#6 months later he was proven innocent!

[teddybearsandlightningstorms]

everything in ghost trick is the fault of a judicial system that relies on making cops desperate for approval and distinction even if that means punishing innocents

[the-boy-king-rp-multi]

Will Graham timeline 

January 20, 1977 (age 0): Will Graham is born and his mother dies in childbirth. His father will proceed to blame him for his mother's death, following years of verbal and physical abuse. 

1984 (age 6): Will Graham Starts his first year at school. 

1992: Will Graham's father meets an untimely death. Presumed to have disappeared and finally abandoned his only son, after enduring countless forms of abuse from a young age, both verbal and physical- A young teen Will Graham has had enough. When his father is too drunk to barely stand and tried to swing on him, he pushes him in their family's lake, holding him under. He does by drowning, and Will, who has already maintained a job himself, finishes his last year of High School and gets accepted into George Washington University on a full ride scholarship. He quickly accepts, packing what little he has to move to stay in the dormitories during the duration of his university years. 

1984-1993 (age 6-14): Will Graham excels well above his peers in school and flourishes beyond belief and expectation, graduating from high school at the young age of fourteen. 

1995 (age 16): he studies abroad a semester in London, England attending Oxford University where he meets and becomes friends with the esteemed Sherlock Holmes; they keep in contact through letters over the years. Sherlock ends up being a lot of wills firsts- His first crush, first kiss, first real friend. Sherlock's mother ends up pseudo adopting will when Sherlock brings him home over the holidays, refusing to let him stay alone at the dorms by himself. 

1993-1997 (age 14-18): Will Graham attends George Washington University for three out of four years to study to get his bachelor's degree

1997 (age 18): Will Graham studies at the FBI Academy for five months of required courses and studying; for another six months he goes through courses at the police academy in Virginia while simultaneously starting to shadow profiler Aaron Hotchner for the next seven years required to become a profiler. 

1998-2001 (age 19-22): Will Graham serves as a police officer for the next three years, until he gets an injury by being shot in the shoulder crippling his good aim with a gun, quitting the force quickly afterwards. He gets offered a teaching position at the FBI Academy and quickly accepts. 

2001 (Age 22): Will Graham meets Spencer Reid at the young age of 17 when he joins his class at the FBI Academy. 

2001 (Age 22): Will Graham meets Derek Morgan after being partnered on a case together by Jack Crawford. Will slowly and begrudgingly becomes friends with him, seeing him often when he picks Reid up from his classes, being more of a big brother figure to the young aspiring special agent; he becomes quite close with agent Morgan over the next several years; he ends up as Wills unofficial off and on boyfriend for the next few decades, until he becomes severely attached to Hannibal lecter after waking up from a coma several years later. 

2001-2004 (age 22-25): Still working as a professor at the FBI Academy, when he isn't there he's shadowing FBI Profiler agent Aaron Hotchner at the BAU for the next three years for the requirements to become one himself. After he finishes that, he gets more professional hands on experience working with the BAU for the next seven years, occasionally called in to help with more difficult cases from the FBI by Jack Crawford. 

2011 (Age 32): He discovers he does not meet the requirements of being an "official" FBI Profiler, unable to become one due to his own mental issues. He becomes an unofficial FBI Profiler aiding Jack Crawford and the FBI; continues working as a professor for the FBI Academy. 

2016 (age 38): Will Graham meets Hannibal Lecter. 

2016 (age 38): Will Graham is framed by Hannibal Lecter for four different murders, including that of Abigail Hobbs; he is later released four months later after his innocence is proven, by aid of friends such as Jack Crawford and old, good friend and excellent detective Sherlock Holmes, who ends up "reading Hannibal to filth" and threatening to out him as the real Chesapeake Ripper unless he finds a way to prove that will was not guilty of his (Hannibal's) crimes. 

2017-2018 (age 38-39): After being on the run for awhile after he is discovered to be the real Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal Lecter is arrested and convicted into the Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane, with the help of none other than will Graham. 

2019-2022(age 40-43): Will Graham gets married to Molly and becomes a stepfather to her young son, Walter. They are married for three years before Jack Crawford calls him back out into the field to help with a case involving a serial killer by the name of Francis Dolarhyde, using Hannibal Lecter as a lure. 

2022-Present (age 43-47): Presumed dead, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter are on the run after brutally murdering Francis Dolarhyde together after he tried to kill Hannibal Lecter. After on the run to various places, they end up laying low in London with Sherlock and John, the only other morally grey people will knows he can trust. Once Hannibal somehow gets a hold of a few of his dogs again, they (the dogs) stay at the Holmes estate.

[the-boy-king-rpp]

Will Graham timeline

January 20, 1977 (age 0): Will Graham is born.

1984 (age 6): Will Graham Starts his first year at school.

1984-1993 (age 6-14): Will Graham excels well above his peers in school and flourishes beyond belief and expectation, graduating from high school at the young age of fourteen.

1994 (age 15): he studies abroad a semester in London, England attending Oxford University where he meets and becomes friends with the esteemed Sherlock Holmes; they keep in contact through letters over the years.

1993-1997 (age 14-18): Will Graham attends George Washington University for three out of four years to study to get his bachelor's degree

1997 (age 18): Will Graham studies at the FBI Academy for five months of required courses and studying; for another six months he goes through courses at the police academy in Virginia

1998-2001 (age 19-22): Will Graham serves as a police officer for the next three years, until he gets an injury by being shot in the shoulder crippling his good aim with a gun, quitting the force quickly afterwards. He gets offered a teaching position at the FBI Academy and quickly accepts.

2001 (Age 22): Will Graham meets Spencer Reid at the young age of 17 when he joins his class at the FBI Academy.

2001 (Age 22): Will Graham meets Derek Morgan after being partnered on a case together by Jack Crawford. Will slowly and begrudgingly becomes friends with him, seeing him often when he picks Reid up from his classes, being more of a big brother figure to the young aspiring special agent; he becomes quite close with agent Morgan over the next several years.

2001-2004 (age 22-25): Still working as a professor at the FBI Academy, when he isn't there he's shadowing FBI Profiler agent Aaron Hotchner at the BAU for the next three years for the requirements to become one himself. After he finishes that, he gets more professional hands on experience working with the BAU for the next seven years, occasionally called in to help with more difficult cases from the FBI by Jack Crawford.

2011 (Age 32): He discovers he does not meet the requirements of being an "official" FBI Profiler, unable to become one due to his own mental issues. He becomes an unofficial FBI Profiler aiding Jack Crawford and the FBI; continues working as a professor for the FBI Academy.

2016 (age 38): Will Graham meets Hannibal Lecter.

2016 (age 38): Will Graham is framed by Hannibal Lecter for four different murders, including that of Abigail Hobbs; he is later released four months later after his innocence is proven, by aid of friends such as Jack Crawford and old, good friend and excellent detective Sherlock Holmes.

2017-2018 (age 38-39): After being on the run for awhile after he is discovered to be the real Chesapeake Ripper, Hannibal Lecter is arrested and convicted into the Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane, with the help of none other than will Graham.

2019-2022(age 40-43): Will Graham gets married to Molly and becomes a stepfather to her young son, Walter. They are married for three years before Jack Crawford calls him back out into the field to help with a case involving a serial killer by the name of Francis Dolarhyde, using Hannibal Lecter as a lure.

2022-2026 (age 43-47): Presumed dead, Will Graham and Hannibal Lecter are on the run after brutally murdering Francis Dolarhyde together after he tried to kill Hannibal Lecter.

[mymanymerrymuses]

My sister and I have gotten into Helluva Boss and Hazbin Hotel lately, and like everything I consume a little part of my brain goes "Can I make a crossover au for my tpn kids?"

The answer is yes, so, here goes

Despite living in a different world, the children at Grace Field farm are still human, and as such, go to the same places as all humans on earth after they die.

Since Norman knows the truth and is proven to be a flight risk, he isn't sent to another facility upon his shipment, but is actually killed. Most of his short life has been good. He's been a good brother, a good student, and aspired to do good whenever possible. Unfortunately, the last few months of his life took a turn. While he was trying to protect himself and his siblings, he kept secrets, he schemed, he betrayed his brother and lied to his family. He intended to escape while knowing Isabella would be killed if she lost the children. And, technically, walking willingly to his death can be classed as suicide.

In what may well be considered an unfair move, Norman goes to hell, his new form largely that of a sheep - a sacrifice.

Not too long later, Ray carries out his plan, and Emma isn't able to stop him. He sets the house on fire, burning himself within it to allow the other children a chance to escape. Emma has no option but to leave with the others, but without either of her brothers, she's truly devastated.

Ray has no chance of entering heaven. He's stood silently for the past 6 years, watching as innocent children were lead to their deaths, and knowing it was happening. He intentionally sent Emma and Norman to see Conny's body, and planned to leave everyone except the two of them at the farm. He started a fire in a house that had babies in it. He killed himself, knowing it would break Emma's heart.

In hell, Ray takes on the same form as Norman, only he is a black sheep. The colour of his hair when he lived, and the colour of the smoke that filled the air when he died.

It doesn't take them long to find one another, and sticking together is the only way to carry on.

I'm thinking that they then find out about the Happy Hotel, and aim for redemption not for themselves, but because they're certain that getting to heaven is the only way they'll ever see Emma again.

[the-shining-river]

Defenders & TP S1 timeline

The Defenders were filmed from Nov 2016 till mid-March 2017. The Punisher S1 was filmed 3 Oct 2016 - 9 Apr 2017.

In the beginning of TP S01 we see that Frank finishes his vendetta against the Kitchen Irish by killing that last guy in airport bathroom  stall on 19 Apr 2017, judging from the props boarding pass, but that seems to be a mistake, so let’s say it’s 19 Apr 2016. And then it’s “six months later” when Pete Castiglione is working construction.

From what I understand, it’s sort of official that the events of The Defenders and The Punisher S1 take place more or less at the same time in the end of 2016. Since Karen is in both, I tried to figure out that “more or less” part, and I think The Defenders take place some 2-4 weeks after TP S1, but it’s a bit of a mess, so whatever, I’m comfortable with this as a headcanon, not necessarily proven truth.

Some sources say Defenders take place “a few months after Daredevil Season 2 and Luke Cage Season 1 as these two overlap”, and I haven’t seen Luke Cage series, but DD S2 ends at Christmas and The Defenders starts in autumn, so that’s definitely more than “a few months”. Reddit people also figure that Luke must have spent some 6 months in prison, placing Defenders some 6m after Luke Cage S1. Karen seems to have settled in comfortably in her reporter’s job at the Bulletin and when they catch up, it feels like she and Matt haven’t seen each other for quite some time. Matt seems to have settled in his pro bono lawyer career. When Matt and Foggy meet up at Josie’s, Foggy says “It’s been a long time, Josie, can’t tell you how much I miss this place,” so that also makes me think it’s been more than “a few months”.

(Doesn’t quite explain why boxes with N&M files are still living in the middle of Matt’s living room, not piled up by a wall and out of the way.)

The “two months” claim seems to stem from how Elektra was apparently resurrected two months before the start of The Defenders, but the only reference I noticed actually just says “months ago”?

Also, considering how Matt destroyed the Hand’s blood harvesting operation in DD S2, I’m willing to assume they resurrected Elektra soon after her funeral, before the blood hit its expiration date, and apparently Elektra either recovered more slowly than implied in the show, or she’s been busy for months, not just some weeks (in line with how Danny and others recognise having fought her in different locations all over the world).

Judging from the bill of lading Jessica stole in E2, the architect received his box of explosives on 15 October.

People have even managed to decipher the date in Jessica’s computer in E1, which is apparently some day in November? 1st? 3rd? Single-digit something. I can’t make it out, but it sounds reasonable and kinda in line with the weather we see in The Defenders (although the first episodes feature some rather golden, leafy trees, so who knows).

However, Karen has no forehead injury from the hotel bomb in TP S1, and if this was mere weeks after TP S1, she would still have it, considering how it took a while for her Schoonover car crash injury to heal in DD S2. She does seem okay though, the way she might be if she knew Frank survived the carousel shooting and is in the wind, but alive and okay.

If The Defenders took place first, I think Karen in TP would have been much more raw and emotional over Matt’s recent death. But it would explain why Frank didn’t even consider finding Matt too, when he was going through his “short list” of people who knew he’s alive. But maybe he finds Matt too annoying and decided that getting Karen’s help would be more constructive than knowing what Matt might or might not have said.

(However, if TP happened first, would Matt have managed to stay away and not try and stop Lewis blowing up innocent people and threatening Karen?)

People have noticed that in TP the Empire State Building is lit up in red “in honour of Daredevil’s sacrifice”, but we see it lit up red already in The Defenders E6 when Elektra just kidnapped Danny:

And this is the same Empire State Building at the end of The Defenders:

(and in real world, apparently it was lit up red during the filming period on 14 Feb 2017 for the Valentine’s day, so it’s some kind of filming schedule thing; also, it doesn’t make sense for a corporate Manhattan building to commemorate a Hell’s Kitchen vigilante?)

So, to sum up, it’s a mess, but I’m willing to go with a headcanon that TP S1 happens a 2-4 weeks before The Defenders, when Karen and Matt are still estranged, with Matt trying his best to keep on the straight and narrow as only a pro bono lawyer and with Karen feeling lonely but not exactly devastated like she would be after Matt’s death in Midland Circle.

[angelofdiamond]

I can fully understand the profound message that the sp... I mean the: "not at all suspicious teacher" of Chris 👀 wanted to give him: sure it is true that sooner or later they will want to come back in their first home but it doesn't mean that they won't come back or that doesn't consider this world (planet) their second home, thanks also to you in addition 💕, and in the meantime you will remember the good times you had together and the deep bond that unites you and that will allow you to reunite because you care for each other also it doesn't mean that they can't like being here (*cough cough *right Sonic and friends 👀?) however dear my:" not at all suspicious teacher" you forget one very important thing...you are talking to a boy who for most of his life has been practically neglected affectively with only minimum 1 minute presence from his parents and with the only memory of when they acted like a real family when he was practically 2 and a half years old ( at 3 years old they started neglecting him by starting to break the most innocent and easy to keep promises) you tell me how can you also expect this poor soul to be okay with him 🥺? Of course he always wants to help them but at the same time he also doesn't want to lose the only people who really showed him that they love him and care about him and I am not saying that Helen, Danny and Frances don't count for anything however it is obvious that they are not close friends but acquaintances that he is now making and that he loves anyway. Moreover, this poor guy has proven himself time and again that he is not possessive and obsessive (otherwise like cabbage Sonic would do 6 months of traveling xD) and that it is enough for him that at least he can see them and know that they are there and it is totally normal that you are sad that they are no longer present like before in the house however at least they are there, they let you know that they want to be with you and they don't abandon you by lying to you, neglecting you or not taking you into consideration and then being hypocrites by fighting when you are sick 😒.

GOD i love this anime so much this scene made me cry it's so profound and good and aaaaaaaa ;;

[itsclydebitches]

No one should of trusted RWBY+ with fucking anything, let alone saving the world (LIKE REN SAID THEY SHOULDN’T BE MAKING DECISIONS ON) and now look. Two cities destroy, millions dead or homeless, and Salem half-way to completing her goal that might get everyone killed. Yeah, Ozpin totally should apologize for not trusting these idiots.

