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acescorazon · 1 year ago

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And here is the last part of my trial~

Title: Buggy's guide to bagging boyfriends

Chapter: 3/?

Rating: Pg

Word count: 2058

Chapter Excerpt:

“Why do you want to be my friend so badly?” Mihawk asks, genuinely curious as to how Buggy will respond to his question. Mihawk isn’t exactly good at socializing or being friends with people. He’s always preferred to be alone, so he doesn’t get why Buggy would think he of all people is the ideal person to be best friends with.

“Because you’re super cool!” Buggy says, giving him a thumbs up, “And i think the three of us could be the world’s flashiest group of best friends ever!” Ah, but why do they need to be that…? “I know that you guys don’t exactly like me, but I swear I’m not that bad, and I think that we could all really get along. That’s how things should be, right? Cross Guild will be a lot stronger if we have a good relationship with each other, right?!”

|CH1|CH2|

The showers on the wretched circus-themed island Mihawk now calls home hardly ever have warm water; it doesn’t matter if he showers early in the morning, or late at night, before everyone’s showered, or after, the place never seems to have warm water half the damn time and this is the one little thing that even Mihawk finds irritating. He can live with the circus tents and the ugly color scheme, he can live with the world thinking that Buggy is his boss, he can live with all of Buggy’s followers following him around and annoying him, but this?

God, help him.

He showers as quickly as possible first thing in the morning, and every time he gets in the showers he hopes that: One, no one will join him. Two, that there will actually be warm water. Some days he’s lucky, some days he's not, and this is not one of his lucky days, but, oh, well, he’ll get over it.

MIhawk swiftly makes his return to his room after his icy shower, hoping that one of Buggy’s insufferable followers won’t come up to him and start asking him questions first thing in the morning like: ‘Sir! Sir! Can you train me?’ or, ‘Sir! Sir! You’re so cool, can I have your autograph?’ Such ridiculous nonsense.

As he returns to his sleeping quarters, Mihawk notices right away that Yoru is missing. Swords don’t just go missing, especially one of that size, so his mind instantly realizes that Yoru has been stolen, but by who? Who would be stupid enough t–

Buggy.

Mihawk sighs. Why in the hell would he steal his sword? Does he want him to slice him into... no, no, that wouldn’t work. Never mind. Does he want him to beat him within an inch of his life? On the outside, Mihawk remains calm as he exits his tent, but on the inside, he’s starting to grow a little peeved. It’s six in the morning, and Buggy’s doing nonsense like this already?

And, yes, he knows that it has to be Buggy because everyone else on the island either fears him too much to go near him, or they worship the ground he walks on and would never touch his sword without begging him for his permission first.

He searches, that big tent that Buggy uses to hold his meetings, but there’s no sign of Buggy in there. He checks his bedroom next, then the cafeteria, and the medical tent (he doesn’t know why he’d be in there either, but it doesn’t hurt to be thorough.) but no matter where he checks, he still can’t find Buggy. Is he hiding? What a coward, how dare he steal Mihawk’s beloved sword and then run away and hide?

He searches for about an hour, an hour and a half maybe, before he runs into Crocodile. How dreadful, he really doesn’t want to hear him whine and complain first thing in the morning, especially when Mihawk’s day is already off to a bad start. He glances down and notices that Crocodile is without his hook, but doesn’t know why, nor does he bother to ask because he could care less.

“Have you seen that coward?” Mihawk asks, and at this point, he can no longer hide his annoyance, it’s evident in the way he speaks and the way he carries himself, “My sword’s missing and I know he’s behind it.” He still can’t determine Buggy’s exact goal, but it doesn’t matter to Mihawk, he’ll knock him senseless regardless.

“Nah,” Crocodile cackles, but despite his laugh being loud and obnoxious as always, Mihawk can hear a bit of irritation in his voice, “Don’t know if you could tell or not, but my hook’s missing.” He says a moment later, voice filled with sarcasm.

Oh, is it now? Mihawk hadn’t even noticed!

“And i’m pretty damn sure that the clown’s behind that too.”

What? Buggy actually had the gall to steal both Yoru and Crocodile’s hand? Why… if Mihawk weren’t so annoyed right now, he’d honestly be impressed by their ‘leader’s’ sudden bravery. What on earth compelled him to do such a thing? He has to know that he and Crocodile wouldn’t take such a thing lightly…and yet? He still did it.

The pair join forces after that, searching high and low for Buggy and for someone who sticks out like a sore thumb, he sure does know how to hide. The longer their search drags on, the more Mihawk’s irritation grows, and he wonders if he should just tear the whole island into shreds so Buggy won’t be able to hide anymore. He could use the small knife around his neck, it’s more for eating, but… he could make do with what he has.

They eventually run into one of Buggy’s followers who suggests that he may or may not be in one of the island’s workshops, and Mihawk swears that if he isn’t in there, then he really will resort to destroying the island no matter how extreme the solution might seem. They waste little time rushing towards the workshop, and then heading inside, and the moment Mihawk sees Buggy with his sword in his hands, he grows utterly confused.

What is he trying to do with it? Break it? No, if he wanted to do that, he definitely wouldn’t be trying to wrap something around its hilt… What…What is he doing? The sound of Crocodile asking where his hand is snaps Mihawk out of his thoughts and he decides to ask his own question, “Why do you have my sword?” He asks, and he’s not sure what’s more surprising, the fact that Buggy’s rewrapping Yoru’s hilt or the fact that Mihawk’s anger is starting to dim down a little.

Mihawk hears Buggy’s explanation and takes a moment to process everything that was just said to him. He continues to watch him, dumbfoundedly, as he finishes wrapping Yoru’s hilt and then hands him back his sword. He… He did this for him..? He did this to be nice…So, Mihawk would look ‘cool’? What does that even mean?

Mihawk blinks, thoroughly confused now, as he stares at Buggy’s grinning face. How strange, Mihawk didn’t ask for this… Does Buggy have any ulterior motives?... Did he do something to make Yoru weaker… but… it feels just the same as before… Mihawk is so confused. He’s not sure how to respond, so he doesn’t, he gives Buggy one last weird look and then leaves the workshop with a sigh, still trying to figure out if there’s something wrong with his beloved sword.

He despises that something so important to him has been touched without his permission… But... He stares down and notices how Yoru is gleaming in the early morning sunlight, and how her hilt does look a lot nicer now that it’s been rewrapped, and Mihawk can’t help but think maybe this wasn’t the worst thing to happen, but he still doesn’t get why Buggy did it.

He said he was doing it because he wanted to surprise them and for them to look cool, but Mihawk still doesn’t get what that means…were they not cool before? The way everyone always treats Mihawk led him to believe that he was already cool… Was he incorrect?

He spends the rest of the day, frequently looking at Yoru, almost obsessed with his sword now that it’s all polished and shiny and has a brand-new wrap around its hilt. It’s been so long since it’s looked this good, and part of Mihawk feels guilty that he’s been too busy to treat his sword better, and another part of him is… Grateful. He hates having his stuff touched, but Buggy just wanted to do something nice out of the goodness of his heart…and he also took such good care of Yoru, so maybe he shouldn’t be mad.

No, he's definitely not mad, he’s still confused, but the more the day goes on the more that Mihawk actually finds his mood shifting. He begins to feel happy, and whenever he looks at Yoru he can’t help but smile, but then he catches himself and remembers why he’s smiling and who made Yoru so pretty and shiny, and he always quickly thinks of something different, unsure what all his sudden Buggy related thoughts mean.

Around some time in the mid-afternoon, he finds himself a place to take a nap. Today’s location? On the beach, against a palm tree because it was the closest thing near Mihawk and he felt awfully tired. He could sleep anywhere actually as long as the place is quiet, so he gets himself comfortable and is just about to take his hat off and use it to block the sun from his face when he hears footsteps coming from behind him.

