of them from giving in to the knife-edge bare-bones approach to the world that so many had after the collapse had happened. His playfulness was a constant reminder that there was still joy and happiness to be found in the world, even if they occasionally had to tip into the knife-edge viewpoint in order to survive— it was a reminder that even as bad as things were or could be, that the bad things didn’t have to be their entire lives. Even as obnoxious as Mikey could be at times, his usual cheer kept them from ever falling into depression.

April and Casey both had taught him the necessity at times of getting to the point within seconds. Negotiations, haggling, niceties— none of it matters when a resolution is needed as soon as possible, and in their time since others in the area gradually became aware of them it’s become a skill he’s learned to lean on time and time again. Other versions of him, he knows, aren’t as used to having to directly negotiate and work out boundaries with ‘neighbors,’ traders, and a whole host of other people who occasionally wander through his family’s home territory, but thanks to April and Casey’s guidance it’s a skill he’s learned in spades. It’s led to his family largely going un-harassed, but it’s also resulted in some unexpected friendships and instances of being called on by their ‘neighbors’ for help. Their closest ‘neighbors’ might be several miles away, but the friendships and alliances that have resulted have strengthened the net of safety around his family considerably.

Hamato Leonardo has learned to be confident, relaxed, and unapologetic about who and what he is. He is a ninja; his calm and poise are unrivaled when necessary, his swords an extension of himself, a fierce opponent who knows how to use shadows and subtlety to his advantage. He is a predator; familiarity with being able to track visually and at times with scent renders him unsettling, the reverberating calls and battle-cry howls he can emit as he races through the treetops induce panic in others and render him terrifying, to say nothing of how familiar he is with blood and death. He is a mutant turtle; chirps, hisses, growls, and other sounds are par for the course and he has come to refuse the idea of behaving ‘more human’ to make himself more palatable for others. He is a brother and son; his loyalty and affection for his family is unwavering and unbreakable, and he’ll continue his easy affection with them for as long as they live— and if it results in him and his brothers occasionally sleeping in a pile even when they’re in their 80s or older, then so be it. He is a leader, and because of what he’s capable of and has accomplished, he has become trusted far beyond what he would have imagined possible.

[abstractreign]

Hanekoma was initially quite surprised by Joshua. The Twins' city is already an interesting mystery, but Hanekoma had never seen evidence of "someone abandoning their universe for this one" until he met Joshua. Even though, that isn't really the case, it was still interesting to meet another foreigner during his visit. Especially since Joshua's skeptical and leery behavior was something that seemed to fit naturally in this universe. He wasn't surprised by the distrust, but he knew he should be since this Joshua was foreign.

It didn't take long for Hanekoma to decide to treat Joshua the same way and attempt to befriend him, but he has a hard time finding him sometimes. He's still trying to figure out how to get Joshua to drop the defensive wall he has up, but he's just about convinced now that Joshua has either been hurt pretty badly in the past or he's gotten in trouble with the HP. He doesn't think he means any real harm (despite and perhaps because of the hot sauce incident).

He also has an easier time separating Joshua from his infantilizing mindset that he sits with most of Joshua's counterparts since he physically looks older, though he's still waffling over this idea. Future interaction could tip that scale in one direction or another easily.

( → how does your muse perceive mine? !! still accepting )

{ !! ohoho— i find it kind of amusing to read that he isn't/wasn't surprised by my josh's distrust in him because of that of others' fnjenfe ; it's also intriguing to me that he doesn't quite carry the same mindset he has for josh's other selves because of his age jirehreu—

but yeah: aside from the paranoia that already exists from him needing to guard his personal agenda from those who would get in the way of it, another large part of why he was so wary of decaf for a while was because he's a lot more used to other iterations thereof (especially his own) roasting him on the spot, on sight— as opposed to being a fair ways more amicable and patient the way decaf is. it also doesn't help that decaf always seems to want to extract information from him which... definitely had set off alarm bells in his mind, given his situation.

that being said, josh is starting to see him more for the well-meaning, if rather nosy, guy that he really is. (though he is under the misconception that decaf dislikes ean which is... NFJEFNKENEKJ)

also re: hot sauce incident, decaf honey i still apologize for that fnejfse he just felt like causing problems that day. as a treat