At the very least the story might have pulled some plot strings to "prove" that Ozpin should have trusted them from the start. Like with Oscar succeeding with Hazel. We know that success required him to go OOC and that in a story with more consistent characterization/realistic reactions from its cast, Oscar would have definitely failed... but that doesn't erase the fact that he didn't. No matter how badly executed, the story essentially argues, "Oscar was right to trust Hazel because look, Hazel helped him" and we might have gotten something similar with the group: "Ozpin was wrong to mistrust them because look, when they learned the truth everything got better."

But, uh... things got so much worse.

The group drove Ozpin away rather than proving that they were actually different from everyone else who learned about Salem. Then they nearly lost the Relic at the farm. They tested the fragile trust between the kingdoms by stealing from Atlas and in doing so got a Leviathan to attack a city. Then they lied to Ironwood - the exact thing Ozpin supposedly shouldn't have done to them. They actively divided their allies - you know, the thing Salem wants. Not splitting the group to complete two separate tasks, Ruby - by turning on the Ace Ops and Ironwood. Ruby told everyone about Salem, which realistically should have caused massive grimm attacks across the entire world. They lost the Relic because they never bothered to put it in the vault. They also ended up losing the last question because of that. They lost the Staff because they stupidly took it out of the vault. Their Maiden was killed, again. An entire populace is displaced and currently getting picked off by grimm. They knowingly, willingly, and deliberately destroyed an entire kingdom when they didn't have to.

Oh, and then five out of ten “died.” If there was any part of Ozpin that held back out of worry for their safety, that’s been proven correct too. They weren’t strong enough, or smart enough to survive this war. Within just a few months they were (we’re meant to believe) killed. 

Putting aside, for the moment, that a story needs conflict and failure on the part of its protagonists, everything that has happened since Volume 6, to my mind, proves Ozpin right. Not just in terms of "Wow, when I tell people about Salem they hurt and betray me" but also "Wow, somehow I don't think this group of teenagers with one year of training is ready to be the linchpin of this war." Because that's what they wanted by demanding every secret: to be at the very center of the fight, to be making the tough calls, to play at being the world's hero. The problem is, their idea of a hero is still someone who fixes everything with an epic punch to the face. When that fails... they crumble. Cue Ruby sitting around in the mansion half the volume. Should Ozpin have trusted his inner circle? It's debatable. Lionheart ran to Salem the second he learned of her immortality, Qrow sunk deeper into his alcoholism and gave up the fight, but Ironwood took it in a stride and kept pushing forward. Theodore we don't know yet. So it's pretty up in the air whether that would have assisted Ozpin, or just made things worse that much faster, but then that's not really the question here. Should he have told the group? Should he have deliberately made these teens generals in this war? The plot says, "Absolutely not." Because when they made themselves the generals through force - stealing the question, lying to Ironwood, defeating the Ace Ops, hijacking Amity - things have consistently gotten worse. Nothing we've seen on screen the last three volumes says, "See? Look how much better things are once Ozpin was forced to trust love and put his faith in this team."

And what slays me is that the show so desperately tries to backtrack on this with the fight between Ren and Yang:

Ren: Are you kidding?! We don’t know the first thing about being Huntsmen. We clearly weren’t ready.

Yang: Were we not ready when we saved Haven? When we took down a Leviathan? We got the Lamp to Atlas.

Ren: And then we lost it! And after that, when we had to make real decisions, we got every single one wrong.

Yang: I’m not going to pretend like we did everything perfectly, but if we’d done nothing, things would be even worse than they are now.

Ren: How could they possibly be worse? We are stuck out here while Salem has the Lamp and Oscar. We’ve got no plan, no army.

Yang: We’ve got the Maiden!

Yang is forced to omit so much information to make the team look good here and Ren is only allowed to point out one (1) thing she omits: "And then we lost it!" Yang fails to mention that they didn't save Haven, Blake's army did. So yeah, one member of the team, but it's not like they got in there and kicked epic ass. Weiss nearly died. The Relic was only saved because Raven decided she didn't want it anymore. The group barely held their own and then won due to good timing and the bad guys taking each other out/changing their minds. They were going to defeat two Maidens? Lucky them one Maiden took the other out and then decided to hand them the Relic.

Took down a leviathan? Funny how she fails to mention that they drew the leviathan there in the first place and that Cordovin's drill is what did it in. Even Ruby's eyes is a single person ability that only works on grimm, not at all useful for the human-based problems Ren is talking about. They got the Lamp to Atlas? Yeah, and then you lost it. Getting it to Atlas is literally meaningless when the villains still managed to steal it, that victory a direct result of the group's stupid decisions. It's like going, "I successfully got water out of the boat" and failing to mention that the boat still sank. Oh, and also you could have plugged the hole at any point and just... didn't. The boat sinking is absolutely on your hands. When pressed just the tinniest bit, all Yang can come up with is that they've still got the Maiden, someone who will be attacked, hacked, and murdered by the end of the volume. Everything else? "but if we’d done nothing, things would be even worse than they are now."

That's a very big claim from someone ignoring all her failures. And of course, soon after this Ren dares to use Jaune's lack of training as an example of how unprepared they are (valid), he gets mad, the duo later tells him to open up more (he literally just did), and then the story drops his anger for a semblance upgrade instead. RWBY banks on us just believing Yang, carried along by everyone - all the way through to Nora - going on about how Very Very Wrong Ren Is - because if you actually consider these themes of trust and ask whether Ozpin was wrong to hold back... there's not a lot to challenge that decision. The go-to argument would be, "The heroes made things better once they knew the truth, ergo, they should have known the truth from the start" but the group has continually made things worse. It's not even a temporary problem anymore. No matter that they'll inevitably win, Atlas is gone. They've done irreversible harm to the world and yeah, they're trying to do good, they're trying, but this isn't the story of some teenagers forced into a conflict and doing what they can with the hand they've been dealt. This is the story of some teenagers who forced their way in, so when things go wrong... that's on them, no matter their intentions. They are now responsible, just as much as Ozpin was responsible. Except the story refuses to admit that, continually positioning Ruby as an innocent child in need of reassurance, not the licensed huntress who stole control from Ozpin, lied her way into a new inner circle, attacked former allies to avoid the consequences of her own actions, and presented herself as the world's savior... only to then cry because she never had a plan to begin with. We've got a fantastic story here about how Ruby wasn't ready, none of her friends were, and their naïve belief that they were the heroes of this tale - running after the White Fang, then Cinder, then Salem herself - has done incredible harm within a delicate, multi-generation war. We might have started telling that story if the group had actually sat with Ren's accusations and admitted their mistakes. Instead, we're left with this ridiculous claim that no matter how bad things get, it's always better than the alternative of the group not being involved at all. Because they're the heroes, remember. Their goodness they provide is, supposedly, inherent. The only problem is we no longer have a plot that supports this claim.

[letsperaltiago]

somewhere only we know

This is my entry for the B99 Summer 2021 Fic Exchange and it's for lovely Johanna aka. @amyscascadingtabs <3 I picked the prompt: "Jake and Amy going on a babymoon and enjoying some time together before everything changes for good."

It's very simple and just pure good, happy parents to be-vibes so yeah :) I initially wanted to add smut but didn't have the time to write it :(( If you feel like it's something you'd like, then feel free to lemme know! I can always add a chapter two heh. Anyways, enjoy!!

Rating: G

Words: 2.7k

Read here or on Ao3

“Jake, this is… amazing.”

This seems to be all Amy can come up with as the hotel room presents itself before her. Better or bigger words seem to be lacking from her otherwise excellent vocabulary but she blames it on the fact that she’s been carrying a tiny human for the past 35 weeks - not that she’s complaining. It’s been hard, both physically and mentally, and there are a few more weeks to go but by the end of it all, she’ll be holding her little baby boy. 

She’s tired and every inch of her body swollen and/or sore, but more importantly she’s eager and excited. Jake is too, if not even more than her, and this has resulted in the current scene: their babymoon. 

“You like it?” 

The way Jake asks her, eyes shining with innocent expectation and voice laced with childish excitement has her imagining just how their little boy will turn out to be. She can’t hold back her smile. This man will walk to the end of the earth to make her happy, essentially already has during this pregnancy, and the babymoon is just as much for him as it is for her. 

She turns on her heels to face him, showing him the bright smile that’s plastered on her makeup-free face which has gained some freckles during her pregnancy. 

“You could’ve planned a trip to a dumpster and I would still love it.”

Hands cupping his scruffy cheeks she pulls him in for a short but tender kiss that even so many years later, after thousands of kisses, has his toes curl in excitement. She truly would’ve stayed anywhere as long as Jake was with her. Although she does appreciate the fact that she’s standing in a beautiful lakeview suite at the LakeHouse Inn. 

“Should we reassess how much we refer to dumpsters and other gross locations when we declare our love for each other?” 

She chuckles at his comment, lips resonating against the corner of his grin. 

“Should we?” She slowly slides her hands to the back of her neck, entangling her fingers to keep her latched onto him even as she pulls away to flash him a pretend contemplative expression.  

Eyebrows cocked in playfulness, they share an indicative look in silence, only for them to break it in unison. “Nahh.”

“Right? It’s what makes us us.” Jake pulls her in by the hips which are carrying their son. 

Everything about Amy reminds him of their little miracle and makes him feel all tingly and excited. One look at her, one touch, and he forgets about the rest of the world and its crappiness. He has Amy and together with the tiny human in her belly, she is his entire universe. 

“Exactly.”

She closes the gap between them (as much as she can with the full-blown balloon shape of her stomach). 

“So,” she mumbles against his lips, “what are your plans for us?” 

Sadly, the 3-hour drive from home didn’t do wonders for her heavily pregnant body and even though she won’t admit it out loud, she hopes her husband’s plans for tonight will demand the bare minimum of her. She feels his lips and body withdraw, prompting her eyes open however the mischievous smile that meets her has a dimmed anxious feeling creeping over her - he does remember she’s 35 weeks pregnant, right? 

“I know that look, Peralta.” Her voice is distrustful, and after 7 years together she should know better than giving in to his teasing, but her suspicious air only fuels his fire and desire to mess with her. 

“In honor of my incredible and always so organized wife, there’s a tightknit schedule waiting for us.”

Tightknit schedule? Amy would usually be beaming at these words but right then and there, swollen legs, hungry and feeling everything but hot and fit after the drive, she aches to fall back onto the bed and sleep for days. It’s huge, king-sized, with crispy white sheets and the fluffy pillows are definitely calling her name. Although, the fact that Jake has everything planned out for their last vacation together, just the two of them, does pull on some heartstrings. He loves her so much and she loves him so much too. So much that she (almost) doesn’t turn a hair when he proudly starts listing their schedule for the evening and following day. 

“So right now it’s 4 PM which means unpacking-time. At 6 we have a dinner reservation at this cute little restaurant in a little town nearby so we’ll need to leave at approximately 5.45. At 8 there’s a showing of Die Hard at the local movie theater, which I thought we could attend?”

Okay, maybe her left eye flinches at this but very discreetly (or so she chooses to believe). 

“Then tomorrow there’s breakfast at 7, which is perfect because we have canoeing on the lake at 8.30...” 

She zones out after this. Hormones, tiredness, the fact that she can’t feel her feet- there are a thousand reasons but Amy can feel the most is tears prickling, threatening to spill. Not because she doesn’t appreciate her husband’s efforts and grand gestures, all for her, but because she can’t stand the thought of doing any of these sweet things he’s planned for them. She can’t cry though. He’s going to think something is actually wrong.

“Babe?”

However far gone she was, the sound of Jake’s voice pulls her back in and there’s a confusing mixture of mischief and pure adoration shining from these famous deep brown eyes. Why is he almost smiling when she’s having a tiny meltdown?

“Are you crying?”

“No?” she scoffs although she’s proven wrong upon touching her cheek where her fingers are met by a thin wet streak. “I’m just,” she clears her throat in hopes of avoiding a strained voice, “so overwhelmed by happiness and everything you’ve planned for us. It all sounds… great.”

Silence dawns upon them as Amy’s fake smile tries to convince him. On his part, Jake is biting his lip in an attempt to hold back a laugh, but his wife’s panicked look and teary eyes have him failing to last and after a couple of seconds he breaks the quietness. 

“Honey, I’m messing with you,” he chuckles and quickly pulls her back in for a tight hug, as tight as the belly allows, pecking the top of her head. “I know you love a good schedule but the only plans I have for us are: staying in bed, ordering room service, and watching tv.”

“Oh, thank God.”

The moan of relief flies out of her before she can even consider how it must sound to Jake, a great deal of embarrassment hitting her upon realization. She just made it sound like she wouldn’t appreciate her husband’s effort to make this weekend of theirs the best. 

“Jake, I’m so sorry! I didn’t-”

She pulls back to look him in the eyes, ready to offer a sincere apology for her blunt exclamation. She never gets to. Instead, she’s met with a huge grin and her husband looking everything but mad or hurt. Almost as if he knew. He knew how she’d react. He wanted her to react.

“You sly sneak! You knew you’d freak me out!” 

Only her husband can trick her like this, and, on one hand, it’s very endearing... Jake Peralta is more than just a good cop; he’s excellent. Brilliant and bold, maybe even too much sometimes, although he usually gets away with it. Usually, she’s always on his heels and she hates to admit it, but her mommy brain and restless hormones are making it much harder, if not impossible, to keep up with his always upbeat pace. 

“Of course I knew, babe.”

No matter how hard she tries, she can’t even find it within herself to be genuinely annoyed with him. He’s pulled her back into his arms and is looking at her with that mischievous smile that can both infuriate and enchant her. Tonight it’s a little bit of both although mostly the latter, she has to admit and the last bit of annoyance melts away the second he leans in, offering her a soft kiss that lets reminds her of the fact that he’s the best thing in the whole damn world. 

“I love you,” she manages to mumble against his lips before he can pull too far back, her swollen fingers cradling his jaw to emphasize her words. It tampers with any kind of reasoning and her ability to remain miffed. 

“I love you too...” her husband mumbles back against her lips. 

Pulling away isn’t an option, he’s too addicted and he enjoys feeling the air coming from her nose when she chuckles. “How much?”

“At the very least enough to not make my heavily pregnant wife canoe around a lake.” 

“Peanut and I appreciate that very much.”

Although after all these months there’s a comfort and familiarity in being able to rub her belly and know her son is in there, safe and sound, knowing he soon enough will be out here in the real world with them has butterflies fluttering in her chest. Jake’s hand joining hers in stroking her belly only causes the number of butterflies to multiply, explode all over again, and her hormones are making her question whether she wants to cry or laugh - or perhaps do both. After such a long wait, from the second they decided to start trying, there’s no blaming her impatience. There’s so much to expect and patience has never been her strongest asset. Only when it comes to Jake and their son. She’s impatient to see, hear and feel it all. The life and adventure she’s created with the man she loves the most seems scarily close yet torturously far away. 

With no reason to leave in sight, Amy finds herself bundled up in a hotel bed sent from heaven, wearing nothing but panties and her favorite nursing bra. Jake is on an errand run to grab her the creme cheese-filled pierogis and Arroz con Leche their son and she are very much craving. Although she does prefer her abuela’s homemade version of the latter, even a pregnant Amy can come to terms with the fact that there are limits to Jake’s super husband-powers. He can and will get her almost anything as long as physically possible - or within a radius of 20 miles which Abuela Dolores at this given time for good reasons isn’t. 

Amy had insisted on the hotel’s room service menu being more than fine, but her husband knows her all too well and could tell she wasn’t content with the ravioli and créme brulée she’d originally settled for. Before she could even begin to protest his offer to run out and get it for her, her husband had pulled on a pair of jogging pants and a hoodie, grabbed his keys, and left her behind with a peck to the top of her head and a promise to be back in not too long. 