He sighs, hoping that it’s not one of Buggy’s weird crew coming to ask him for something, and is pleasantly…yes, pleasantly surprised when he hears Buggy’s own voice calling out to him softly, “Uh, Hawkeye?” He asks, “Is it okay to talk to you?” Well… He supposes he can entertain the thought just this once, after all, Buggy did do something really nice for him. “What is it?” He asks, watching as Buggy carefully approaches him with a rather awkward smile.

“Uh, i just wanted to say I’m really sorry!”

An apology? But what for?

Mihawk raises an eyebrow at Buggy, but says nothing, waiting for him to continue on with what he has to say. “I shouldn’t have taken your sword…” He says, now slowly inching forward, getting closer to Mihawk, “I just really wanted to be your friend and to do something nice for you, and, and…i didn’t really think it all through, and i should have asked first… i’m sorry.” Oh, well… how nice? He didn’t really have to apologize, Mihawk isn’t even really mad anymore. “Can i sit with you for a moment?”

…Can he sit with him?... Can…he…? Why is he acting so strange?! Is he not afraid of Mihawk anymore? And why is he acting so nice? Honestly, Mihawk’s never had anyone so adamant in their attempts to be his friend, so Buggy’s behavior is… quite strange. Still, he shrugs, slightly amused now, “Be my guest.” He replies, and is stunned when Buggy actually sits down next to him, “I know I screwed up, but, hear me out.” He states, and Mihawk still doesn’t get why Buggy’s being so hard on himself when Mihawk isn’t even mad anymore. “I’m going to make it up to you for real this time! Crocodile says i can have a couple of days off, so i’m going to go into town and get you guys each the best gift ever!” He announces, “And then you guys will definitely want to be my best friends, right?!”

Uh… maybe? No, wait…

Well, when he puts it that way… Perhaps Cross Guild would be better off if they all tried to get along and be friends, though the idea honestly feels so draining. Buggy and Crocodile are so different than Mihawk. They’re both so loud and full of energy, and it honestly exhausts Mihawk at times, but… maybe he could give things a go? “Okay, that’s all!” Buggy says, suddenly snapping Mihawk out of his thoughts, “I just wanted to tell you that i’m sorry and that i’ll be getting you a different present instead, and yeah! I have to go get ready,” He chuckles, and as soon as Mihawk hears him laugh…

He starts feeling…strange... again.

#one piece #cross guild #my writing #soooooooooooo what do we think??????#Thoughts ? opinions? criticisms?

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strideofpride · 1 year ago

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On that note, can you imagine how INSANE the media circus would be if it did come out publicly that Chuck and Blair illegally backdated their marriage certificate and the case against them was actually re-opened? Especially in 2023, at a time when anti-billionaire “eat the rich” sentiment has become very mainstream, and true crime is one of the most popular and profitable genres of entertainment?

Like, the events of season six happen so fast that we don’t really get to appreciate just how wild they are from the outside looking in. Imagine if Michael Bloomberg or pre-presidency Donald Trump died in a car crash, and their then-teenage progeny took over their real estate empires. Everyone just gets used to the idea of a little boy real estate mogul, I guess, and a few years pass, and then - surprise! They were faking their death all along!! Yes there was a funeral, yes they were legally declared dead, but who cares! They’re back baby, and ready to go back to being the same shitbags they were before!

Except, a mere handful of months later, they’re dead again - this time having gone careening off the side of one of their company’s most famous buildings (imagine if Donald Trump died falling off of Trump Tower lmaoooo). Did they fake it again? Was it foul play? By the time rumors start to swirl of the alleged involvement of their recently deposed nepotism baby, the cops close the case and rule it an accident. Their heir, still barely an adult, retakes the reigns of leadership - newly married, a detail no one realizes is suspicious because they likely have no idea that the spouse was at the scene of the crime.

Years pass. YouTubers and online conspiracy theorists periodically bring up the case, but the public at large once again more or less accepts the public narrative. Another piece of shit real-estate mogul gets elected president, and the attitude of the general public towards the uber wealthy turns increasingly hostile. Then there’s 2020, and 2021, and 2022, and- And then. “Billionaire boy and family linked to father’s mysterious death after discovery of faked marriage license”.

Even though we, the audience, knows Chuck didn’t actually kill his father, do you think in a world where this was an actual case involving actual public figures anyone would believe that? The coverup is so ridiculously suspicious that the general public almost definitely assumes they really did do the crime.

And consider the players in this case - a terrible billionaire who died a deliciously ironic death, his somehow worse son who in a post-#MeToo world is already a PR nightmare waiting to happen, and the ex-princess of Monaco (?!) who just so happens to already be tabloid fodder. If they get especially unlucky, Dan (a pretty famous novelist, at least according to the reboot), Serena (a 2000s era “it girl” and semi-celebrity), and Nate (an ex-NYC mayoral candidate, media mogul, and in universe Kennedy equivalent) might just find themselves implicated too - or at least forced to testify - given they were at the very much in public wedding where any rando could have snapped a picture.

There is just soooo much fucked up entertainment value in a case like this I can’t imagine it being anything less than a public fucking spectacle, and not the kind Chuck or Blair could just shake off. I genuinely do not know how they could absolve themselves in the court of public opinion if it actually went to trial, even if they managed to prevail legally.

Oh my god. Okay well, first of all, I really want the fake Serial podcast that unpacks all of this lol. Someone should make that lmao.

"little boy real estate mogul" took me out lololololol

also like...faking your death is a crime right??? how was Bart just able to re-enter society so easily??? did they ever say???

i'd also like to point out that it's actually much vaguer whether or not Chuck killed his father. They cut away during their fight and then next thing you see is Bart hanging onto the edge. Chuck himself says that he isn't sure whether or not he pushed him or Bart fell over. but also Chuck and Blair both just stood there and did nothing to help Bart before he fell, which is involuntary manslaughter I believe

But seriously though, you're so right anon that all of this was made for true crime. In 2030, someone makes a "Jinx" style doc about Chuck I bet

#anti chair #gossip girl #anti chuck bass #anti blair waldorf #anti bart bass #gg meta #anonymous #strideofprideanswers

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peachsequence · 1 year ago

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Dead By Daylight Drabble Character focus: Jake Word count: 900 Synopsis: Jake Park makes himself a tent. Content: no ships, sfw, indulgent headcanons, poorly written Manchester slang lmao

The others were unsure about Jake’s plan, at least at first. They watched, whispering to themselves, while he scavenged for metal scraps, tarps, and sturdy sticks. Anything that could help with making a covered structure.

Some felt that a tent meant admitting this was their home now. Others were scared it somehow broke the rules of the place.

Maybe they were right, but Jake didn’t care anymore. He wanted privacy. It had been fine when there were just a few people but now there were well over a dozen flowing in and out from trials. He couldn’t go anywhere without tripping on someone sleeping by the fire or hearing David King’s rancorous laughter over his own stupid jokes.

After dozens of trials and free time exploring, he gathered an impressive pile of junk. Most of it came from the meat packing plant, much to the chagrin of the young woman that guarded the place. She’d nearly killed him several times for stealing from the supplies she used to adjust her traps. The tool sheds of Haddonfield had plenty of tarps. Michael hadn’t seemed to care even when Jake stole the sheets off the beds in the neighborhood.

What resulted in his work was an angular tent of blue and yellow tarps sewn together, held up by a string tied several feet off the ground to two trees. The ends were staked apart with nails and metal pieces, spread far enough that Jake could lie down any direction with plenty of room. He could even stand up without hitting his head.

Sure, the ends were still open so anyone could see inside if they really wanted to, but he had plans to alter the design to fix that problem. That, however, could come later. First he wanted to enjoy the effort he went through.

He slipped into his new hiding spot, tucked away a few yards from the campfire. The light slipped through the openings at each end, reflecting the color of the yellow and blue walls of the tent. He lay on a few layers of sheets, just enough to keep from feeling the uneven ground jab too hard into his back.

A smug grin tugged at the corner of his lips. This is perfect.

---

It took three trials before someone broke the threshold of his new home. Jake was tying knots on a piece of rope he’d found when David King barged in without so much as knocking.

“Park, make me a tent,” he said, ignoring the way Jake glared up at him. He dumped a stack of folded red fabric with gold thread embellishing the fraying hems. The smell of chemicals permeated from them.

“Did you tear down the tents in the circus for this?” Jake asked, noting the blood stains on the coarse surface.

“Yeah. Got a nasty scar for the trouble,” King said, grinning wide at the admission. “Oh, since I know you’ll throw a strop without pay, I brought you a toolkit. Weird one, too. Look at it!” David shoved the toolbox in Jake’s hands like a child wanting to show off a new toy.

While he remained stone faced, Jake was intrigued by it. Rather than the plain white toolboxes he normally found, this one was bright red with gold clasps and handle. Opening it up, he found it packed full with firecrackers and sparklers that once might have made him think of New Year’s festivals. Now it just made him wonder if he could hurt a killer with them.

Rather than ask where it came from – something that David would probably love to brag about – Jake simply closed it and set it aside.

“Fine,” Jake relented. “Just don’t expect anything special.”

From there, it became a downward spiral. He’d barely gotten started on David’s tent before the next person asked. Some were fine with anything Jake gave them, others wanted room to fit their partners too. Then new people arrived at the campfire and assumed getting a space was part of the norm. He made a rule after that: supply your own materials or pay out the ass for the trouble I’m going through.

Jake hadn’t realized just how much work he’d gotten done until he took a step back to admire a pale blue canopy he’d made for Kate. Seven tents were nestled in between trees and around the campfire, their colors adding the atmosphere of life to their hellish purgatory. Claudette’s small pink and green tent was surrounded by her garden. The white one Dwight shared had a clothes line which Ace hogged to store all his ridiculous outfits on. Meg and Nea were at that moment attempting to make stands outside each home for some lanterns they’d found.

A warm feeling settled in his chest, one that made him nervous to think about too hard. He hated to admit that he enjoyed the strange little community they’d all cobbled together. As standoffish as he acted, he liked these people. Even David King. Eventually that would get him hurt, he’d experienced that pain before, but for a moment he let himself enjoy it.

He made his way back to his own tent, ready to rest after finally finishing the last bit of work he’d been commissioned, and settled into his makeshift bed. Jake’s head hadn’t even touched the pillow before a man tugged open one of the flaps and peered in.

His beige trench coat popped against his dark amber skin, which was tinged pink in the cheeks as he sheepishly tried to find the right words to say. “Sorry to bother you but I was told to ask you about a tent?” the man asked with an accent Jake couldn’t place.

Jake sighed, rubbing his fingers against his temple. So much for my genius plan to be alone.

#dead by daylight #dbd #jake park #david king #drabble

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psychic-refugee · 2 years ago

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I’ve talked about keeping silent as a legal strategy before, but one aspect I don’t think I’ve covered is that JUDGES HATE SOCIAL MEDIA/ OTHER MEDIA BULLSHIT AND SHENANIGANS.

Judges HATE media circuses. They are interested in the law, they do not care what a bunch of idiots on Twitter think. They only care if they or those involved in the trial start to get harassed or if the circus starts to taint the jury. They do not want to waste their time or public funds for a mistrial.

There is a reason why the jury is sequestered during trial and deliberations, which include being forbidden reading newspapers, doing outside research, and social media. The jury should only pay attention to the facts brought before them during trial, not what idiots on Twitter are taking out of context and consider evidence because of “vibes.” If one side is spouting their mouth and riling the public up, it’s going to piss off the judge and that’s the last person you want to piss off. Look at Trump, he had to be specifically told to shut the fuck up on social media by the judge. ALSO be aware that Trump got dinged for things he posted on social media. His own posts were used against him.

Silence is your friend, social media is the enemy. I’ve been on trials where the judge told opposing counsel that they were made aware they were speaking to the press and saw that some things were being taken out of context. Opposing counsel was told to shut the fuck up. Some judges don’t even give one warning, but let me tell you opposing counsel did as they were told.

Social media has only harmed any hope the accusers might have had for a case, if they were ever actually serious. PHW as of now has a much stronger stance, and that’s because he shut the fuck up from the get go.

Another reason why judges hate social media is that it makes it harder to find unbiased and appropriate jurors.

The jury goes through a filtering process to kick out anyone who may have biases, this includes people who already have an opinion due to social media.

The States call this Voir Dire, in Canada it’s called “challenge for cause.”

They will specifically ask if prospective jurors can be unbiased etc…if your social media is public they can review it for potential bias. They cannot friend request you or do any ex parte communication, but they can at least do their due diligence to make sure you don’t have a vendetta against either side. e.g. The antis and anyone from PercyNation, including myself, would be dismissed if we were called for jury duty for any case involving PHW or the accusers. We’ve clearly taken a stand already and would not be good jurors. If you lie and cause a mistrial, you’re looking at fines. Like $11,000 USD fines. https://www.justice.gov/usao-nj/pr/juror-fined-11000-conducting-outside-research-during-criminal-trial-and-causing-mistrial (Last visited 11 May 2023) If the accusers keep posting even after court proceedings start, they would be dinged and threatened with contempt. The fact they did all those posts before even speaking with an attorney, is not going to do them any favors. All the accusers have done is give opposing counsel ammo.

So, I must stress again that going to Twitter to air grievances and accuse someone of criminal conduct is a mistake. Go to an attorney, file a lawsuit/ask for criminal charges, let Twitter and the world find out in due course via litigation.

I promise you, your story can be told after the fact. Trials and their results are generally a matter of public record.

#I Stand With Percy #Percy Found Not Guilty

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onceuponalegendbg · 1 year ago

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Top Ten Ace Attorney Games

So this seems appropriate given recent announcements. Note: I’ve never played the Professor Layton crossover so it will not be on this list. Can’t really rank something you never interacted with, you know? Also, goes without saying but all opinions expressed in this are fully subjective and should be taken with a grain of salt. Like, seriously, guys. I’ve warned you.

10) Apollo Justice - Okay, so I just want to say that AA4 is not a bad game, but good lord is it the one I have the most problems with. Good things first, however. I love the dynamic between Apollo and Trucy. Their banter is so fun. I like this version of Phoenix. Really seems like he’s grown a lot in the time between games due to circumstances. I feel his relationship with Trucy could have been explored more but what we do get is good. Ema’s back, and I’ll never say no to that. Klavier is a good rival for Apollo. All that said, man do I remember barely anything about any of the cases of this game. Outside the main cast I remember Lamoire, Kristoph, and that a couple of Gramaryes are in this one. That last case also just... gives me a headache if I think about it too long.

9) Justice For All - Oh boy. So outside of introducing my favorite Prosecutor of the OG trilogy, JFA is a bit meh overall. Don’t get me wrong, Case 2 with all the Fey Drama is very solid and the final case... Come on, do I really need to say how good the Engarde Case is? I don’t even hate the Berry Big Circus case as much as most people (except for the very uncomfortable love triangle, that I detest) but even I can’t deny it’s one of the weaker cases in the series and the first case is... the whole amnesia device is more annoying than clever. Again, I’m sure I’m not saying anything new here.