In all honesty, the ravioli and creme brulée would’ve been fine, and she would’ve preferred Jake to be here to cuddle her. Nonetheless, there’s no denying how loved and important Jake makes her feel. Especially when he suddenly walks in the door, multiple plastic bags hanging on his arms and car keys dangling from his mouth. The view is hilarious, to say the very least, and she wonders: how did she ever get so very lucky? 

Perhaps she will never know the answer to this. Luckily when you’re cuddled up in a soft hotel bed eating pierogis, fries, grapes, and Arroz con Leche with the love of your life, it doesn’t really matter how you got there. Being too busy talking, eating, and making out, the documentary about the history of paper Amy’s been dying to watch is mostly just background noise. 

“Can you believe we’re having a baby?”

Her husband’s mouth is filled with fries and before she can even think of answering his question, she has to reach over to wipe ketchup from the corner of his mouth. 

“Yes… but also no. In a good way.”

It’s true. She always knew she wanted kids but wanting is one thing; actually outliving it still seems surreal to her, even as she runs her hands around the curve of the skin encapsulating their very own little human being. What makes it so much more surreal is the fact that Jake Peralta is the father. Jake Peralta, the guy who she 6 years ago could only pine for. Now she’s lying in bed with him, watching him smile at her with those soft, brown eyes and warm rosy lips that she not so secretly hopes their son will inherit. He swiftly wipes oil and salt off his fingers before reaching over to place his hands on top of her belly. Placing hers on top of his happens like a newfound reflex of hers. His hand is warm and feels like home.

“This is probably the last getaway we’ll have, yanno, just the two of us.”  

His soft voice has her looking up from their joined hands on her belly to see him looking directly at her with glistening eyes, the blue light from the television casting a blue hue on the side of his head. He looks so handsome, pensive, so perfect and she can’t come to terms with the fact that he’s her’s and she his, and together they’ve created new life.

“Yeah. More likely than not.” 

“How do you feel about that? Are you scared? You know- of giving birth and how life will be after that?”

A few beats of silence go by, only the dull sound of the tv filling the otherwise silent room. His hand never slips out of from beneath hers. Does this question maybe reflect some worries of his? 

“Not scared, per se...”

She quickly makes sure that there’s no food in-between them before scooting in closer to him. Her hand slips off of his only to slide up his arm, all the way up to cup his face. There’s close to no room between them. Her thumb dances across his cheekbone. 

“... Excited, maybe a bit anxious, but I know it’ll be alright and so very worth it in the end. And yeah, our life nd dynamic might have to change a bit but it’ll always be us. But I’m not scared,” This seems to put a damper on his running mind. “And you know why?”

“Hm?”

“Because I have the world’s best baby daddy.”

As hoped a wide smile lights up his face, pure unadulterated joy so obviously present in this little moment of theirs. Worries seem irrelevant and non-existing. 

“Are you worried, babe?” 

She sees his smile fade a bit but not enough to genuinely worry her. Just like everyone, he has his thoughts and worries. With care comes worries. He wants to do his best, she knows. 

“Maybe a bit, you know? Like not genuinely worried like I would’ve been a few years ago, but just… averagely worried.” 

“That’s okay,” she comforts, her thumb still tracing smooth lines on his cheek. “It’s normal. It just means you care and want to do good, which is all I can really ask of you.” 

“I do care. A lot. So so much,” he chuckles shyly. 

“Which is also why you’re going to be fine, I will be fine and everything will be fine.” 

She doesn’t give him the time to agree nor protest but instead leans in to place a long, tender kiss on his lips, inviting him to join in on the moment.  It’s just a simple kiss, soft, like the one they had a Shaw’s after agreeing to stop trying (which eventually lead to more trying, but that’s beside the point). With every breath, they take the kiss grows deeper, longer. It’s as if their bodies are aware of the fact that this will be the last time they get to do this without a child to get home to; without the responsibility of being a parent. All at once, it’s frightening but also, more than anything, exciting. Their lives might be on the verge of changing forever. Although lying there in bed together, feeling the soft touch of their spouse, it feels like they’ve never changed and never will. They’re always going to be Jake and Amy. 

[ambrosiaaddiction]

Not Meant To Be

Word Count: 2,107

Pairing(s): Anthony Bridgerton x reader, Simon Basset x reader

Summary: The Bridgerton family and the Duke have been invited to a picnic that was planned by yours truly. Tensions begin to grow, and things don’t go quite as you hoped they would.

TW: none

Part 2/6

⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

Today’s weather of sunshine and blue skies called for a picnic. I gave clear instructions to Cook that he should prepare a delicious meal and treats, including Simon’s favorite of gooseberry pie. I would never forget something so important about him because it always came in handy.

I then go to find our butler, Charles, and say, “Please send invitations to the Bridgertons and the Duke of Hastings, Charles. There will be a picnic at the park, and do tell them that it will be late at 1pm.” He bows in response, and repeated my words before he left to complete his tasks.

With a nod of satisfaction, I left the main floor then up the stairwell to change my attire. What I was currently wearing fell short of today’s planned event, and I needed to win Simon back. Once inside my bedroom, I closed the door and quickly strode to the wardrobe to see my options.

My thoughts roamed to the man who promised that we would spend the rest of our lives together, which made my blood boil with rage. Men these days were either too dense or too arrogant or had little backbone. Simon was a mixture of having a huge ego and vulnerable when he opens up to the people that know his true personality.

None of this was my fault whatsoever. I left for only a mere three months to study abroad in France, then I return to the ‘wonderful’ news of his engagement to a girl named Daphne Bridgerton. A trip to London hadn’t been something I expected for myself, but I came to the city for him and no other reason.

In truth, Simon technically was still my fiancé, although I knew there was an explanation for everything that took place while I was absent. As a matter of fact, he brushed off the situation like it was a speck of dust that ruined his perfect image to the desperate mamas and equally egotistical lords.

“Good heavens, I’m going to get wrinkles if I keep thinking about the “what-ifs” and not do anything to change them.” I huff in exasperation at my own foolishness, a bit disappointed in myself for having such thoughts when the damage had yet to be done.

After endless decision-making, I chose to wear a yellow dress with a simple pink floral design from the sleeves to the hem of its skirt, and I twirl in front of the mirror with a bright smile. It wasn’t a ball gown, but this would surely make Simon realize that he wants me more than anyone in all of Grovensor Square. It just had to.

I had to admit, the dress itself was too revealing for a lady of my status. Well, at least it would be just myself, Simon, and the Bridgertons alone for a picnic. A reminder to cover my legs repeated itself over and over in my mind, yet I had a feeling that I would catch the attention of everyone’s eyes anyway.

The clock rang the second its big small hand reached 12pm, which meant there was an hour left for preparations and riding to the park. “Marianne! Please call for the carriage, and tell chef to hurry!” I shouted into the air, and I heard Marianne reply from down the hall. Perhaps I was rushing for punctuality-sake, but a host or hostess must never arrive later than their guests.

It was a good thing that mama had long left for tea at Lady Farland’s estate, and papa was probably gambling at the gentlemen’s club again. I certainly wouldn’t be surprised if he came home with news that he either won lost of money or lost a majority of what he gambled. No one could tell me that the picnic was meant to open Simon’s eyes and see just me in them rather than that so-called “flawless” Bridgerton girl.

Nonetheless, I had to get going before they gossiped of my tardiness if I wasn’t already at the location. Time seemed to blur from when I scurried down the stairs to gather everything I needed to when I got into the carriage and made it safely to the park. The next thing I knew, I was trying my best not to laugh at a discreetly explicit joke Benedict had shared amongst ourselves.

Anthony looked like he was going to strangle his brother or maybe he was going to give him a pat on the shoulder? I couldn’t tell because I was too preoccupied with devouring my favorite sandwich while I brushed my shoulder against Simon’s. Of course this got his attention, and he whispered into my ear, “Now is not the time nor place to play, y/n. Behave yourself.”

His warning provoked something inside of me, but there were too many people who would witness the indecency behind my innocent act. “My apologies, your Grace. I’ll be a good girl for you.” I whispered in reply, then continued to enjoy my delicious sandwich as though I did nothing wrong in the first place.

I knew what I was doing to him, and he liked it. He knew what would happen if I went further, and I was fanning the flames with fervor. “Is Daphne aware of our relationship? Sorry, I meant, what it was supposed to become? You know, such as getting married? Living together and in the country?”

Simon’s jaw clenched just like when he used to have me underneath him, calling his name and coming undone by his touch as I squeezed tighter around him. Those nights were by far the best I had ever experienced, and he treated me with such tenderness after we were spent.

“Don’t you remember the great times we had, love? Everything fell apart when I came to London and found you dancing with the red-headed girl in the moonlight.” I scowled under my breath, then I slowly calmed myself down before I could ruin this lovely picnic with a beautiful family and my old lover.

I needed a moment alone, so I stood up and sheepishly excused myself from the blanket before walking away. It was almost as though the night I found myself standing at the lake was repeating itself again, but this time, I knew where I was going and no tears would shed. No, this time was different than last. Instead of crying because I couldn’t control some situations, I chose to think about I would take back Simon for myself.

Seeing Simon chuckle and comment on every little thing Daphne said created small cracks on my heart. I couldn’t think of when he used to do that with me, and I close my eyes to forget all of the recently bad memories. Heavy footsteps approached from behind, but I was too distracted by the wrong Simon had done to me.

“Y/n, are you alright? You left so suddenly, and everyone is worried about you.” Anthony softly called out to me, his hand resting on my shoulder to turn me around and see the miserable state I was in. “I’ll be better, my lord. There’s no need to waste your worry on me.” I mustered a fake smile to dissipate his concern for me, but apparently he had dealt with heartbroken maidens before.

The Viscount gently pulled me into his arms, and rocked our bodies back and forth. I was speechless for I had no idea what he was doing, and yet I didn’t want him to stop. It felt pleasant to be comforted by a warm embrace that held a promise of always being there when it was most needed in times of anguish.

“You are a strong woman, y/n. You don’t need to act as though nothing can break through your walls. You’re still human, and that’s okay. Believe me, I know what it’s like to feel helpless.” He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and smiled when I pulled away to stare at him with wide eyes. I always knew what kind of man he was, but the side of him that I admired truly was a rare sight to behold.

What felt like an eternity of comfortable silence was interrupted by Eloise who came searching for her brother and I after he had been gone for too long. “Mama won’t stop spouting nonsense that you’ve gotten lost, brother. We had to stop her from creating a search party.” She snickered at the fresh memory, and it stopped when she realized that Anthony was hugging me unusually close to his chest.

I caught on and quickly pushed myself away, then I fixed my dress before thanking her. “Thank you for taking the responsibility, Eloise. You’ve found us alright, and I believe we best return to your family.” Anthony cleared his throat, a big embarrassed that the particular sister of his had seen something she would never let go.

“Yes, Miss Denbow is right. Let’s return before mother actually gathers a search party for three people.” He leads the way, and I smile awkwardly at Eloise as I walk past her. I then let out a breath I didn’t know I had been holding in since she found Anthony and I, but I hoped that she wouldn’t mention it when we got back to the picnic.

Once there, Lady Bridgerton literally shed tears of joy as soon as she saw my face and brought me into a hug. What was with the Bridgertons and hugging? I could see Simon lean over to Anthony, his mouth forming the words, “Thank you for bringing her back safely.” Anthony nodded in reply, then sat down in between Colin and Benedict before he grabbed his glass of wine to take quite a long sip.

Well, it was back to where I started. I didn’t want to ask questions and make matters worse, but I knew that the current engagement wasn’t going to last for long. According to Lady Whistledown, Queen Charlotte was not convinced of the proclaimed love that everyone said Simon and Daphne shared.

I had to say it. Otherwise, I would lose the love of my life to a woman who gained Her Majesty’s favor, and I would be lonely until the day I die. “The Duke and I were once lovers, but now he’s going to marry Miss Bridgerton.” Complete and utter silence. I take in a deep breath before I continue.

“I had traveled to France for three months, and the Duke asked me to come see him here, in London. I truly thought that he was going to marry me, but I was proven wrong and a fool. He’s pretending as though we didn’t have a beautiful relationship before he chose to help her and she him.”

Lady Bridgerton was the first to break, and she began to stumble over her words while overcoming the insurmountable shock that I gave to everyone. Eloise tried what she could to stop herself from laughing, Benedict smacked her arm while he was struggling to do the same.

Colin couldn’t find the right words, and Anthony spat out his wine. Except for the two youngest children who were playing in a flower field, we adults all sat together with no help to describe what our mixed emotions were. “What is the matter with you, y/n? Did you even think this through before you babbled on about the past? If I had known that you were so childish, I would’ve left you a long time ago.”

Simon glared cold daggers in my direction, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The man who I loved was now a stranger with a much better woman than I, so there was nothing I could do now to take him back. “You’re right, Simon. I’m such a child, and I don’t know any better than to tell the truth when living a lie is all the more tempting.”

I gave my deepest apologies to Lady Bridgerton, promising her that I would make up for my demeanor with tea and a visit to the spa one day. I then said my farewells to the Bridgertons, but I didn’t spare the slightest of glances to Simon who looked like he was going to let out a fury of anger.

It served him right for playing with my heart, and if he was so play a part not meant for him that would end in heartbreak, then so be it. I knew someone who could help me make him regret losing me, and they were a professional when it came to such lengths.

Just you wait, Simon Basset. Just you wait.

[whatitis-inside]

I listened the podcast yesterday, it was a true-crime story about a murder. This guy had a wife and two kids, but somewhere along the way their paths split. They grew apart. He left the family house, she stayed with kids. To spite him, she was making things difficult for him, not answering phones, not saying where the kids are. Then one day, she and the kids disappeared. He wasn’t suspected at the time. But then a few months later their bodies were found in the pond, near their house, still the ground of their property. Police didn’t suspect him then either. But were interested. Then, two dudes that were working for them said they killed her and the kids, but it was the husband idea. To get the money. And revenge. So they kept him in prison while collecting further evidence. They didn’t believe him when he said he wasn’t the one. Nor even when it was clear he had a solid alibi because he was in a different country. Media, friends, family even already convicted him of killing his wife and his kids. Despite almost none evidence to prove he killed them, he was held in arrest for more than 6 months. Called names. Called a murderer. Only later, surprisingly so, police decided to question the wife of one of the guys who said who did it. They pressed her and she cracked, saying finally the husband didn’t do anything. That those two did it for money. They wanted to steal money, but realized the wife would notice. So they killed her. Then the kids becasue they could reveal who killed. I can’t imagine the horror of this guy to not only loose everyone but to be suspected of doing it. After he left the arrest, he said how awful it was. To lose his job, for his friends to even lose one bc they tried to help you, to be called and be seen as a murderer. He even sued one of the magazines for telling lies.

So sorry for a long introduction but that’s why we have the innocent until proven guilty. That’s why you, as a person having no checked evidence, no information from the inside, should judge and make judgements.

[viridiave]

NARUMITSU <ATTEMPTING TO READ THE SUBTEXT PLATONICALLY>

*Wrote all this some time last month so I might be off- really really off- also full disclosure I too am a Narumitsu shipper- this is just me giving myself a bad time doing the impossible and having fun XD

-I am going to fail sooner or later. Looking at you, Bridge to the Turnabout.