8) Ace Attorney: Phoenix Wright - Man, I wonder if this is some form of sacrilegious putting the first game this low on the list. Honestly, there’s not much to truly criticize with this one. It’s a very solid first entry into what would grow into such a beloved franchise. But I also just don’t have a ton of things to say about it in general? At least not many that haven’t already been said by more articulate people than I. It’s a good game. Solid starting point. Weakest case is the first one but... It’s the first case. So. To be expected.

7) Ace Attorney Investigations: Miles Edgeworth - Admittedly, this is only so low because I love the other games more and the last case is.... unbearably long. It was brilliant of Capcom to take what is likely AA’s most popular character and give him his own games, and even better to give us characters like Kay and Lang while also giving us Tiny Franziska. We did not deserve Tiny Franziska but they gave her to us anyway. A very enjoyable foray with a new game-play style.

6) Trials and Tribulations - Oh man, I am going to get so much crap for this one. Before anyone comes at me! Yes! T&T is a near flawless entry. Genuinely, the writing for this one is insane and Dahlia is such a well used antagonist. The through line for this game is masterful. Even the third case, which is indeed the weakest case, I find some charm in. So don’t get me wrong, I’m well aware that objectively this probably should have at least been in the top three. But this isn’t an objective list. This is my list. And while I do love T&T, I just adore the games in the top five more.

5) Ace Attorney Investigations 2: Prosecutor’s Path - An improvement from the first Investigations in almost every way. While I do think that the last case is still a bit too long, I think it’s overall more interesting than the first’s. More of Kay, Miles, and Gumshoe having the best dynamic. The addition of Ray, Sebastian, and Justine only making the cast all the better. Again, I’m a sucker for Justine being the best mom ever and her dynamic with John (and even Sebastian) is something I wish we’d had more of.

4) Dual Destinies - I don’t care what ya’ll say, AA5 is a fun addition and Athena is an amazing new character. I freakin love Athena. Like, I’m sorry but any character that has been through that much crap and still manages to smile and cheer up the people around her even when she’s feeling the absolute worst is a good character and I will die on this hill. Not to mention Blackquill being an equally fantastic rival for our protagonists. And that reveal in the last case while Aura is forcing them to do a retrial for her brother! “Oh but Phoenix is back to being goofy and it’s like AA4 never happened.” “Oh, but Apollo is angsty for no reason.” Sorry, doesn’t bother me. Like, I’m not even willing to call these things nitpicks because they’re just such non-issues for me. The only thing I’ll say is that the models do look a little off sometimes. This is a good game, ya’ll are just mean.

3) Spirit of Justice - So confession, SOJ was the first AA game that I saw from start to finish. I’d tried before but I’d never found the right let’s play of the AA franchise. Then I did find one, and I watched SOJ through start to finish. And I really enjoyed it. I love the setting of Khura’in, Rayfa, the final boss looking like a Power Rangers’ villain. Also, while we do get a lot of father son stuff, I’m such a freakin sucker for the mother daughter stuff between Rayfa and Gharan and Amara. Also, the Magical Turnabout is just... such a fun case? And of course, Maya can’t be in a game without getting accused of murder. But her growth as a character is great. I just really really enjoy this game, guys.

2) Great Ace Attorney: Adventures - I’m sure this comes as very little shock to anyone who knows me. The first GAA game is astounding. I love this cast of characters so much. Susato, Ryu, Sherlock, Iris, Barok, Gina, Toby, they’re all great! The new mechanics with the jury and multiple witnesses on the stand are great. The story is great. Yeah, the first case goes on for too long, but at least it feels fresh due to the new setting and characters. I feel like I can’t properly articulate how much I love this game. Which, speaking of...

1) Great Ace Attorney: Resolve - Yeah, yeah. Predictable, I’m sure. But what can I say, this took everything I loved about the first game and just made it better and expanded on it. The story takes so many twists and turns and it takes the characters and their bonds from the first game and makes me love them even more. WE LOVE THE FOUND FAMILY TROPE! Kazuma comes back and he becomes such a fascinating character. Rei, Courtney Sithe, Esmeralda Tusspells, Drebber are only some of the memorable new characters for this part 2. The fight against Stronghart (Vortex is still the cooler name) is such a triumphant moment! And playing as Susato in the first case!? That was amazing! And Ryu’s growth throughout all of this!? Like excuse me! I love this boy!

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soartfullydone · 1 year ago

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I finished my first bg3 playthrough and just need to ramble about act 3 things specifically (spoiler-heavy, don't read this)

There's so much about this game that's great. But so much of act 3 made me go from :D to :/ like people were not kidding about how unpolished it feels. There's some positive thoughts here, but there's also a LOT of critique sooo don't read this probably fr fr.

The amount of bugs are egregious in act 3. I normally have a high threshold for bugs in games. They happen. So long as I don't lose gameplay hours over them, I'm pretty fine. But omg, I finally found my threshold. Just so much that distracted and detracted from cutscenes, from character moments, from the immersion of it all. It's hard to praise Larian for showing up the AAA studios when they turn around and actually do much the same as them: rush an unfinished product to launch. BG3 should've been worked on another year at least so the poor devs wouldn't have to go through the crunch time they are as I type this.

Acts 1 and 2 feel very tight and cohesive, act 1 especially (and I swear, act 2 was the shortest, easy, and yes, I did everything), but in act 3, you start to see so many holes, so many quest lines abandoned, rewritten, and unfinished. Quick question: why was Cazador's palace attached to a random guard wall in the Lower City when he's as upper echelon as they come? Oh, because we cut all of the Upper City from the game but still needed to resolve Astarion's storyline? Got it. What was the point of me tracking down the bomb factory in the fireworks shop if there are no repercussions for either destroying it or leaving it alone? Oh, just a reason to connect Rivington to Baldur's Gate, same as the Dribbles quest? Cool.

Speaking of Dribbles, I almost couldn't even finish the damn quest because I stole the clown's hand from the kobald and the game didn't acknowledge it because a cutscene didn't trigger. I had to do the most roundabout series of tests and finally figured out I had to put the hand in a pouch marked as wares, sell the wares to the kobald, steal the pouch back, drop the hand in front of him, and ensure he caught me stealing it.

That being said, there is nothing about the Circus segment itself I would change. Pure confetti all the way down. Enjoyed being turned into a stinky wheel of cheese.

I love love love the Auntie Ethel quest line. The only thing I could've asked for in relation to it is even more fae shit.

On that note, loved Valeria. Loved how Normal a miniature flying elephant detective was.

The Emperor's sex scene? Delightful. So glad I got to experience that through a friend. Can't wait to be a freak like that someday.

The House of Hope was Hot AF. I died at the Haarlep part; it was everything I wanted: a Raphael """romance""", a terrible deal, exhibitionism, companion-wide disapproval, body and mind violation. Honestly, Larian DOES get full points for that. (Now, make it a true possibility with Raphael, cowards. Let me ride that pillow princess.) Can't WAIT to fully go through with this deal someday with a different character because Riven wasn't the one.

The Raphael fight was honestly incredibly fun (the soundtrack lol A+++) and I didn't find it that challenging in Balanced mode. Like, I thought it was going to wreck my shit, but it was easily one of my most favorite parts of the game. Getting to the room to go through with it, however, was a trial and a half.

Act 3 also had two, if not three, of my least favorite quests of the whole game, tbh. And when I say least favorite, I mean they were just plain not fun to play. At all. Top of mind is the Free the Artist quest with the haunted house, which should've been fun but was just an incredible pain in the ass the whole time, and the Iron Throne quest, which I had to do no less than 8 times to get the exact results I wanted because bugs would thwart me at every turn. NPCs not dashing because their pathways were somehow blocked. Characters getting stuck up the ladder, not allowing anyone else to climb it. Having a character physically move to pull a switch to lock a door behind them only to get them permanently stuck on the wrong side of the door. Did I mention this quest was also a timed trial? lol lol

Kept expecting for my betrayal of the Zhentarim in act 1 to have Repercussions when I reached the city, their stomping ground, in act 3. lol lol

With the flood of companion interactions and cutscenes I got in act 1, it's a shame how much those dried up in act 2 and were practically non-existent in act 3. Their personal quest lines are all you have, and once they're over, you'll maybe get one final cutscene and maybe a romantic one and that's it.