FIRST GAME >Turnabout Samurai -Yep. We're jumping right in with 'unnecessary feelings'. I'm going to be put on a stake for this. -This is going to become the main argument with any and all homoerotic subtext present in the first game- that it was unintentional. They didn't actively start making it gay until the second game, and even before then the producer for the games had to warn the development team not to try and insert these themes for fear of getting it wrong and lose the fanbase they'd accidentally caught the eye of. I can still create arguments for why this specific, hilariously meme-able line could be read romantically of course- but as far as the game development team at the time was concerned this interaction was never meant to be read as romantic. -Unease and uncertainty are... very valid feelings for Edgeworth to feel at this very moment and as much as I'd like to joke that he was feeling uncertain about his sexuality after seeing his childhood friend as an adult, this line was really just likely meant to lead up to the conclusion of Turnabout Goodbyes and Edgeworth's character arc for this game. His perfect win streak had just been shattered in a case prior. In this case, he was meant to persecute the lead actor of his favorite show- and in some ways his helping the defense can be taken as his biases getting the better of him. His sense of justice and his entire worldview is about to be overhauled, and I can see how he would regard this budding doubt in himself as an unnecessary (heh) distraction from what he believes is his true purpose in life.

>Turnabout Goodbyes -Edgeworth wanting to keep him away from DL-6 has its own section mostly because of how stubborn he becomes when it comes to Phoenix's insistence in particular. It's clear that this stubbornness is a front, I will concede with that- but there are merits to his initial reluctance in accepting Phoenix's defense. It's evident that Phoenix himself has grown over the course of the game so far, but in both of the times that he faced off against Edgeworth in court, his victories were... a tad bit contrived. For instance in Turnabout Sisters, Phoenix really only wins because Mia was being channeled and blackmailed White as he was about to leave the stand. Turnabout Samurai is a little better- but had him rely on quite a lot of coincidences (proven later to be substantiated) that surfaced during the trial. This is nothing to say of the deeper reason Edgeworth has over dissuading Phoenix from taking his case ("You in particular I cannot ask to do this.")- where I can make an argument for his pride and/or concern over Phoenix's career as an attorney. The stakes are relatively high here as well- if Phoenix fails, Edgeworth is incarcerated, Manfred von Karma goes free, DL-6 goes cold once again with no hope of getting re-opened, and everything that Phoenix has been working towards as an attorney would have been in vain. DL-6 is a case that has ruined many lives- it'd make sense if Edgeworth himself felt as though it would be a waste of time and effort to take this case because of how convinced he was of murdering his own father prior to Gourd Lake. He'd grown up for the past 15 years with a nightmare and a death sentence over his head- I wouldn't be surprised if he simply gave up and accepted that he was going to die at the hands of his prosecuting mentor. Even if he were acquitted for the murder of Robert Hammond, his perceived involvement in DL-6 would have thrown a wrench in his freedom- any lesser attorney would have given up on that. And this is unloaded BEFORE Phoenix tells him about the true reason as to why he became an attorney. -Phoenix's insistence to defend Edgeworth in this case can easily just be read as platonic- his complete, unfettered faith in Edgeworth's innocence is heavily influenced by that class trial, for better or for worse. While I'm perfectly happy to imagine that Phoenix's attachment to his idealized version of Edgeworth grew into something deeper sometime in the fifteen years that he hasn't seen him, I do believe that Phoenix in particular really is just that much of a sentimental person. This is to say nothing of his nature as a defense attorney- and what little time he's managed to spend with Mia has taught him that unbridled trust in his client is what gets him through the day, and he's putting it to practice here. Edgeworth was what he has been working towards the moment he decided he would practice law- as Phoenix at this point in time still believes that he could do no wrong despite seeing what Edgeworth is truly like in court. -Cutting into the meat of Phoenix and Edgeworth's shared past, I made a point earlier to say that Phoenix's perception of Edgeworth as a person is idealized. Every memory that Phoenix has had of Edgeworth prior to the events of the first game were from their childhood- and they had 4-8 months (plus one year if we're generous with the retconning some of the official art gave us) MAX to develop a friendship so strong that Phoenix makes major life decisions just to meet with this man. The fact that this time spent together was ENOUGH for Phoenix in the first place is... really hard to skirt around. To quote Dan from GameGrumps "this is something that you would only do for someone you're trying to marry" and if one of them was a woman I guarantee this ship would be canon already. But then again- since this is Phoenix Wright in particular somehow I can believe that he really is just that sentimental- and that isn't always a bad thing. He'd managed to save Edgeworth twice with this conviction after all. When Phoenix sees Edgeworth, he doesn't see a demon prosecutor, he sees his childhood friend who aimed to become a shining example of justice following in his father's footsteps. They address how shaky his foundations for becoming an attorney were in the Phoenix Wright Files once actually- going through a mini-existential crisis because he'd become an attorney with the main goal of saving Edgeworth from what he'd become, and now that he's accomplished that he's just kind of... lost. Edgeworth himself manages to pull him out of this, though. -man that hurts my case a lot actually but to be fair I was banking on failing -I just didn't expect it to happen so early even with the first game -in fact ESPECIALLY with the first game -though I cannot for the life of me wonder how I can come up with a heterosexual explanation for why the buildup towards Edgeworth telling Phoenix and Maya about his nightmares reads so much like a stunted love confession. I'm serious- just read any high school shojo manga ever. You'll find that it hits a lot of the same beats.

>Rise From The Ashes -It's in this case that we observe some of the consequences that the intial upheaval of Edgeworth's worldview in Turnabout Goodbyes causes him; distrust in the enforcement of the law. Not exactly the time for him to be dabbling in another, meme-able brand of unnecessary feelings. Several things like the Prosecutor's Office's relationship with the Police Department starts to waver with the murder of Bruce Goodman, and this becomes the final nail in the coffin for Edgeworth's worldviews and values as a prosecutor. His and Phoenix's teamwork in this trial becomes prevalent- the story behind the King of Prosecutors award represents this best despite it's currently incomplete state. The backstory behind this award paints an ideal of justice in the courtroom wherein the truth comes out as a result of the efforts of contradictory forces. A broken halberd that can cut through any shield (the prosecution) and a broken, unbreakable shield (the defense). Read as representation the text becomes something of a metaphor for the ideal justice that manifests itself in the best parts of Edgeworth and Phoenix respectively- the duality of their opposing professions rather than something that is limited to their relationship. -The same argument that I've used for Phoenix's unwavering belief in Edgeworth's innocence in Turnabout Goodbyes can be used for this case as well. -Though Edgeworth still goes M.I.A for a year after this case, it does grant his disappearance a bit more context as to why exactly it is that he left- and I'll be taking a tiny liberty with this and apply the interpretation that the Miles Edgeworth Files grants us, and that he left in order to better himself and grow as a person, a prosecutor, and as a friend to Phoenix Wright. It's... difficult for me to want to read this as anything but romantically-charged because the narrative beats are NOT lost on me (the dialogue makes this especially hard. send help.)- there's a possibility that Edgeworth at this point in time realizes the value in having a better, more functional dynamic with the one defense attorney who he considers a true equal in court. This dynamic will allow for less chances to encounter missteps and errors in any verdicts handed down in court, and if Edgeworth is to pursue his ideal of justice- Phoenix Wright is undoubtedly essential to this endeavor. The aftermath of Rise From The Ashes is indicative of this newfound goal of his- the symbolism behind the old King of Prosecutors award and the two halves of the evidence list certainly helps this case. -<"It seems all you do is worry about me." -Miles Edgeworth, Rise From The Ashes> For good fucking reason Edgeworth. You were accused of murder and have implicated yourself on the stand for DL-6 just a few months ago- and if the Investigations games are anything to go by, you're more of a danger magnet than PHOENIX is. I had to say it. The first Investigations game takes place over the course of 2-3 days and the sheer amount of shit that Edgeworth had to deal with in between that interval truly makes me wonder how Phoenix Wright ended up with the title of danger magnet. And THIS time- Edgeworth's car becomes a crime scene because his corrupt superiors needed a convenient way of transporting a corpse. There's VERY good reasons to worry about the livelihood of Miles Edgeworth. -Okay I... can't believe I forgot about the chessboard. Here's the kicker- the one we see from his office isn't even the only one he owns. I... legitimately cannot give you ANY purely heterosexual, platonic explanation for why Miles Edgeworth has THREE (THREE. I CANNOT OVERSTATE THIS. HE HAS T H R E E OF THESE FUCKING THINGS. GOOD GOD. HE CAN'T BE ANY MORE EXTRA.)(there exists a similar, portable set in the Investigations games- and he has a new set by the time of Dual Destinies) sets of custom-made chessboards with personalized, highly-specific red and blue designs made purely to depict his rivalry with Phoenix Wright. I fold. I give up. I forgot about the chessboards I wAS NOT EXPECTING TO FAIL THIS E A R LY- -You know what the real kicker is with Rise From the Ashes? The main argument that I have introduced back in Turnabout Samurai does not apply here. Rise From the Ashes was made as a DS-exclusive case and did not exist in the original GameBoy version of the Trilogy. Which means if there is homoerotic tension written in for this case (and there happens to be a lot. the chessboard is proof enough.), then we can safely assume that the writers at this point were well-aware. So yeah- maybe don't feel TOO bad about the unnecessary feelings line- because ever since then the writers have been playing off of that and it SHOWS. -Is there really a point to this I'm just- everything is stacked against me tryna interpret this platonically -Like I know I make a point to say that a romantic relationship isn't the end-all of all relationships because this franchise LOVES pushing the Found Family dynamic and I'm an absolute sucker for that -good god by the time Dual Destinies rolls around I'll probably just give up and happily say they're happily married -that's literally what they act like don't even pretend

[cellsshapedlikestars]

Can you do Jonsa Gladiator AU or Mob AU? Angsty but happy ending pleeeeeease! ❤

❤️❤️ thank you for the prompt!

a few things...

1) I’m not really into mob stuff so I chose gladiator????

2) I don’t know anything about gladiators and was too lazy to do research so....... whoops! most of this comes from cursory google searching, my viewing of the movie Gladiator when I was a child, and my Latin classes in middle school.

3) I’m not completely sure if this fits the angst prompt or even the gladiator prompt, really, but I tried my best

4) does this plot make sense? who knows!

5) the seven kingdoms are separate kingdoms in this just as an FYI, except the Iron Islands which is part of the North for Reasons™

6) these are supposed to be fairly short fics/drabbles but this turned into nearly 4k words because I have ZERO self control

7) here’s gladiator Jon to make up for this fic’s shortcomings:

xx

In the pit, he stands over his opponent and waits for the Emperor's decision.

They call him the Northman, they call him the Barbarian, but from this far away, she cannot tell. If he is Northern, he has been in the south too long. His skin is tanned golden and they have clad him in Northern armor, but perhaps he is just a southerner with dark hair that they have dressed up for fun. It isn't even true Northern armor, but she supposes that is likely because of the heat and the sun.

The Emperor raises his hand and gives the signal and in the pit, she watches him execute his opponent without hesitation and she thinks, no, it is not him.

….

She is seven years old when Jon's horse is maimed on a ride and they must put it down. She is not there when it happens, but later she finds him hiding in a corner in the stables with tears staining his face. He will not come out, does not want to face the teasing from Theon or Robb. She knows what it is like, to be teased for crying, and so she sits with him and she never tells a soul.

….

“Alayne is ever so interested in the gladiators,” Margaery leans forward, like she is telling the Emperor a secret.

“They do not have them in the North,” she says, keeping her eyes low. This is what she is good at, this is what she knows – playing a demure lady. Timid, accommodating, and one with no secrets.

She does not want to meet the Emperor, not really. From what she has seen during her time in King's Landing, he has proven to be every bit as cruel as the rumors made him out to be.

“I never imagined such a beauty from the North,” the Emperor says with a smile that would be charming if she didn't know better.

“Usually Northern women look just like their men!” some man she does not know jokes, he is drunk and loud, and the others around wait for the Emperor's reaction before deciding what their own is. The Emperor laughs, though, and the others follow suit.

“I heard the barbarian King is part wolf himself,” some noblewoman says, her hair twisted into an elaborate, painfully tight style. “I hear he eats raw meat and sleeps on the floor!”

“Have you ever met the Northern King, Alayne?” The Emperor turns to her and gives her a predatory smile.

“I have not, Oldcastle is so far from Winterfell, you see,” she lies and manages to keep a straight face, though she can feel her blood pounding furiously through her veins. She hopes they think the flush in her cheeks is from the wine and not her anger. “And I am from a lesser house.”

She is relieved when she is finally able to get away, as Margaery leads her around the room and introduces her to all the King's Landing elite. Margaery is from The Reach, but has been in King's Landing long enough to know all the players.

Finally, finally, they meet someone who can help.

“If Lady Alayne is so interested in the gladiators, perhaps I could give her a tour,” a man with salt and pepper hair and a pointed beard and a slick smile offers.

She can tell Margaery does not like this man, but this is what she needs and so she gives the man what she hopes is an innocently excited smile and says “oh, could you?”

…..

When Jon gets past Robb to rescue her, she throws herself into his arms and sighs “thank you, Dragonknight.”

“Dragonknight?” she hears Robb snort and she pulls back from Jon and scowls.

“Don't ruin it, Robb,” she stomps her foot as Jon laughs. She hears Robb say something as he moves away, but she does not care. Robb is terrible at playing monsters-and-maidens, but Jon is a better sport. She likes when Jon rescues her and he usually does not make fun of her when she makes up names for them. She is good at that, making up names and stories.

“Don't listen to him,” Jon tells her and she gives him a bright smile. Jon is always the most fun to play with. She does not have much in common with her cousin, but he is always kind and he plays along, better than Robb or Arya or Theon.

She rewards him for rescuing her with a kiss to his cheek and she likes the way he ducks his head and blushes and she spends the rest of the day with Jeyne talking about what it meant.

….

This is a waste, she thinks as Petyr Baelish leads her through the fortress that houses the gladiators. They are all in cells and they stare at her as she passes and she feels something sour in the pit of her stomach. She and everyone in the North have heard of the gladiators of the southern kingdoms, but it is not something they practice in the North and it makes her sick. Feigning interest and enthusiasm in it makes her sick. The Emperor with his golden smile makes her sick. The man leading her right now makes her sick.

She is sick of the south and she wants to go home, but this is what she came for and she will see it through, though she knows it is pointless. Theon was wrong.

She pretends to look at the various gladiators as Baelish talks, but she barely hears him. She has spotted the Northman's cell and it is all she can do not to walk directly over to it and confirm that it is not him so that this can be over. When it is over, she can leave. She can go back home and stop pretending to be Alayne and she'll deal with father's wrath but at least she will be home. She will be home and she can finally rid herself of the sick, choking hope that has been inside her ever since Theon had come back to Winterfell from his trip to the southern kingdoms and told them what he found.

What he thought he found, she reminds herself. Theon was wrong.

Finally, they arrive at the cell she wants and she looks inside at the man lounging on his cot. Unlike the others, he has not gotten up to stand at the bars to watch her. He is not leering at her or saying crude things like many of the others. It almost seems like he is ignoring them, pretending they are not there.

“What is your name,” she asks and steps closer to the cell. Behind her, she can hear Baelish make a sound of protest, telling her not to get too close. She knows the gladiator hears her, but he does not respond and she feels annoyance creep through her. He is dragging this out, making her stay here longer than she needs to. “You, Northman,” she says in her best imperious tone, “what is your name?”

“The lady asked you a question,” she hears Baelish's voice slither from behind her and one of the jailers clangs on the metal bars, like the gladiator is some sort of animal.

The gladiator finally sits up and she can't quite see him in the darkness of his cell. It isn't him, she reminds herself, but she feels frustrated because she needs to be certain. He looks at her and she watches him slowly stand up, but he stays back, in the shadows, and finally he says “they call me a lot of things,” and he shrugs. His voice is rough and low and something swoops low in her stomach because... because he sounded Northern. She needs to hear more words, needs to hear the accent.