Karlach barely feels like she had a real arc. You do a few things to keep her infernal engine from exploding, but then there's nothing more you can do and she resigns herself to death, refusing to go to Avernus. She and Dammon stop interacting, and the game gives you no other avenues to explore besides a confrontation with Gortash that went about as well as I expected. Just dissatisfaction after dissatisfaction with her. Which is a shame because her VA killed it the entire time! The best I could do for her was take her to the House of Hope for a few hours of relief, but not even an archdevil's home has anything more to offer her.

And it's wild because her death scene was super emotional and touching. I was ready to burst into tears until Wyll ran up and begged her to come to Avernus with him, to live. Then, I wanted to cry for another reason! (My Wyll lost his warlock powers but saved his father and became the Blade of Avernus.) This made so much sense to me as an option for Karlach a long time ago, that I was both relieved and frustrated that this was The Solution the whole time.

I gave Karlach the option to choose what she wanted, and she chose to go with him. What has all this been for, then? So much of Karlach's narrative and the tragedy of it hangs on her absolute refusal to return to the place that tortured her so badly just to live—but that turns out to be only solution this whole time? Why couldn't we just go to Avernus and find something that actually helps her then?

Karlach and Wyll got short-changed in many respects to their arcs, which is wild considering all the touchpoints they have with each other. I'm still frustrated that I, not Wyll, had to choose between severing the pact and saving his father. Even though I achieved both, Wyll should've been given the option to make that decision based on how you interacted with him throughout the game, same as every other character gets to make. At least he gets to choose between becoming a city official and the Blade of Avernus. But it's wild that we have two characters here who were used and enslaved by devils, and that's either not really addressed or resolved (Karlach) or it's only passively handled (Wyll).

And god, I loved the final scene with Wyll and Karlach in Avernus! How Karlach accepted that she would live, how she appreciated both the horror and the opportunity that Avernus presented, and how she wasn't alone anymore. I loved how confident she gets, assuming the role of the experienced expert/hunter in this place. And then Wyll. Who has also hunted and explored Avernus before. Doesn't even get to speak. Just smiles encouragingly the whole time, silent. This scene is so clearly written for Karlach with a Tav, and it's. Frustrating. Wyll and Karlach should be straight-up talking shop together right now. If this is the resolution of both of their arcs together, then it should be written for both of them together.

I'm a Wyll fan who loves the character he is, but I also resonate with folks who are frustrated losing the EA Wyll I never got to meet. I love what I've seen of his romance arc; it's his character arc that has me scratching my head at times, just because I see where they could've done a lot more with more time. The Ansur quest was... interesting but feels very tacked on at the last minute, and the twist that occurs from it isn't even about Wyll. And it matters for all of two seconds and then is never brought up again except to remind you to never speak of it lol what?? At least the lesson Wyll learns is one I knew all along, which is he's the hero Baldur's Gate needs and deserves.

And Gale! I'm honestly not even counting his arc as resolved. That was a joke. The crown falls into the lake?? And based on how you talked to him, he decides whether he's going to fish it out or not??? And I don't even get to see it??? For me, Gale decided to leave it alone, not giving it to Mystra or using it to become a god, which is. Wild. Considering my Tav, Riven, was very much Team "Fuck Mystra" and didn't discourage him from the god path. I was expecting a whole moment like what Astarion got between completing the ritual or not, but nope! You've gotta be joking.

I think the only arcs I'm satisfied with are Lae'zel's and Shadowheart's, even though I still don't know how and why the latter dyed her hair white lol. (I mean, symbolically, I get it, but I'm half-convinced her hair's not even supposed to be white because her portrait never changed hair color and the other characters only commented on her bangs like is this a universal bug that everyone accepted and Larian doesn't want to own up to?)

I also wish that if Halsin, Jaheira, and Minsc are going to be companions that they would've given them proper arcs, too. Halsin especially since he comes along earlier. Jaheira gets more of a pass since she's older and a legacy character and I love her, but I could take or leave Minsc tbh. Haven't gotten Minthara yet, so opinion's still out on her.

I loved Jaheira's little adopted family. A shame I never saw them again or got anymore resolution! (More on resolution in general later)

I guess I'll talk about Astarion's arc. I loved so much of it, but I'll be honest; I was having the most fun with him in acts 1 and 2. The sex repulsion thing, while key to his arc, also seemed to dry up all the romantic chemistry he has between himself and your character. Part of that might be because his arc turns so hard into obsessing over the ritual. But part of it is a Huge Missed Opportunity between exploring the difference between Sex as a Means to an End and exploring with him what actual intimacy looks like. Sure, you get the hand-holding and the hug, once, which can easily turn into a Just Friends thing. But where was learning what easy sensuality and intimacy looks like with a partner who won't pressure you into making it about sex? The graveyard scene was great! Sure wish there was more where that came from!

Astarion's romantic arc became a lot more about what Astarion wanted versus what you both want, argue with the wall. Sure, he wants it to become something real and wants to take things slow, but at what point is a Tav who was used for protection through sex allowed to be sexually frustrated and not shamed for it? The only time that's even acknowledged is if Tav considers a poly relationship with Astarion and Halsin, and we're supposed to feel bad on Astarion's account and not Tav's. Well, I'm sorry, but for Riven, Astarion would've been her first sexual partner and relationship, and he knowingly turned that switch on to make her obsessed and pliant towards him. It's unrealistic to just. Expect her to not be sexually frustrated, to grin and bear it, just because he's finally acknowledging his own automony. Part of that autonomy means taking ownership for what he did as an exploitive sexual partner; I'm not saying he needs to get her off or anything, but this is where displaying actual intimacy could've helped while they were taking a break from sex. Instead, the game really does have Astarion cut her off cold turkey with no further romantic scenes outside of the odd line here and there while discussing the ritual, and p e r s o n a l l y, I take Great Issue with that as a woman with some fucking self-respect.

Considering how hard this romance goes on the front-end with sex, flirting, and banter, Astarion's romance arc feels very foreplay-heavy with a very dissatisfying finish, which I'm not impressed with, okay? (And yes, my last romantic scene with him was bugged all to hell, so I didn't get to experience it as a cutscene, just fragmented lines in a box of a room. In fact, a lot of his romance lines throughout act 3 would either get cut-off or there'd be other buggy things happening that detracted from the scene.) At least he stays an asshole and not this uwu baby that so much of the fandom wants to pretend he is lol

That said, and even though I haven't done it yet, I am so sure that it'll be Ascended Astarion >>>>>>>> Good End Astarion for me lol. Give me the dark, fucked-up ends forever, thanks.

I didn't even get one of the biggest payoffs from convincing Astarion not to Ascend. I had Shadowheart cast Daylight as an orb and not on an object, so when the other spawn got free, they took damage from the spell and ran away, disappearing forever. Cazador's staff was nowhere to be seen because it was tied to a cutscene with those spawn, so now??? The ~7,000 spawn trapped in those arcane cells are just going to be driven mad as they starve to death, which we know from Astarion being held in solitary for a year is going to take a very long time. Meaning the more humane thing to do would've been to just. Let Astarion go through with the ritual, damning himself to save them from a fate worse than death. Great storytelling, Larian, we didn't test that Daylight spell at all, did we? Good thing I made a save with Astarion post-Ascension, tbh.