“Are you actually Northern or just some southerner dressed in a costume?” she makes her voice as haughty and challenging as she can, her own Northern accent becoming just a little bit thicker than the polished one she uses down here (and somewhere, distant in her mind, she recognizes her tone as the one she used to tease him with, the one that could always get a rise out of him).

When he scowls and steps forward with an almost snarl, hope claws at her chest but she pushes it down.

“I'm more Northern than you are,” he spits, and one hand comes up to curl around the bars of his cell. In the light, she can see his grey eyes and his long face and she feels her hands start to shake.

“You'll watch your tongue,” Baelish says, but the gladiator ignores him.

“Look at you, all dressed up in their clothing,” he mocks, his eyes raking over her dress and her elaborately styled hair (her brown hair, she had just touched up the dye last night).

What is your name? She wants to scream it, wants to drop to her knees in front of his cell and beg for it, but she cannot. Petyr Baelish is here and somewhere, hovering in the shadows, is Varys. They are watching her and she has spent too much time here already and there is only so much she can excuse her behavior with we're both Northern and I am curious.

And so instead she backs away and turns to Baelish and tells him to take her home.

….

“You can't!” she sobs and tugs on his arm. “I don't want you to go!”

Jon sighs and carefully removes her hand from his arm, but he doesn't let it go, he holds it and brings his other hand up to cup her jaw.

“It will only be for a few months,” he sighs. “I'll come back.”

He is going away to visit Uncle Benjen and though he promises he is not going to take the Black, she still worries. He is sixteen and thinks himself a man grown.

“You promise?” she sniffs, her voice wavering too much.

“I promise,” his voice does not waver and his eyes never leave hers. “And when I come back, I'll talk to Uncle Ned.”

This is something they have not spoken of, not since that night. Not since the feast where Jeyne had snuck her more wine and she had gotten tipsy and kissed Jon as he had escorted her back to her rooms. She remembers him pulling away, remembers him telling her that she was drunk and didn't know what she was doing. She remembers telling him that he was a coward that would never ask for her hand and then storming into her room and slamming the door in his face.

“You will?”

“Aye,” he breathes and though she can tell he is nervous, he does not look away. “I'm no coward.”

….

She feels as though she will vomit, standing in one of Margaery's guest rooms where she has been staying for nearly three months now. Three months of dying her hair and pretending to be Alayne. Two months to see him in person, another to finally work up to asking Margaery to arrange this.

Sansa endured her sly smiles, her little jabs. “I suppose if you're homesick, it might be nice to have a bit of the North in your bed,” Margaery had grinned. “You're taking a risk though, Dany will be furious if she finds out.”

And so she had learned that Daenerys favored the Northman, brought him often to her bed and the idea turned her stomach, but she had held it together in front of Margaery.

But now Margaery is not here, off at a celebration for the Emperor's name day, and she cannot keep herself together. There is still a chance it is not him, but oh she cannot help the hope that has blossomed once again in her. And tonight is the night, it has to be. Most of the city will be celebrating the Emperor, no one will be watching a minor lady from the North.

He is led in by guards and she sees him for the first time in full light and it does nothing to dispel the hope. It has been nearly seven years since she last saw him, and this man's skin is darker, his hair longer, a beard where only sparse hairs had been before. A scar runs through his brow, another on his chin, and she can see others lining his arms, his hands.

He stands in the center of the room with his hands linked behind his back and a blank expression and his eyes look unfocused and far away and she wants to scream.

When she stands from the bed, she cannot think of a single thing to say except “what is your name?”

He stares straight ahead, expressionless, as he says “you can call me whatever you want.”

“No,” she cries and stomps her foot like she hasn't since she was a little girl. “What is your name?”

He turns to her, his eyes coming back into focus and she watches his brows furrow, just a bit. After a few moments of silence, he says “Jon,” and she nearly weeps with relief.

Theon was right.

….

When Arya crashes into the room, Sansa looks up from her sewing as Septa Mordane begins to scold her, but Arya is not listening.

Arya is crying. She never cries, and Sansa feels her stomach drop as Arya's eyes find hers.

“They were attacked, Jon and Uncle Benjen,” Arya stutters and Sansa has never seen her so wrecked. “They're all dead.”

Sansa barely feels her sewing hoop slip from her fingers and all she can think is that this is a lie, it cannot be true. He cannot be dead, he promised to come back. He promised to ask for her hand.

….

Jon is a common name but she knows deep in her heart that it is him and so she reaches up and undoes the scarf that hides her washed out hair. For a moment he does not move, he simply watches her copper hair fall around her shoulders and then his eyes move from it to her face and then to her hands as she pulls her direwolf pendant from where it was hidden beneath the neckline of her dress.

She cannot tell what he is thinking, he says nothing, only stares.

“Jon,” she breathes, taking a step forward and reaching for him, but he jerks back, like her touch will burn and she feels tears well up. She isn't wrong, she can't be.

“No,” is all he says, shaking his head slowly. “You can't be here.”

“Jon-”

“These people... you can't be here,” he's angry now and he moves forward and grabs her shoulders and grips them tight, but she is not scared because it is Jon.

“Oi,” a voice sounds from behind them and Jon freezes, “watch the hands.”

Sansa watches as Arya slips out from behind the curtain and moves forward, one hand casually resting on the knife at her hip.

“I know you're my cousin, but I'll still gut you if you hurt her.”

Jon turns to stare at Arya and his face has paled under his tan and Sansa watches everything from fear to anger to despair cross his face and she hates it.

“That's Arya's way of saying hello,” she tries to joke, tries to break the tension, but she's crying and so her tone is all wrong.

“You can't be here,” Jon whispers again, letting go of her shoulders and backing away from the both of them.

“Like hell,” Arya scowls. “We're here to rescue you, you idiot, pull yourself together.”

“Be nice,” Sansa scolds, but from the way Jon straightens up, she thinks maybe the direct approach is best. As it is, she's barely holding herself together and she thinks maybe they need Arya to get them through this.

…..

Theon pulls them into a room and Robb rolls his eyes and tells him to stop being dramatic.

“What's this great secret?” Arya asks, leaning against a table as Sansa settles herself in the chair.

They all expect theatrics from Theon, it's who he is, and he's been away for nearly a year, traveling the southern kingdoms to gather intelligence for their father. So of course Theon has some scintillating story to tell them, but this is beyond his usual fanfare. The secrecy of it all, it's a little much.

“You know the gladiator games in the south, right,” Theon says, but it isn't a question. Of course they do. The games are most popular in the Crownlands and the Reach and the Westerlands, but they are also held in the Stormlands and the Riverlands and the Vale. Dorne is the only other kingdom to ban them outright like the North.

“Don't tell me it's your new dream to be a gladiator,” Robb jokes but it falls flat as Theon seems to pale. This isn't his usual way of telling stories, all giddy excitement and exaggeration. He is serious and Robb falls silent as they all realize this.

“I saw a match in King's Landing and there was... they call him the Northman and I swear, I swear to you, it was Jon.”

He barely gets the sentence out before Robb snarls and grabs him by the collar and slams him into the wall. Sansa feels as though she is in a daze as she watches Robb nearly choke Theon, as Arya grabs him and pulls him back and Theon staggers to his feet and pulls in gasping breaths.

“What sort of fucking sick joke-” Arya starts, just as angry even though she saved his life.

“It isn't,” Theon whispers, still trying to get his breath back. “I swear to you. I debated whether to tell you or not the whole way back. I haven't even told the King. I couldn't be sure, they didn't give me his name or anything, but he looks exactly like one of you Starks. And he's the right age and...”

Sansa hears nothing further. Jon is dead. He and Uncle Benjen had been killed in a raid by clansmen disloyal to her father. They had found Uncle Benjen’s body, not Jon’s, but there had been a fire that had burned some beyond recognition and Jon is dead.

…..

They do not have much time and Sansa pulls a set of clothes out of the dresser for Jon. He is too conspicuous in his current state and they had managed to steal a set of commoner's clothes for him. He strips out of his tunic and Sansa blushes and turns away, though he does not seem to care about his state of undress and she wonders how often he is forced to be naked in front of others (and she thinks again to Margaery telling her that he was a favorite of Daenerys, the faraway look in his eyes when he thought he was here for the same thing).

When he is ready, they slip out of the room and Arya leads them through back corridors and secret passageways.

In the months that Sansa has been ingratiating herself into King's Landing society, Arya has been learning all their secrets. Their guard patterns and exits and which servants are less loyal than others. And Sansa knows that somewhere along the coast, Theon is waiting for them with his sister's ship. Back home in Winterfell, Robb is lying for them, holding off mother and father's suspicions for as long as possible, intercepting ravens from the Eyrie that would tell the King and Queen that their daughters are not actually there.

She has been waiting for it all to fall apart, for one of them to slip up, for it not to be Jon at all, and so it feels unreal as they arrive at the stables to find three horses waiting and a stableboy plied with gold. The stableboy punches Arya in the arm and they seem to be friends and Sansa would laugh if she weren't so terrified that she is going to wake up any second.

But she does not wake up and instead they leave the city and ride for hours and hours, making their way north and east, until they finally reach a small seaside town.

They do not dare to get a room at the local inn and so they wait in the woods at the outskirts of town until they see the ship come in to dock. It flies a Manderly flag but when they sneak on board, Theon greets them and it is only when they are properly out to sea that Sansa lets herself believe that this is real.

“I knew it was you,” Theon grips Jon's shoulders and they never truly got along as children, but that doesn't seem to matter now.

Later that night, she cannot sleep and so she leaves her cot and heads up on deck and she finds him standing at the rails and she somehow knew she would.

“You came for me,” he says, his voice dull and disbelieving.

“Of course we did,” she whispers, she doesn't trust her voice not to break if she speaks any louder. “You always rescued me when we were kids, it was time for me to rescue you.”

For a moment he is silent and then he lets out a sharp laugh. He does not point out that he never truly rescued her, it was only play. He does not scold her for putting herself in danger. Instead, his head drops and his whole body seems to sag against the rail as if it is the only thing keeping him upright. She moves forward and wraps her arms around his middle and then he seems to transfer his weight from the rail to her and she does not mind.

She does not know what he has been through, truly, and if she were being honest with herself, she's not sure she wants to know. The horrors she had witnessed in the few gladiator matches she attended, the way the nobles talked about them like they were animals to be used and discarded, the cold cell he had been kept in, his rage when he did not know it was her, the way he almost seemed to disappear inside himself when he was brought to her rooms.

She feels as though she should not know this Jon who has been gone for seven years and who has been through so much. He should feel like a stranger to her, but he doesn't and she thinks he never will, because he is Jon. No matter what they have done to him, he will always be Jon, he will always be hers.

It did not happen the way it was supposed to and he needed help to do it, but he promised to come home to her and Jon always keeps his promises.

[im-thinking-arson]

Hi wow depression is a hell of a thing.

I'm sorry for the relative silence here, considering everything that has been going on in the last (roughly) year and a half it has been really hard to focus on any creative outlets. Everything has felt pretty heavy as I have been piecing together what exactly happened to myself and the people I used to share a community with.

Although my former FC is basically non-existent at this point, I feel it is appropriate to say that I no longer associate with its' leader @morganaux (sernoudenet on Twitter and formerly here) and to clarify why.

I have been struggling with what to even say about the situation. There are so many layers that I don't honestly know if any single cross-section could explain all there is to unpack. When it takes multiple people six months to explore everything they know as fact... I think that shows its not so much of a 'he said, they said' scenario as the few people who still support Morgy have tried to claim.

I feel guilty not speaking up sooner, considering this person is a member of the FFXIV community who I'm fairly sure some of my mutuals follow. Its so hard to speak out when he publicly acts innocent, like he has quietly moved on and refuses to acknowledge what he's done.

The reality feels so cold in contrast, with the knowledge I have- that he has done this multiple times before, burning down or wearing down those he has hurt with false sincerity; claiming innocence, claiming people misunderstand the significance of the intentions behind the knives in their backs, claiming he is the truest victim of the mess wrought of his own actions.

He quietly retweets fan art, cute animals, head canons, and all kinds of fandom things- but also others' tweets to identify with their own traumas- the same traumatic thoughts and feelings he incites in others through a mixture of gaslighting, lashing out, and playing the victim. He tweets passive aggressively about people he feels the victim of, (justified or not) even amid posts about his dearly beloved OC.

At this point I should just block him and try to scrape all memory of what I went through from my mind, but un-fucking-fortunately I know him too well to believe it's over when it's over. He still makes passive aggressive tweets about people he hasn't talked to in one, two, ?? years, a person who was a good friend to him for 10 years before he scapegoated them to maintain his own sense of righteousness.

Seeing as I witnessed him maintain not one, not two, not three- FOUR venting channels in his own discord, including at one point one specifically made for sh*tting on a single person, defending it's use and encouraging others to participate saying 'this is how victims cope'...

I know it's not over, and if he had a single shred of...anything... He could leverage against me he would have already tried to 'cancel' me. I'm not turning my back again to see if he decides to throw another knife.

For a long time I wanted to believe I had simply misunderstood the situation, that his intentions weren't so self-serving. The more I saw, the more I heard testimony from others that matched my own, the more I began to un-repress and process my own memories and connect the dots... And the less sense his own account made.

While I tried to maintain my friendship with him I ignored all the red flags, my own rise in anxiety, the isolation I felt. I felt so much pressure to fit into his equation, to be a supportive friend, to keep track of how he was feeling that I stopped taking care of my own mental health.

All the while he got angry for people not checking on him when he asked for space, threw a fit when anyone failed to accommodate his whims, and even accused his three closest friends of purposefully excluding him by taking screenshots without him in them or even hanging out together when he was offline..

And he would have people believe that most of the issues he was involved in centered on his friends not communicating with him. But in my case at least, nothing could be further from the truth.

I told him I felt uncomfortable with the fact his (at the time) friend had publicly lashed out at me in his discord server for stating my opinion. He suggested I work harder to befriend this person, that he couldn't and wouldn't approach his friend about it because he wasn't a FC member and only there as a friend of himself and his two closest friends.

He lashed out at a former friend (and FC mate) of mine -on my behalf- because they wouldn't stop messaging me while I was at work... And when this person subsequently put me on blast thinking I had put him up to it I mentioned considering posting my side of the story- to initially be shamed (by the person mentioned above) for suggesting I protect myself, stating it could make things worse for the people who had already publicly attacked this person...

I approached him about another former friend of his angrily ranting about a character I had though at the time they knew I was planning to RP (I had spoken about it both in-game and in a discord we all shared) because I didn't know them well enough to feel comfortable saying that made me feel uncomfortable and unwelcome in the space. I approached my former friend because I knew from experience he took things like this seriously and he was the one who had invited this character TO role play in the first place.

He reacted by telling this person he had no idea why I was upset, asked them to address an issue they had no context for - prompting them to write an apology, and then reinforced their worry that I hated them by saying I "probably disliked them since [I] hadn't written them an apology" in return. I had thought they both wanted to drop the subject because he stopped responding about the situation.

He decided the situation was resolved and kept inviting us around one another for at least four months while keeping up the illusion that I disliked this person despite me trying to remain friendly- and said nothing about the situation until AFTER he had nuked his FC and almost everyone was done with his bullshit. I had asked him to be honest about the situation and finally got "[name] thinks you dislike him" ???

(I might add more details about these situations because it's honestly much more of a mess than it might seem, but I'd probably have to write a fucking book to explain everything well in-sequence of events.)

But those examples aside, I told him up front that the favoritism he showed and my concerns being glossed over was messing with my head, that I didn't know if I felt safe in his FC, that the whole situation was making me feel like I was losing my grip on reality, that at one point feeling like I was being discouraged from defending myself was beginning to make me feel su*cidal. These are things he knew.

He reacted to this ignoring both cause and effect, ignoring me unless I reached out first or it concerned RP, continually inviting me to hang out with people he knew I felt uncomfortable with (or vice versa) and normally turning down anything I invited him to do otherwise- including several times that I offered to help him with Eden or dungeons he wanted to farm when he previously said he was free to do so. A couple of times he declined saying he was waiting to see if he could convince another friend... and then threw a fit about 'no one wanting to help him' despite declining my offer and not reaching out to me after his other friend declined (I was still online but he decided to vent on discord instead).

Behind my back he talked shit about me, enough that someone who had known him 10 years and was familiar with his behavioral patterns qualified it 'constant' bashing, whenever I came up in conversation. And even included confronting me about the three situations I mentioned above in a plan he was working on to 'fix' his FC, as if he thought I was reaching out to him to stir up drama.

Eventually it came out that the friend I mentioned in the first example was emotionally abusing his friends (and I found out later told him two of them were talking shit about him- prompting HIM to lash out at them). One of them mentioned that person had still been talking shit about me 6 months later on a private account and when I got upset that THREE people I had thought were my friends didn't tell me, I made a few jokes in poor taste (that I do now regret) about the situation to try and prevent myself from having a mental break down.

The person he led to believe I hated left the discord server at that point and he decided to divert some of the blame for (in his words) 'being worried for this person's life' -whom he had attacked over the situation- to me... blaming them leaving and him having trouble contacting them on me.

I told him if this former friend was indeed attacking people and he was so worried we needed to talk about the situation, since in other situations his response was to ignore the hurt caused. He blew up about me messaging him at work, he blamed me for every situation I had brought to his attention. He went to his mods to rant about me and sent one of them to scope out the situation in hopes they could shut me up.

This is the friend of 10 years, who quickly became concerned and not for the reasons he had hoped. They shared a few screenshots of things said to gaslight me behind my back as the conversation progressed. Eventually the other mod jumped in and, knowingly or not proceeded to gaslight me FOR him, based on what they were told. By him.

They reinforced everything he was saying in guise of a neutral perspective and my efforts to prevent a full-scale breakdown failed. I lost all grip on reality for several days- in which at some point I wrote an apology to him for accusing him of several things that were later proven true- and one thing he, himself, proved he'd lied about to the other person involved.

I spent almost two weeks in a self-imposed social break to sort everything out and attempt to cope with what I was told was reality. I fell into the deepest depression I've been in since I had to run away from home, and honestly if it wasn't for my wonderful SO and our house mates, I might have really hurt myself.

It turns out another situation had been brewing parallel to my own. People had been coming to the social mod, the friend of 10 years, with their own worries about him. Almost every. Single. Member. Including at least four people who came forward with fears that if they did a single thing that he interpreted as an insult or threat they would find themselves exiled, called out, and ranted about in a jumbled mix of truth and fictional-malice until their own friends turned on them to support his victim complex.

These four people came forward on the condition that their names be kept anonymous to protect their identity. He didn't take kindly to this, quickly demanding names so they (his mod team) could handle the situation. The mod refused, knowing he has a history of lashing out at any criticism against him and to protect those who were already afraid of bringing the problems up to Morgy.

He reacted by lashing out at this person, claiming they ruined his life, and attempting to weed out those who had spoken out against him by kicking anyone he didn't feel 'safe' being around from his FC. He posted a message in his FC discord about resuming his 'reign of terror'... Which, even if it was a joke, was in in poor taste after pruning his FC of anyone he didn't think could be convinced of his 'good intentions.'

I missed this first culling of his FC members, I assume, because I had apologized and at the time submitted to his version of events. He approached me soon after I noticed the changes in the discord and FC roster; claiming he really wanted to work things out and remain friends- going as far as to say he was so nervous about my reaction that he was shaking.

I wanted to take him at face value despite everything that happened because yeah, I did want to believe he was sincere, that he was a good friend, and that all of it had been an unfortunate misunderstanding. And at first I did until I started talking to other people who knew him and getting their side of the story. Nothing he said added up. Between first-hand testimony and over a hundred screenshots from multiple people the ONLY things that were clear and consistent were that he lied and fit his narrative to whatever he wanted to achieve.

He tried to reduce conflict by omitting information, he controlled people's perception of one another by how he spoke about them and how close he let them to himself and others, he built a support group by polarizing his friends against his 'enemies' and if anyone had a problem with him... They were wrong, and got added to the pile of 'aggressors' he had accumulated over the years, to be bashed and spit on for years to come.

He may have sensed my change in opinion when I directly asked him to help me reach out to the person who thought I disliked them-  managed to come to an understanding and we mutually apologized for the situation... Without his meddling. Or maybe when he realized I was still on talking terms with the people he had lashed out at and directly asked him why he had kicked people who did absolutely nothing to him... Or it could be that I kept in contact with the person who 'ruined his life' by trying to protect his friends from him. I don't know.

While we were still talking he tried to identify with me and bond over the feeling of loosing the FC, a group of people that despite the anxiety, and pain I had felt in the environment he'd built I did deeply respect and care about... Despite the dissolution of that group and the abuse I suffered being -at the core- his own fault. He even went as far as to say my description of the PTSD and fear I was experiencing described exactly how he was feeling, too.

As our conversations further weighed on my mental health I had to take a break from interacting with him. I was honest again, with what I was told, what I knew, and asked him for honesty about the situation... What he had said about me behind my back and why because I wanted to hear it from him. I wanted to see if he would acknowledge the harm he caused both to me and the rest of the (former) FC.

He never did, and probably won't. He asked for some time to tend to his own stress levels and mental health and then blocked me on all social media and discord, and kicked me from his FC without ever making an effort to reach out.

Of the few people who are still close to him, one of them suggested that "maybe he just decided he didn't want to be friends anymore." But after him begging to have a conversation to iron out all the facts, claiming to be so anxious about such a conversation going well that he was 'shaking', admitting that what he did hurt people and that my being wary of him was understandable, asking me -directly- to let him know if he did anything 'shady', and stressing he REALLY wanted this conversation to take place when we were both able to handle it because of how important he felt it was...

I feel like its fair to say that him suddenly cutting off all contact isn't quite so simple. He could have done that at any point. Before pointedly ignoring my concerns, before gaslighting me, before blaming me for the results of his own actions, before accepting an apology for accusing him of things he did legitimately do, and certainly before directly telling me had no real problems with me, that he it was super important to him that we remain friends, and that I deserved his honesty.

I'm not going to try and tell anyone who they should be friends with or not. Frankly, people can change and in a lot of cases experiences with individuals will be different.

But on that same note, if I had known then what I know now I might have saved myself from roughly two years of anxiety and avoided the state of dissonance I now find myself in. I still have moments where I want to doubt the things I experienced first hand. My mind is still trying to repress my own memories to cope.

A part of me still cares about him despite everything because as far as I knew, he was my friend and I am still trying to reconcile what I found to be true.

At this point I feel like I should say please don't harass Morgy if you read this, but honestly? If you have any reason to hold him accountable go for it. He needs it. And if you have any gut feelings about him or anyone in his circle please listen to it. The few supporters he still has are willing to ignore anything he has done previous to the fall of his FC and have shown they are willing to debate and accuse people who speak out about legitimate concerns involving him.

If anyone has any questions I am willing to answer them and share the proof I have.

And in the off chance anyone wants to (further) argue with me about my experiences or whether or not I suffered enough to be considered a victim, please Google some images of a hand giving the middle finger. But if after that you still really want to play stupid games? I can find you some stupid prizes.

I don't owe him my silence. Or peace of mind. The only thing I owe him is to be as entirely, brutally, honest as possible given the information I have. I think it's a fair offer considering the mind-numbing volume of honesty he -still- owes all of us.

- - - - -

I may add more onto this. Unfortunately the entire situation is a lot more complex, but I wanted to get the backbone of my own experiences out there and there is so much bullshit it can't all be seen from any one direction. A lot of the circumstantial evidence loops back into other situations and makes it hard to comprehensively represent everything on any sort of singular timeline. As I said in the beginning there is a reason it took a small group 6 months to piece it together.

I am far from the only person hurt, and the entire situation was a mess with people feeling unnerved or pressured into going along with his agenda. For the most part now that I have more context I don't blame most of the people involved for their own actions. I fully support those who can't or won't come forward about the situation whether they just want out of his drama, or are afraid to come forward.

[sapphire-wine]

Can you imagine if Von Karma had waited just a little bit longer to get his revenge on Edgeworth? Like.....if he had waited until the statute of limitations had run out, THEN gotten it, then even if Phoenix had still proven Edgeworth innocent in Hammond's case, nothing could be done about DL-6 because it would be too late.

Von Karma is kinda dramatic so I think he was like "yes...YES I will have Yogi talk to him the anniversary of his father's death"

Actually I don't remember the letter that well did Von Karma give him a date to do the plan on? Because it could be that Von Karma wanted it to be completely thematic and ironic and have Miles be arrested the day his father died and Yogi just did the plan a few days early because he wouldn't wait.

Since Von Karma was expecting the trial to be over in one day and Miles be declared guilty for one murder, I don't even remember if he was planning to charge Miles for DL-6 too or if that is just something that conveniently came up. There was no guarantee Miles was going to confess even if Von Karma knew his student enough to know Miles was going to confess. I think Von Karma put much more weight on the current trial.

It's kind of like in Merlin where Dragoon is like "wait you can't execute me there are more crimes I want to confess" and Arthur is like "well we can't kill you twice" being charged for two crimes won't make a difference if Von Karma thought he could get Miles for Hammond's death.

ALSO to actually wrap up your point about statue of limitations, someone had made a post that if a suspect had left the country at any time after the crime, the statue of limitations is extended/moot. So, because Von Karma left the country after the shooting, the case can stay open indefinitely once he's made a suspect. That's to my understanding. Then again that's probably just US law and might not even be AA universe law at all, but that isn't the point.

What is kind of funny would be if Von Karma didn't get executed but just died in prison because he was old, so then if he didn't get convicted he still would have died a few months later because he was old.

[westerhos]

Our Story: Chapter 6

[December 24th, 1998]

There is something to be said for the peculiar hour of the blue-morning, when a hospital beeps into quiet life. Death rattles behind drawn curtains, expletives are spat over set bones, and shots are taken in the thigh. It is not like Jamie’s Grampian refuge, which springs forth naturally from the earth. Instead, Boston GH scars the landscape, numbing loneliness through morphine drips and the tug of sheer necessity.

It is during this gradual reawakening that Claire hides in a closet, imagines the pink, wet sacs of her lungs contract and expand. She counts her breaths to release the night’s chaos, still lodged deep in her throat.

During the wild evening hours, Claire sees only what exists outside her body. Such an easy thing to do as a doctor, this sudden corporeal separation—a leap into the procedural dance, a temporary loss of oneself to the staunching of blood and the sewing of sutures.

But eventually the window of calm arrives, and the wall of dissociation begins to crumble. Claire, in her closet sanctuary, returns to her body once more, the sight of her arms and her hands like four old friends reacquainted.

Claire hunkers down between two shelves, and relief travels from foot to torso, settling somewhere inside her gut. As always, she has brought her medical bag—a gift from her husband, CER embossed in golden filigree—and rummages through it. As always, she finds the folder and flicks it open, seeking the page that is stowed inside. She is forever tethered to its final sentence, which launches a fresh rip of longing straight to her chest.

And as always, she goes back to the beginning, following the words. Fingers like greedy sponges, text absorbing into skin.

NEW YORK CITY, 11:30AM - The diner hushes when the bell tinkles, announcing the arrival of literary darling James Fraser. He is a giant in more ways than one: six-feet tall, wide-set shoulders, and a critically-acclaimed author with legions of fans. But for all his inches and his clout, Fraser is blissfully unaware of the eyes on his back. When he sits opposite me and shakes my hand, I, like the rest of the world, find him to be impulsively likable.

Sporting one month’s growth of beard and a wrinkled v-neck, it doesn’t take long for Fraser’s roguish charm to earn a complimentary meal. He is quick to thank the waitress, and for not the first time, one has to wonder how the man could possibly be single. Surely his good looks, his talent, and Reformed Bad Boy reputation draws the ladies in?

Point proven: Our waitress lingers, hungry for Fraser’s attention, but he closes his menu after ordering a glass of lemonade. (An odd choice, but then our writing heroes are full of idiosyncrasies, aren’t they?) I almost leap to console the girl, that poor thing, as she runs a self-conscious hand down her apron.

Alas, one gets the impression that it isn’t pickiness keeping Fraser romantically unattached. Nor is it misogyny or closeted homosexuality (despite what those tabloid vipers spit). James Fraser simply enjoys his place in the lonely hearts club—and is perfectly content to stay there, sipping ice-cold lemonade.

Frank’s ring glides across the lines, pauses over “single”. Such a different life, so removed from Claire’s, though here it thrums beneath her hands. Suddenly, her head grows heavier, weighted by the chain draped around her neck. Jamie’s thistle ring dangles there, cold as death. Forever tucked inside her shirts, a secret between her breasts. (Frank lets her wear it, just as she lets him wear his stained button-downs, other women smiling from the collars.)

Fraser’s second and latest novel, Two Centuries in Purgatory, released just last month to stellar reviews. Hailed as a “modern classic” by The New York Times (and truly, it is), Purgatory has found a comfortable seat at the top of the bestseller lists, and shows no signs of losing momentum. Now touring the U.S., Fraser seems nonplussed by the bustle of the Big Apple, his eighth time to our concrete jungle (“I’ve a parade of publisher meetings and interviews tomorrow,” he grumbles). Though he’s a longtime resident of both Edinburgh and Glasgow, he says no city feels like home nowadays. “Where is home then?” I ask him, and in traditional Fraser fashion, he deadpans: “Lost.”

For all his fame and glory, there is something decidedly melancholy about James Fraser. But of course, we all know why. We’ve read his books, haven’t we? We know his story.

Gillian Edgars: Are you enjoying your lemonade, Mr. Fraser?

James Fraser: Aye, verra much so. Lemonade in Scotland doesna taste like this.

GE: Mmmm, exploring the pleasures of America. I like it. Now, shall we begin? Let’s start with Two Centuries in Purgatory.

Claire brings the page a few inches closer. This is not the first time she has read the article, its edges worn to yellowing curls.

A familiar anger sinks its claws into her side as this reproduction of Jamie staggers into a flickering half-life. Gillian Edgars thinks she knows the man behind the book jacket. The entire world, for that matter, believes they can claim the bold-faced names on their hardbacks.

But, Claire seethes, do these people know that Jamie smiles in his sleep? That he’s prone to seasicknesses, could not wink at the waitress even if he tried? No. Only Claire knows these smaller, intimate truths—but still, they are not enough. Jamie is no longer only hers, but a communal being disseminated and shared amongst millions. Strangers have molded her Jamie into something new, into hollow casts of their false impressions.

Without warning, the closet door swings open and Joe Abnernathy leans in. “Knew I’d find you in here,” he says, but he draws up short. His smile falters when he sees Claire on the ground. Falters further still when he reads the headline, "Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero," on the page and on her face.

“Lady Jane, why do you do this to yourself? We’re working, I know, but can’t you try to be merry? It’s officially Christmas Eve!”