(Which, the fact that you still have to convince Astarion not to go through with the ritual, despite your high approval, romance, and all the things he's seen getting there, fascinates me. So many other characters will do the right thing if you've planted the seeds and give them the chance to make the choice themselves, but Astarion is determined to see the ritual through by default unless you roll real good. It's Big Sexy of him.)

On the one hand, this game has SO many more companion cutscenes and reactions than past rpg games like this. But on the other, it doesn't balance them well throughout the game. It doesn't help that I played the version with approval thresholds being lower than they should've been. But it goes back to how much of act 1 was written, built out, and tested in EA, and how much the rest of the game was... not.

Also what was the point of Yenna besides being nice to an orphan kid? Why did she disappear from camp for days and days that was never acknowledged? How many more bugs with kids did I experience in this playthrough, the Mol quest also being fucked sideways?

Gortash was so hot and SO underused and for what??? Jason Isaacs, b r u h!!! Oh well, more reason to play Dark Urge at some point.

I also never got the option to Find Familiar my owlbear and he stopped moving in the camp in act 3, and I'm sad, okay? He does somehow become fully grown?? for the final battle and armored up, but you're joking if you think I'm risking my baby boy like that

That said, I did like how the final battle played out, how you could summon your allies to help fight. (Zevlor redeemed himself and survived, baby!) I liked the various stages of it. But omg... the audio problems. A whole area where background music didn't play for over 20 minutes. Where characters had dialogue but no audio track. The immersion was in tatters for me, and given all the character arc resolution problems I discussed above, yeah, no WONDER I'm fucking frustrated. All this build up, to just trip at the finish line?

It was also wild how. Abrupt. The ending is. A series of cutscenes with a few final choices here and there, with random companions interjecting their opinions/perspective, but. There's no goodbye tour. There's no talking to everyone for the last time before the FINAL scenes happen and the credits roll. No "what will you do now?" discussions besides Karlach and Wyll's abrupt leave (made even worse by Astarion's abrupt leave for Reasons). I've been traveling with most of these people since the first hour of the game, and I can't even say to them "goodbye and thank you"??? We've poked fun at Bioware throughout BG3's launch, but they beat you there, Larian. Muchly.

The ending cutscenes were also not edited together cohesively, which might be why the Astarion romance scene bugged out. It's possible it's out of order, but it either goes: Companions talking about celebrating, Astarion getting scalded by the sun and running away, Karlach's engine catching on fire, Wyll convincing her to save herself and the two running off, the narrator showing you the city and proclaiming you a hero, Astarion romance scene in a black box, Wyll and Karlach in Avernus, end credits. OR it goes: Companions talking about celebrating, Astarion being scalded and running off, Karlach's engine catching on fire, Wyll imploring her to live but you convince her to die, the narrator proclaiming you a hero, Astarion romance scene, credits. And that switch to the credits, both times, is a fast and hard switch.

Also okay FINE I'll be honest! How determined this game is to turn you illithid finally pissed me the fuck off! The whole game, I played a character who would Not Eat the Damn Tadpole for anything but who would still abuse her compulsion powers now and again. (Which, a shame that power went away in act 3, that was fun roleplaying.) The whole game, she decides and is given the option to decide that her own strength and those of her companions would be enough, and guess what? It's not lol. Someone still has to become illithid and eat Orpheus's brain. Picture it: I had Astarion, Gale, and Lae'zel with me, the latter two who still need their arcs completed, hence why they're here. And the choice I'm given is either: give the Emperor the stones and have him eat Orpheus' brain; turn myself into an illithid and eat Orpheus' brain, or free Orpheus and convince him to turn himself into an illithid (or have myself or a dying Karlach do it, and guess what? We'd still have to eat his brain). All but one of these choices will either have Lae'zel hate me forever or permanently end my Astarion romance. The only viable option, meanwhile, is depressingly anticlimactic and uninteresting. Yeah, I'll say it: BOOOOOOO!

I have so many characters I want to do different playthroughs with, but act 3 and its ending, man. The taste of it is not horrible but it's not great, either. Kinda torn between taking my time in the first two acts and giving the game a break, see if they fix the most annoying bug issues first. I don't hold out much hope that storytelling issues will be fixed, but god, I wish they would be. Gonna just hold it in and die until I can talk to any friend about it.

#mel's ramblings #bg3 spoilers

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archduke42 · 2 years ago

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Old Barriss fanfiction

For those bored on a Friday nite, I thought I would post more segments of an older story I wrote before TCW came to TV. When Barriss became my Muse, I just started giving her more adventures and liberties to be involved more in the Prequel Trilogy timeline

In this scene, Darth Tyrranus has lured Barriss into a trap when she arrives on Geonosis to attempt to rescue captured Obi-Wan Kenobi. Keep in mind, when I wrote this, Dooku and Tyrannus are two different characters, and Tyrannus has abilities where he can only be seen by Barriss as he poisons the minds of Dooku and the Separatists. Barriss is put on trial,and sentenced to Death. Dooku, who is slowly becoming a Dark Jedi obsessed with hunting down Darth Sidious, also reveals the big secret that has been hidden from Barriss her entire life, which will devastate her in that moment.

I know some of this reading may be a bit over the top, but I was excited to write a cliffhanger moment for her.

It may look as if I Mar Sue’d Barriss the way Filoni writes Ahsoka, but at the time I preferred to think of stories like this as “Barriss being a normal Jedi trying to do her best, gets into epic situations and faces imminent death.....but then a miracle happens and she just becomes naturally more awesome” kind of thing. At the very least, I tried to make all her epic moments plausible when I wrote it. Enjoy

(Barriss is brought into a large chamber blindfolded and tied up. The blindfold is removed. She finds herself facing Separatists Shu Mai, Nute Gunray, Po Nudo, Sun Fac and the shadowy Darth Tyrannus)

Tyrannus: A surprise for the Council......a Jedi spy.

Barriss: TRAITORS! Where's Dooku? Where is Senator Hadranus?

Shu: *SILENCE! You are in no position to demand anything!*

Nute: It is an unfortunate turn of events for you, my dear.

Barriss: When the Chancellor discovers your deeds here, Viceroy, you-

Nute: -Oh, be quiet. I hear that one every morning.

Sun: *Jedi Padawan Barriss Offee, it is with great regret that you are charged and found guilty of trespassing into a sacred catacomb of our honored dead. Great though your heart and deeds may be, you are unworthy to be in such a place. The penalty is Death!*

(Barriss turns to Tyrannus)

Barriss: Clever little trap for a clever little joke trial.

Tyrannus: An easy one, too. Master Unduli would never have fallen for such an obvious ruse.

(Barriss looks at him with irritation at the taunt)

Barriss: I’ll have you eating those words when Master Dooku gets here!

Nute: You can't talk to us like this! This is outrageous. You're on trial, you green skinned pest! This is for what you did on Naboo years ago!

(Barriss turns to the neutral Sun Fac with urgency)

Barriss: Sun Fac, you obviously remember that we Jedi have always been your allies. We helped end Hadiss' reign of terror. How can you let them pull off this "kangaroo court"??

Sun: *Politics......make strange bedfellows, Padawan Offee. Archduke Poggle is now a member of the Confederacy-*

Barriss: -No!-

Sun: *-of Independant Systems. Even if it were not so, you were caught in the sacred catacombs. Wether intentional or not......we must follow with Geonosian Law!*

Barriss: Joining the Sepratists makes you a traitor, Sun Fac!! Don't give in to their lies! Go get Senator Hadranus!

Tyranus: Barriss, Barriss. General Hadranus is not on this world. He is on Rhen Var, and he is about to discover his true destiny.

Barriss: Even if you kill me, the Republic will not stand for this horrible act! Palpatine will have you all on trial!

Nute: (sigh) Booring!

(Tyranus swiftly moves next to her with silent grace)

Tyranus: There is no victory you can have that I cannot take away.....

(The doors behind them burst open. Count Dooku storms into the proceedings, startling everybody. Barriss turns to him with a small feeling of relief. She turns back to Tyranus to give a witty reply, but Tyranus has vanished again)

Dooku: This is outrageous! Of all the audacious things!! I cannot allow this to turn into a circus!

Barriss: Master Dooku, I am grateful you are here! Finally you can tell these lunatics to let me go!

(A sudden uncomfortable chill sweeps over her as Dooku marches to her sternly. He looms over her like a dreaded prophet of Doom)

Dooku: On the contrary, young padawan.......I am here to stop you from ruining everything!!

Barriss: (In shock) WHAT??

Tyrannus: (whispering) She is a traitor....she must die.....she will destroy all your dreams....

(Barriss can actually HEAR Tyrannus as he sends horrible thoughts to Dooku's mind. Dooku's face is red with a held back indignant rage)

Dooku: You, of all people, Barriss......I never thought I'd see you try to stab Qui-Gon in the back as well with this treachery!

Barriss: MASTER DOOKU!! He was LIKE A FATHER TO ME!

(Dooku frowns even more)

Dooku: More's the pity!

(He walks past her)

Dooku: Barriss, the punishment for spying is death in the arena, the punishment for desecration of the sacred Nekropolis....death by immolation. The Geonosians believe it is to purify the stench of your unholy trespass. If I will it, you would die in a most horrible fashion.......but it would be an even worse fate that you should die without ever knowing what it was that has kept you alive.....

Barriss: Don't give in to the madness......this Confederacy of yours is an act of TREASON!!!

Dooku: I have cared for you like a granddaughter, and I have held secrets to protect you.....

Barriss: What are you talking about??

(At that moment, the dread Cyborg, General Grievous, enters the trial room. Barriss becomes frightfully aware of the malicious aura. She recognizes him, and he almost seems to smile under his cold metallic mask)

Grievous: Barriss.......how lovely......

(Dooku and Grievous escort Barriss Offee down to the dungeon)

Barriss: This is NOT the answer, Master Dooku! War with the Republic-

Dooku: -I did not ask for this war! I did not ask for my friends to die needlessly on Naboo.....or here....

(Dooku gets paternal as he opens a secret door among the dank dark cells)

Dooku: I have always admired your drive and initiative, your strong will. You would have made a great Jedi....

Barriss: IT DOESN'T HAVE TO BE THIS WAY!!!! BILLIONS WILL DIE IF YOU GO DOWN THIS PATH!!! You will be lost to us....please....don't do this! Please....

(Grievous stands coldly as Dooku leads her into a small chamber with several tunnels)

Dooku: Barris, I am carrying out the best kind of death sentence for you I can. I pulled strings to get you here.

Barriss: (sarcastic) Oh, thank you. I'm soooo grateful! You put me in the dungeon! You are not a Geonosian, you don't have-

(He leans down, for a moment, caressing her head in a grandfatherly way. He is ready to sacrifice even those he would call family to fulfill his obsession in destroying the Sith)

Dooku: -You don't understand. The legal alternatives like the arena.....it would be unbearable to see you suffer that fate. I do this for you as the friend you once were. Trust me, I helped design things so Poggle would never have to worry about the same stunts that were pulled when you and Master Unduli interfered years ago....Master Kenobi is also under sentence of Death.

(Barriss looks at him, shocked and horrified. He is not the graceful, witty Jedi she had known for so long. Dooku wearily stops and slowly turns to almost glance back out the door at Grievous. He looks uncertain about everything)

Dooku: It is not your fault, Barriss. You were a tool of the Jedi and the Senate. They have killed you, We must stop the Sith. We must make it all right. THAT is why this must happen.

(Barriss gets angry)

Barriss: What would Qui-gon say? You would kill your own friends and family??

Dooku: So much you do not know....about family...

(Barriss gets more agitated, but Dooku suddenly gets very quiet)

Barriss: WHAT WOULD YOU KNOW ABOUT IT!!!??? You're Master Dooku!! Lord of all you survey!! You can kill with a word and these tin pot drones will do it!

(He looks away. Grievous gets huffy outside the room, but Barriss is no longer scared of the Cyborg)

Barriss: And you shut up, Grievous!! Nobody cares to hear your opinions!!

(She almost snarls at Dooku)

Barriss: I've grown up my whole life obeying the rules, smiling and eating and breathing according to the rules of the Order without ever knowing my family, my parents....How dare you!!?? Telling me I know nothing about it....you keep rattling on about secrets you held!!! You talk about family and yet you have calmly given me the DEATH SENTENCE???? WHAT IS GOING ON???!!!!

Dooku: IT is about your mother and father!

Barriss: What about them? I never got to meet them!

Dooku: YES, YOU DID!!!

(Barriss is stunned. Dooku composes himself)

Dooku: Qui-gon never told you about your father.....

(POV Does a CU of Barriss)

Barriss: What did Qui-gon know about my father?

(CU of Dooku as he drops the bomb on Barriss)

Dooku: Qui-gon....he WAS your father!!

(Barriss looks at Dooku in complete disbelief)

Barriss: -That can't be! THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE!!!!

Dooku: Search your feelings, you know it to be true!

Barriss: But who wo-

(Barriss stops and gets wide eyed as she suddenly realizes, as if putting two and two together on who "Mother" really is!! She holds back the shock as best she can, fully aware of everything around her)

Barriss: (sobbing) It can't be....IT CAN'T BE!!!

Dooku: It was time now to tell you, because time is so short! So much for you to know, but....

(Dooku looks away. He suddenly can't look her in the face)

Barriss: (tears up) All this time....

Dooku: You deserved to know before I sealed you in. You will wander these tunnels until you succumb to death. There is no way out. But at least you have a chance to die in peace, with the truth....I am truly sorry.

(Dooku, oblivious to Barriss' state of mind, turns and exits)

Barriss: (whispering) You son of a bitch.....You've condemned me to a fate worse than death.....

Dooku: You will die with dignity, and no one will ever know of what I have told you. When I establish a new galactic order.....you will be remembered as a great hero to the next generation of Jedi....A NEW Generation of Jedi under MY leadership!

(POV watches Dooku seal the door shut, Barriss' silhouette dimmed by the growing darkness)

(POV follows Dooku and Grievous back into the palace)

Dooku: Prepare the staff for our next briefing, especially concerning Poggle's latest weapons' project. Prepare the trial for Senator Amidala and her puppydog Skywalker!! They will join Master Kenobi for the arena.

Grievous: Yes, my lord.

(Dooku steps into another room quickly out of sight. He leans against a wall and closes his eyes. His world feels like it is crumbling around him for a few seconds. Tears fill his eyes for a second, but he grips himself)

Tyrannus: (VO whisper) Friends must die so that you can win against the Sith Lord. It is a necessary sacrifice....

(Dooku wants to say something, but the Darkness clouds his judgement and he steels his resolve to destroy the Sith even though he has committed one of his first terrible acts to accomplish it)

(Barriss sits in the dark, facing the tunnels, pondering what to do as she recovers from crying. The door opens behind her. CU of Grievous as he slowly enters and lights up two sabres with glee)

Barriss: YOU!!

Grievous: My child, I have waited a long stretch of time for this rematch!!

(Barriss jumps up and prepares for battle! Sabre lit, she stands in readiness as Grievous closes the door behind him)

Grievous: You are dead, one way or another. Dooku does not need to know the details! I think about our encounters on Naboo all those years ago, and I think I owe it to you to make this as painful and prolonged as possible!!