Joe kneels down, and levels his gaze with hers—the gentle but silent disappointment of an older brother. Claire holds firm when he pries the clipping from her grasp, the paper snagging the skin of her palm. It glides over and up, a shallow curve that splits into fine, shining rubies. A jeweled J, just at the base of her thumb.

Claire presses the wound to her teeth, tastes the heady, metallic taste of herself. (Later, she will trace the cut with reverence, grateful to be marred, at the very least, by a shade of Jamie.)

Joe tsks and reaches for a shelf, bringing back the first aid kit.

“Perks of hiding in a hospital supply closet. Bandages, everywhere. Take this.”

“It’s fine, Joe,” Claire assures him but accepts the bandaid anyways. “I’m fine—just a bad day and a scratch. See? No significant blood loss.”

“Thought I’d witnessed the first fatal paper cut,” Joe says, but then continues, more softly, “LJ, I thought you’d given this up. That Frank made you promise you’d stop.”

“He did,” Claire replies. “And I did too, for a while.”

Her stomach turns as the memory resurfaces: her husband, feeding the shredder a feast of papers. The machine’s tight-lipped and fanged smile destroying Claire’s collection of articles, her glimpses of Jamie. Frank had held her as the teeth had chewed, tightened his grip when she repeated his words back to him, “Time to leave the past behind.” And afterwards, once the the bin had emptied into the trash, Frank had dragged the bag of shreds to the curb. Claire had looked on, standing in the doorway, a soldier’s wife already in mourning.

(That evening, she almost snuck outside to piece the words together, for old habits die hard and a planet will always yearn for her sun. But then Frank’s arm had risen in the darkness, flopped sleepily across her waist. The weight of it had held her there, and so she’d stayed, picturing the night creatures stealing Jamie away, piece by piece.)

“I just…wanted to see what people were saying. About his new book.” She sighs. “I know I’m being ridiculous. It’s just that…”

“He’s everywhere, isn't he? In the papers, on TV. Saw they’re making a Lifetime adaptation of A Blade of Grass. Jesus.”

Claire nods. “Steering clear of that one.” (But she won’t, of course. Claire will want to see herself and Jamie on that screen, their better, manufactured selves broadcasted in technicolor.)

“You’re really gonna let me down like that, Lady Jane? I thought we’d drink cheap Scotch, put the movie on mute, and invent the dialogue ourselves. Next weekend, the two of us. Drunk and vengeful. Whaddya say?”

“A hard pass, Joe. We’ll be in Oxford for the holidays, anyways. Visiting Frank’s family.”

“Well, la-di-dah. I’ll be on this side of Atlantic throwing popcorn at my TV.” Joe leaps to his feet when his pager beeps. As he walks out the door, his hand flies to his coat pocket and he withdraws a shabby paperback. “Before I forget—a Christmas gift, for the Lady. If you’re gonna scramble your brain with nonsense, let it be Tessa’s ‘membrane of innocence’. Not ‘Scotland’s Newest Literary Hero.’”

Claire laughs and flips through The Impetuous Pirate, inhaling its smell of antiseptic and mildew and the vestiges of long-ago fingerprints. A Harlequin, taken from the hospital waiting room. “Aye aye, captain. But if it’s all the same to you, I’ll stay here in Davy Jones’ Locker for a while longer.”

Joe nods, consoling, before he turns to answer an intern's cries for help.

Alone again, Claire tucks The Impetuous Pirate inside her bag, picks up the discarded article from the floor. For the first time, she notices its publication date, October 20th, was her 31st birthday. She cannot remember the details of the occasion—Did Frank take her to a concert, or to a movie? Buy her flowers or chocolates?—and yet a foreign scene plays so clearly in her mind. It is something cut from the script of her life, the stagehand’s hook pulling her to the wings before she has a chance to speak. Cast in the closet’s dim spotlight, it unfolds as the playact that could have been but never was:

Jamie, in the New York diner, drinking lemonade. Condensation like dew drops, rolling down the pitcher. A young girl in Gillian Edgars’ place, singing a high soprano. And Claire, beside her, blowing out candles in a single huff.

As she slices the birthday cake, this almost-Claire nicks her finger on the knife’s blade. “Kiss to make it better!” the young girl cries, and Jamie does, his lips are on the sting, and then Claire’s mouth. He tastes of citrus, of yellow and sunshine, a marigold paradise in a city of dying autumn leaves. “Does it still hurt, Sassenach?” he asks her. “Not anymore,” she says. And when the little girl giggles, watching them, it is something sacred. She licks the frosting from the candles. “So what’d you wish for, Mama?” she asks, not knowing that, in a moments like these, there is no need for wishes.

Claire’s pager rings, rearranging her memories. Now she remembers her 31st birthday—and knows it did not happen in that diner. On that day, there was no little girl; no citrus kisses in a molting New York.

Instead, Frank had taken Claire to the opera house, a drawn-out affair they had both fidgeted through. Back at home, he had led her to the bedroom and its king-sized bed, had slipped off her dress while she kept her chain on. “Talk to me,” he’d panted, silver thistles against her chest. And when she came, it was not Frank’s body that drew her cries. It was not Frank’s name that rose from her lips.

Claire scans the article, skipping again to the final paragraphs. Here lies the line she reads over and over, the very reason she shells $15 for subscriptions and scavenges in bins for scraps. Anything to discover some evidence of herself, some proof that she still lives in the peripheries of Jamie’s life. And whenever she finds it, it pours into her and lingers, like wine.

GE: Your debut was quite impressive—an instant bestseller, an Oprah Book Club pick, an upcoming TV movie. I’m sure you’ve been asked this before…but allow me to be a hack for just one moment. Let me ask the nosy questions. Let me pry.

JF: I dinna have a fear of rats [SMILES]. Get on wi’ it then.

GE: I appreciate it, Mr. Fraser, I do [LAUGHS]. The protagonist’s struggles in A Blade of Grass—the financial woes, the criminal record, the years of solitude—they seem to mirror your own. Is it accurate to say that the book is autobiographical?

“Randall?” a voice calls from outside the closet. “Randall, are you in there? Mr. Duncan in Room #18 needs to be—”

“Prepped for surgery, I know!” Claire finishes. Her voice is shrill, rising with her goosebumps as she nears the interview’s end. “I’ll be out in a second, Dr. Hildegarde!”

JF: In some respects, aye, A Blade of Grass is autobiographical. Mind, I made a lot of it up myself. Embellished a few things.

GE: Oh yes, certainly. But even without your embellishments, your life does make for such an interesting tale. In a way, your struggles are what made you a literary sensation. But still, I do wonder—do you regret any of it? The gamble, the money, the arrest?

JF: [LAUGHS QUIETLY] I thank ye for the compliment, Ms. Edgars, but I hope my sins are no’ responsible for the book’s success. And for the record, they were largely exaggerated by the press.

GE: Ah, right. We rats are despicable creatures, always desperate for crumbs. But they never fill the belly, not really.

JF: Have ye tried poetry before, Ms. Edgars? You’ve a knack for it [LOOKS AWAY]. But nay, it isna the crimes themselves that I regret most. Whether they were exaggerated or no.

GE: Really? There’s something else [LEANS FORWARD]? Will you tell me then, your life’s biggest regret? Or will you keep me and your readers in the dark, forever wondering what keeps our beloved James Fraser up at night?

Now Claire closes her hand into a fist, forces herself to bleed out from that thin, half-mooned J. She imagines Jamie’s face, inscrutable to Gillian Edgars, but fixed in an expression that she, and only she, can read. And if Claire had been there on that October afternoon, sitting in the diner’s vinyl booth, she would have understood. Would’ve known already what Jamie regretted most, what he would and could not say aloud. For within this precious, final line—their spoken and unspoken wishes:          

JF: My biggest regret? I let the story end early.

(JF: I should have loved her better—God! I should have loved her better.)

_______

I have very few comments about this one, but I will say A) Jamie’s POV comes much more naturally to me—probably because I, like Jamie, love Claire so frickin’ much—so writing this was like pulling teeth. And B) As I was writing this chapter, I knew it was time to bring Jamie and Claire back together. Even I was rooting for them to reunite.

I love Joe and Claire’s friendship, and I wish I’d shown more of it in this fic (although what’s here I think fits pretty naturally). And I have to say...I love Geillis—or the idea of her: witchy, feminist, and confident—a whole lot, despite her Voyager crimes. Here, she is my Outlander version of Harry Potter’s Rita Skeeter, and I could write an entire fic from her voice any day.

[justathoughtfulangel]

The One That Came Back (Draco Malfoy Mini Series, Final Part)

Hi everyone! Here is the third and final part of my Draco Malfoy Mini Series, The One. If you’d like to see more details about the series as a whole and a summary of this part, you may do so here. If you’d like to read more about my OC, Amara Grimaldi, you can do so here.

PLEASE read parts one and two before you read this! You can find part one, The One Who Was Lost, here; you can find part two, The One That Got Away, here.

Word count: 4, 706

Please don’t hesitate to message me if you have any questions/concerns/comments.

Whenever you see “~~~”, I am transitioning to a new scene. If you see “~” instead, we’re in the same scene but different characters are being shown.

If you have a hard time following the scenes, please use this scenes list as a resource.

Happy Reading!

Amara sat in her office, overlooking the Hogwarts grounds from her window. Night was upon them, and most of the castle was asleep. Snow fell down gently, forming a soft blanket that glittered in the moonlight. Scrolls of parchment lay on her desk, already graded and ready to return to her 3rd-year students. She took a moment to look around absentmindedly, thinking of her journey here.

After the war, Amara took her friends to her family’s vacation home in Paris. She didn’t admit it at the time, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione understood that she didn’t have the strength to see her childhood home and not have her father there to welcome her. They stayed for a month or so, slowly healing from the wounds of the war. It was a break they all desperately needed.

Hermione and Amara both saw value in returning to Hogwarts for their last year of school, while Harry and Ron opted to begin working as Aurors immediately. The Ministry welcomed the heroes with open arms. After finishing her education, Hermione, too, joined the Ministry. For years, Amara wished to become a Potions professor at Hogwarts. She worked toward that dream by creating two of her own potions within the next two years, wanting to substantiate her skills beyond those written on her school transcript.

The first potion she created was Lamisquia, a potion that put Amara in a great deal of danger during its inception. Lamisquia was the vampire-equivalent to Wolfsbane, yet even stronger. It had the ability to return vampires to their human form. Testing it had been disastrous, but it was ultimately successful.

The next potion she made was Sirpotalis, an elixir to lengthen the lifetime of plants. Amara’s invention was greatly needed in the Wizarding World; it could fight food shortages and also nearly immortalize plants such as Gillyweed, Asphodel, Belladonna, and many other valuable ingredients often utilized in potions.

During this time, Ron finally admitted his feelings for Hermione. They were wed within the next year. Not long after, Harry and Ginny married as well. Life was slowly moving on for everyone. She took the time to meet her friends as often as she could; Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Amara often had lunch together at The Leaky Cauldron, The Three Broomsticks, and a variety of Muggle restaurants in London. It had taken some time, but the four were leading very peaceful lives.

Beyond her involvement in the Second Wizarding War - seeing herself commemorated in new History books and Chocolate Frog cards felt strange, to say the least - and her family name, Amara had created a name for herself, one she took pride in. After taking a well-deserved break, Amara took the place of Professor Slughorn when he retired.

But, even as everything was falling into place, Amara could never be truly happy. After all, one piece was missing. She hadn’t seen or heard from Draco since the War. Her thoughts were stained with the images of him walking away from her. She could still feel his hand slipping out of hers. The Malfoys occasionally appeared in The Daily Prophet; editorials and opinion pieces on the innocence of past supporters of Voldemort were popular with the average reader.

She had tried to move on, she really did. Amara had forced herself to go on some dates but gave up on the endeavor eventually. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the company of these other men… they just weren’t him. He was a plague on her heart and mind that she couldn’t dispel.

Blinking away tears, Amara locked her office for the night and Flooed to her home. The peaceful silence in her childhood home brought her some solace. On the way up the stairs, she paused. Her eyes fell on the painting of her parents and her hand came up to clutch their rings, still dangling from the thin golden chain she never removed.

Even when they were both gone, Amara felt their love radiating from her memories and the colored canvas. It gave Amara the hope she desperately needed. Perhaps she wouldn’t have a love like theirs in her own life, but the memory of her parents’ love would be enough. It had to be. It was all she had left.

~~~

There she was, night after night, writhing in excruciating pain on the mahogany floor of his home. The pleased screeches of his aunt, no matter how loud, weren’t enough to drown out her screams. Each one stabbed his heart, leaving a searing burn there indefinitely. Crimson blood trickled down her forearm and colored the wood beneath her. He was shackled; his strength wasn’t enough to break free of his restraints and go to her. She shrieked louder. Her blood spilled faster. His chains squeezed him tighter.

Draco jolted awake as he did every morning. A thin layer of sweat painted his skin. His exhausted eyes, courtesy of months of tortuous nights, contrasted deeply with his alabaster skin. The sun was just beginning to rise, lighting up his small but luxurious London flat. In his weary stupor, Draco shoved his sheets aside, heading to the bathroom.

The face in the mirror was pale, sallow. Light had left Draco’s eyes long ago. He, quite likely, had forgotten how to smile. He had no reason to smile. Though Veratiserum had proven the true thoughts and actions of him and his family, there were scars Draco had to manage, scars that refused to heal. He tried to lose himself in the crowds of London. The large population of Muggles made no difference to Draco, not anymore. In fact, he rather appreciated it. Muggles did not view him and his family with disdain. To a Muggle he crossed on the street, he was no one.

Draco didn’t know what he was trying to find in his solitude. He just knew that solitude was the only thing he could bear. He had no desire to listen to his father speak of marrying him to Astoria Greengrass. His mother’s loving concern, while endearing, was nearly suffocating. Draco needed silence. While the silence brought him peace, it couldn’t stifle everything. It couldn’t stifle the haunting memories. It couldn’t stifle his hopelessness. It couldn’t stifle how much he ached for Amara.

Amara. The one person he wished to see most. Draco knew he didn’t deserve her forgiveness, but he knew he had it anyway. Somehow, she forgave him every time. It was something he did not understand. She had explained it once before; Amara said she forgave him because she knew him, the real him. But how could she? Draco no longer knew who he was, he hadn’t for quite some time. The version of him Amara always forgave no longer existed.

As Draco sat near the window, flipping through the Daily Prophet, an owl tapped against the glass, a letter bearing the Hogwarts Crest held in its beak….

~~~

Laughter and chatter rang throughout the Great Hall. Amara sat with Neville, as usual; both had grown closer since they began teaching. Just recently, Neville and Luna had broken up amicably and Amara was one of the few people Neville spoke freely to. Amara could see how much Neville loved her, but even he agreed that perhaps he and Luna were not meant to be. Just then, Professor McGonagall cleared her throat and stood, the desserts disappearing before them.

Unlike other nights, however, Minerva did not just bid the students a good night. “Now that we’re all fed and ready to end another day at Hogwarts, I have one last announcement to make. Within the next week, a few old students will be returning to Hogwarts to come speak to you all about their experiences, sit in your classes, and have volunteered to answer your questions about life after school. They will be here next Monday and shall stay for a few days. Be prepared with some questions and be sure to learn from their experiences!”

Amara smiled to herself, wondering who she’d get to see again. Harry, Ron, and Hermione hadn’t mentioned anything to her, so it was possible they couldn’t make it. Her thoughts flitted to Draco once more, but the likelihood of him accepting such an invitation was low. She had no idea where he was. Amara scolded herself for indulging the thought, turning her attention back to Neville once more.

~~~

Three days later, Amara walked around her classroom, returning numerous rolls of parchment to her 6th-year students. Some of the lot had a hard time seeing her as a Professor, given that she once roamed these halls as a student alongside them. This never bothered Amara. She spoke to them as she would with acquaintances: somewhat formal, but not with an air of authority.

“Now, based on your essays, some of you don’t have a solid understanding of The Draught of Living Death, and that’s perfectly alright. It’s a dreadfully tricky potion, which is why I would like everyone to have a solid theoretical understanding of it before we attempt to brew it.” Amara could not get any further with her lesson, however; she was interrupted by someone she wasn’t expecting to see today.

“I dunno, I could brew it successfully in 6th year.” Harry sat in the back of the classroom, Ron right beside him. “Because you cheated, Harry.” Both men grinned widely, mirroring the expression on Amara’s face. “Stop crashing her lesson, you two.” Hermione stood behind Ron, her eyes shining. The murmurs of surprise from the students had died down. Not many had seen this group together since the end of the war. The three friendly intruders hushed then, allowing Amara to get back to her lesson, though without much success. They had set the classroom abuzz, and Professor Grimaldi could not stop smiling.

~~~

A grand feast had been prepared in the honor of the alumni attending. Amara had seen numerous familiar faces: the Patil twins, Justin Finch-Fetchley, Seamus Finnigan, Oliver Wood, the Greengrass sisters, Theodore Nott… But no Draco.

No matter how much she missed him, Amara’s mood could not be dampened by the memory of him tonight. Never did she imagine being back in the Great Hall with her dearest friends, laughing and sharing a meal together without a care in the world. Hogwarts was once again their home, bright and welcoming.

Neville, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat together, regaling each other with stories and fond memories. The five were in the midst of discussing the Yule Ball, with Harry mentioning his pleasant surprise at seeing Neville come in very late into the night. Amara momentarily remembered her date: Dominic Murtaugh from Durmstrang. He was nice enough, but she had left him rather rudely following Ron’s jealous outburst. Not to mention, Draco had been staring daggers at the bloke all night.

From the corner of her eyes, she saw just a flash of a platinum blonde head; it disappeared far too quickly. Amara did not indulge the thought. She would not let herself hope. Certainly, her mind was only imagining it…

~

Draco arrived at Hogwarts hours ago and had managed to avoid most people – even the woman he wanted to see most. It was a large enough castle, and he knew where he could hide. He couldn’t stop himself. He had no reason to anymore. There was no threat, no more excuses. He would be the man Amara saw and loved.

Even so, when he saw her after years, just a hundred feet away, he paused. Draco would never want or love anyone more than he had ever loved Amara. But what if she no longer cared for him? She had every reason to stop. How many times had he hurt her? He had failed her over and over. Did Amara even deserve to have someone like him in her life? Draco had given her too much misery, and he had no desire to give her any more.

~~~

The next morning, Amara was setting up for her lesson with the Hufflepuff and Slytherin 1st year students. Eleanor Tregor, a muggleborn Slytherin student, walked to her seat timidly. Amara smiled warmly at the girl, who looked down at something and then back up at her professor. Her behavior was intriguing.

Finding some bravery, Eleanor approached Amara, showing her the Chocolate Frog card enclosed in her hand. “Excuse me Professor, is this you?”

AMARA GRIMALDI

Currently Potions Master at Hogwarts

One of the many heroes in the Second Wizarding War, Amara Grimaldi worked alongside the Chosen One and was instrumental to the downfall of the Dark Lord. Afterwards, she created two potions, Lamisquia and Sirpotalis, which have brought plentiful benefits to the magical world. By those who know her, she is described as unfailingly kind and collected in the face of adversity.

Amara’s smile was one of wisdom and humility. “Yes, Eleanor, that is me.” The shy student said nothing more, seemingly intimidated by her teacher now as she shuffled back to her desk. Amara moved away from her desk and kneeled beside her. “What’s the matter, dear?” Eleanor took a shaky breath, her soft brown eyes anxious and upset. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be good… something worth remembering. The other Slytherins make fun of me. They say I don’t belong in Slytherin because I’m not from their world.”

Part of Amara’s heart throbbed in memory. She knew someone who held such beliefs once, and she knew the pain of being on the receiving end of such insults. “Eleanor, you were Sorted to the Slytherin house because of who you are within and who you are meant to be. The Sorting Hat saw ambition and a desire to achieve within you. I know it will come to fruition someday. One of my dearest friends is a muggleborn, and she is a much greater witch than I am.”

Other students were filtering into the classroom now. Eleanor sniffled softly but then smiled. “Thank you, Professor Grimaldi.” Amara nodded and put a supportive hand on Eleanor’s shoulder as she stood, beginning the lesson soon after. A Hufflepuff student, Trevor Yannick, had taken a seat next to Eleanor; Amara could sense a friendship in the making.

~

Classes were in session. The halls of Hogwarts were rather quiet between hours. A few 5th-year students mulled about during their morning free period, but Draco remained out of view. He was far past the age of climbing into the trees near the Black Lake, and yet here he sat anyhow. The waters of the Lake were calm; Draco’s mind was anything but.

Amara was the same, and yet she was different. He had only seen her from a distance, seemingly consoling a student before the class began. The changes were mostly physical: her hair was longer, her eyes not as vivid. Draco could once see the light of the world encompassed in them. What had made it fizzle out?

Ambrosi had died, and he was not there for her. She traversed through dangerous terrains alone in her quests to pioneer her potions, and she had no one to come home to. Draco had lost her. With what right could he go to her and say he loves her?

“Malfoy?” The voice came from below him. Only someone who would know to look for him here would be able to find him. The person who spoke to him was Harry Potter. Draco descended as swiftly as he could, and the pair said nothing to each other for a few moments. The last time they had spoken, Harry had saved Draco’s life.

Harry’s mind was occupied with how wrong he had been about Malfoy. If it wasn’t for his help – and the artful deceit of his mother – the world as they knew it would be drastically divergent to what it was today.

“How are you, Potter?” Pleasantries were not needed, and they were perhaps excessive, but Draco could not think of anything else to say. Harry was not about to indulge them. “Have you spoken to Amara yet? Have you told her you came back?”

Draco’s answer was in his silence. “Look, Malfoy…” Harry had many things he would like to say, yet none seemed to come to his tongue. “I don’t know what holds you back, and I won’t tell you what to do. All I know is that Amara has never loved anyone the way she loves you. You haven’t lost her yet, but you can’t expect her to wait for you forever.”

Harry knew there was a great probability Amara would never love another but playing on Malfoy’s vulnerabilities was the best way to motivate him. He had learned that much of him after years of being his rival.

Draco said nothing. Harry had pointed out another thing Draco always had: not only her forgiveness but also her patience. He was silent for many more moments, and Harry, too, said nothing else. Then, he broke from his trance. “Thank you… Harry.”

Harry blinked in shock for a moment but then smiled with a little hesitation. He was like a brother to Amara; if Harry was in Amara’s life, he would be in Draco’s, too. “Go get her, Draco.”

~~~

The sights from the Astronomy Tower were breathtaking, as always. It was snowing once more, though Amara wasn’t very cold. She was remembering the last winter night she stood on this balcony. Draco had joined her those many years ago; it was one of their last real conversations.

Shaking her head as if to dispel the memory, Amara wrapped her shawl around herself, turning to leave. Perhaps she would Floo back to her home for the night. Yet, she wasn’t alone. “Amara…”

She was in front of him. Draco had seen her in his horrifying dreams every night: the angel he could never save from the pain and darkness. Here she was. It was all, and it was everything.

Amara lost her voice. She hadn’t simply been imagining him. He had been near her, and now he was here. How many letters had she written to him, graced with her tears? They had never been sent. Those tears – her pain – was not another burden Amara would place on him. She could not stop her tears now.

“You came back…” She would ask for nothing but him. Didn’t he know by now?

“Amara, I…” Draco could not say anything else before Amara ran into his arms. All her anger and hurt momentarily subsided. Then, his arms came around her, holding her close, and she was whole again.

The snow fell near them. The winter air swam around. Yet, neither was cold. This was warmth. This was hope. This was love… There was much to say, much to do, and much to face. Draco and Amara would do it together, and that was more than enough…

~~~

Amara never believed she would be here again. It was a place she had spent quite a bit of her childhood in; it was also the site of her darkest memory. Draco’s hand squeezed hers as they looked upon Malfoy Manor from the gate. “We don’t have to do this here, Amara. Just say the word.”

She took a deep breath, saying nothing as she looked up at him. Draco’s health and being had improved greatly: his skin was no longer pale, his eyes slowly beginning to fill with life and light. “No. I should go speak to her. Not the other way around.” Narcissa was always the closest thing Amara had to a mother in her life, even after Draco distanced himself from her in their school years.

They walked through the grand gates silently. Narcissa greeted them before they even entered the foyer. She knew Amara like any mother knew their child. She knew her likes and dislikes, her tendencies, her tone when she lied… Her suffering to see Amara in pain was no different than the pain that clutched Narcissa’s heart when she saw Draco’s. Narcissa moved to hold her daughter, not saying another word.

Perhaps it was the warmth of Narcissa’s embrace that ripped a sob past Amara’s lips. She had not truly allowed herself to feel the extent of her loss and her pain. Her love for Draco, though immensely powerful in its own right, was world’s away from how she adored his mother. “I’m so sorry, my dear. I am so sorry I couldn’t protect you. Please forgive me.”

Narcissa’s tear-filled eyes looked upon her son as she held Amara. She had been able to call her son away from the war but had left Amara there. Narcissa had not even contacted her at Draco’s request.

“Please don’t apologize, Narcissa… everything is fine now. Let’s not dwell on the past.” Draco had been silent, a non-participant in this overwhelming interaction up until then. He, too, joined the embrace, holding the two women he loved to the ends of this universe and back. The three stood there, reminding themselves they were all safe and sound… they were a family that would heal together.

~~~

A few months had passed. To everyone but Amara’s surprise, Draco too became an Auror alongside Harry and Ron; his firsthand knowledge of the Dark Arts proved to be a great asset.

Draco was now well accepted by Amara’s friends; Ronald had taken some convincing, but even he couldn’t deny the changes he saw in Draco. He seemed to be an entirely different man than the boy he knew in school.

Hogwarts was closed for the summer, and Amara had whisked Draco away to the Grimaldi summer home in Paris. The two went from room to room when they arrived, reminiscing about their childhood shenanigans here. At night, they sat in front of the fireplace. Tonight, Draco lay with his head in Amara’s lap, staring at the flames and watching them dance. This was happiness. This was peace. This was where he would want to stay forever.

Amara looked down upon him as Draco shifted to meet his eyes with hers. Her fingers caressed his hair soothingly, and his brushed against her cheek with a touch as light as a feather. “Do you remember… in sixth year… Slughorn’s classroom… and he had brought Amortentia?”

Amara smiled wistfully, her eyes entranced with his. She nodded before taking a glance around this very room. It contained the memory her Amortentia held. This was the place where she would always remember Draco. He was her Draco now, and he would always be, but it was here where the Draco of her childhood – her first love – would forever remain.

“Within it, I always smell our memories from here. The fireplace, the caramel and ice cream and hot chocolate from our vacations… and you.” Draco’s hand gently held her cheek, framing her face as he pulled her down into the sweetest of kisses, sweeter than any of their memories. It was here he had to ask Amara to stay by his side forever.

Not letting his lips leave hers, Draco sat up, bringing Amara into his lap. They were wrapped up in each other, hidden in their own corner of the world. “Amara…” He had so many words planned, but they all escaped him. Draco would speak the words that came from his heart. “Years ago, I ran into a little girl at a party in my home. She wore a purple dress, yet her shoes were stained as if she had just run through some fields. She became my best friend… and she was my first love.”

Amara’s heart was racing, and as she listened, tears began to well up in her eyes. “Only, I had failed her time and time again. I left her, but she always came back to me. I hurt her, and she always forgave me. One thing I have never forgotten… is that I promised to marry her one day. It was the only promise I had made to her, and so it is one I cannot break.”

“It was right here where I had made that oath to Amara Lucianna Grimaldi, and it is here I will see it to the end.” Draco had shed a few tears as well, and his voice was held back by the force of the love he felt. “Tonight, I will not ask her to marry me. I only intend to inform her I am keeping my promise. It is tonight that I make her a new promise… a promise to protect, love, and cherish her forever.”

Though he had asked no question, it was present in his eyes. Amara answered with a kiss, and Draco’s soul felt resurrected. Healed as if it had never been harmed. For now, he had his angel, and with her, he could conquer all trials. She was his strength. She was his love. She was his home.

~~~

Three years later, the Grimaldi-Malfoy Manor was filled with sunshine, smiles, and laughter. The tiny giggles of the newest member of the family, Scorpius Draco, echoed over the bathroom tiles as he splashed his hand against the water, wetting his father’s face. He had graced the lives of his parents with his arrival nearly one year ago, and it was as if both had been revived. “Dada!”

Draco laughed as well, wiping the water from his eyes. Though both had aged some, Amara still looked at him the way she always did. Her heart just about melted when she saw him with their son. Draco picked Scorpius up, blowing a raspberry on his tummy before wrapping him up in a towel and peppering kisses all over his face. Scorpius’s giggles transitioned into happy but tired coos as he hugged his father’s neck as best as he could.

His eyelids began to droop then, as if right on schedule. Soon enough, Draco had him ready for bed while his mother got him a bottle. Amara sat in the rocking chair; Scorpius nuzzled into her chest as he drank, his eyes barely open. Tucking him in was always the hardest part, simply because neither parent would want to let him go, but let him go they did with the promise of each other and a new day together as he drifted off to the land of the sweetest dreams…

~~~

Twenty-one years later, the family was now one of five. Scorpius’s younger sister, Aelia, was just like their mother, even more so when the third child came along. Perseus was a troublemaker, and whenever he got hurt, he ran to his loving elder sister who took care of him just as Amara did.

On this warm spring afternoon, Amara and Draco sat with their friends – extended family, really, for they were Aunt Amara and Uncle Draco without being related by blood – enjoying tea as the children all ran around the large yard behind their home. Draco, Ron, and Harry were having some discussion about work, as usual. The women were used to this and were in conversation about their own lives.

Amara was easily the favorite Professor at Hogwarts, or so Rose reported. Within the last year, she had taken Professor Flitwick’s post as Head of Ravenclaw House after his retirement. Hermione made leaps and bounds in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, recognized for her outstanding work; there was even talk of her taking the position for Minister of Magic. Ginny had retired from the Holyhead Harpies just recently and was now a Sports Editor for The Daily Prophet.

Laughter and smiles could be seen everywhere. Lily and Aelia had managed to cover to discover some wildflowers and were busy braiding them into each other’s hair. From the corner of her eye, Amara noticed Albus and Scorpius slink off towards the brook just a ways away. They reminded her an awful lot of her and Draco when they were young. Rose sat on the edge of the fountain with a book, enjoying the sunshine and pleasant wind as she read aloud to Perseus. Hugo and James were flying around on their broomsticks, both of their mothers asking them to “Slow down!” at the same time.

As Harry once put it, all was well.

~~~

This completes my Draco Malfoy mini series. I cannot tell you how many times I cried while imagining my beloved characters finally getting their happy endings. As always, feel free to reach out to me on here. Your reviews and reads mean the world to me, so I thank you from the bottom of my heart. Until next time, JustAThoughtfulAngel <3