(He lights up a total of four sabers! Barriss suddenly realizes she is out of her depth fighting him. Smartly, she leaps into the nearest tunnel. Grievous laughs)

Grievous: You cannot run far!! Every tunnel in this labyrinth is a dead end!!

How does Barriss escape?? That is a story for another time....

#barriss offee #Barriss #tcw barriss #Count Dooku #dooku jedi lost #Star Wars the Prequel trilogy #attack of the clones #star wars the clone wars #star wars attack of the clones #geonosis #jedi #sith #darth tyrannus

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vgckwb · 8 months ago

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Danganronpa: Away Chapter 4: Hold Me, Thrill Me, Kiss Me, Kill Me (Part 7a)

For the fourth time, we were all gathered in Monokuma’s little circus of Hell. We were both confused and on edge. As common as these incidents were becoming, it’s not easier. “Well, fourth verse, same as the first!” Monokuma said. “Now then, let’s go over the rules for the Class Trial. Students will take turns discussing who they think is the killer. This will continue until an agreement has been reached. Afterwards, a vote will take place to determine who the blackened is. If you guess right, then only the blackened will be punished. However, if you guess wrong… then everyone BESIDES the blackened will be punished. Now let the Class Trial BEGIN!”

Cassy: Let’s just get this over with as soon as possible.

Pierce: Agreed.

Pierce: Does the killer want to come out and confess everything?

…

Pierce: Sounds like a “no.”

Andy: Well, what do we know about the case?

May: I guess that’s as good a place to start as any.

Jay: Of course.

Monobird: So then, let’s take things from the top.

NON-STOP DEBATE!

BEGIN!

Duke: From what we can gather so far,

Duke: it appears that Annabelle was shot and hit her head up in the broadcasting studio.

Cassy: Plus she had a bruise on her sternum.

Cassy: And a big one at that.

Tammy: Well yeah. We all heard her get shot, right?

Tammy: That’s when we came up.

Tammy: And the killer blended themselves in with the rest of us.

Jay: Sounds reasonable.

CCOA:

Tammy: Well yeah. We all heard her get shot, right?

Truth Bullet: Recording.

Justin: You’ve got that wrong!

Justin: You probably don’t know this, since you left,

Justin: But we found a recording that was an hour of silence and then the sounds of the gunshots.

Justin: And that’s what we heard.

Tammy: Really?

Jay: Of course, you could be the killer, and just be feigning ignorance on this front.

Tammy: Shut it, Jay!

Sophie: So, if we didn’t hear her getting shot, what were those noises then?

Cassy: I have a guess, but I’m not entirely sure.

Pierce: Well then, let’s hear it.

NON-STOP DEBATE!

BEGIN!

Cassy: So, this is just a guess,

Cassy: But I do imagine that the murder was recorded.

Cassy: And the gunshots on the recording are what’s left after the killer edited everything else out.

Pierce: Well, that makes sense, I guess.

Andy: Yeah. She was shot three times, and we heard three gunshots.

Sophie: Looks like that adds up.

CCOA:

Andy: Yeah. She was shot three times, and we heard three gunshots.

Truth Bullet: Gun

Justin: You’ve got that wrong!

Justin: It’s true that we heard three shots,

Justin: And that Annabelle was shot three times,

Justin: But the gun is missing four bullets.

Justin: So where did the other one go?

Justin: And why did we only hear three?

Andy: Huh!

Andy: That’s a good question.

Cassy: True.

Cassy: And it’s one that I think needs discussing.

NON-STOP DEBATE!

BEGIN!

Andy: So, what happened to the fourth bullet?

Sophie: Perhaps it was used earlier?

Duke: How?

Sophie: Well, we’re discussing that now.

May: Did the gun even have a fourth bullet?

May: Maybe it was brought to the crime scene not fully loaded to begin with.

Pierce: If that’s the case, that puts us in a real pickle.

May: I don’t think so.

May: if anything, it clears up an oddity.

CCOA:

May: Maybe it was brought to the crime scene not fully loaded to begin with.

Truth Bullet: Tammy’s Report

Justin: You’ve got that wrong!

Justin: According to Tammy, when she and Monobird searched the weapons room,

Justin: she found the guns to be fairly organized.

Tammy: That’s right!

May: Ummmm.

May: What does that mean?

Justin: It means whoever took it was thorough.

Justin: I doubt they’d leave without noticing a missing bullet.

May: Oh.

Tammy: Not only that, but there was a knife missing too!

Duke: I do find that to be a bit odd.

Jay: Well, there was a knife at the crime scene.

Andy: But why a knife and a gun?

Pierce: I don’t know.

Pierce: You’d think one would be sufficient.

Cassy: *sighs

Cassy: I suppose we should discuss that now then.

NON-STOP DEBATE!

BEGIN!

Duke: Why were there two weapons at the crime scene?

May: You’d only need one to kill, presumably.

Tammy: Maybe it’s to add to the confusion.

Andy: I imagine Annabelle’s body would be stabbed if that was the case.

Cassy: Maybe they were brought in separately.

Sophie: Oh, that makes sense!

Andy: But who would do that?

Pierce: It’s not like the other person would just admit to it.

CCOA:

Cassy: Maybe they were brought in separately.

Truth Bullet: Knife

Justin: I agree!

Justin: Based on where we found it, I think it had to have been brought in by another party.

Tammy: But who could that be?

Justin: Maybe Annabelle herself?

May: Yeah, we were thinking that.

Pierce: But that also means that Annbelle went into the weapons room.

Jay: And why is that an issue?

Pierce: Simple.

Pierce: I think Annabelle would have noticed the missing gun.

Pierce: So why bring a knife to a gunfight?

Jay: Hmmmmm.

Cassy: She could have missed it.

Pierce: It is possible.

Pierce: But Annbelle is a journalist.

Pierce: I think she’s the kind of person who would notice something like that.

Andy: Well, we can’t ask her now.

Andy: So either way, the point is moot.

Tammy: Well hold on.

Tammy: What if she got the knife before the killer got the gun?

May: I guess that would make sense.

Cassy: Well, we’ll consider that a “maybe.”

Cassy: Regardless, we can’t spend time thinking about that now.

Cassy: It’s conjecture at best.

Cassy: And we have a lot of other things to look at.

Justin: She’s right.

Justin: But that is curious.

May: So now what?

Jay: Well…

Jay: Should we talk about the motive?

Duke: Perhaps.

Duke: It might narrow the suspect pool.

Pierce: Well then, let’s get into it.

NON-STOP DEBATE!

BEGIN!

Pierce: So, this weird dance thing.

Pierce: After a while, that bastard would send out invites on our behalf.

Duke: But we don’t know when that was.

May: It seems a little silly that someone would kill over that.

Tammy: Well, we are all wound up tighter than a toy soldier.

Sophie: But it is peculiar that someone would kill Annabelle for having Justin as her invite.

Cassy: That is interesting.

Pierce: Because if someone wanted to eliminate competition, you’d be the obvious target?

Cassy: Shut up, Pierce.

Pierce: Heh heh.

CCOA:

Sophie: But it is peculiar that someone would kill Annabelle for having Justin as her invite.

Truth Bullet: Annabelle’s Monopad.

Justin: You’ve got that wrong!

Justin: Hold on.

Sophie: Eh?

Justin: While it is true that Annabelle had me,

Justin: There's no way for anyone to know that.

Justin: So maybe the motive doesn’t have anything.

Justin: At least on that front.

Tammy: What do you mean?

Justin: The other aspect of the motive is the fact we don’t know what day it is.

Justin: I can imagine someone wanting to kill over that more than this silly dance.

Sophie: Um, wouldn’t we know once the time is up though?

Jay: I dunno.

Jay: “If we waited” seems like a weak defense of things.

Jay: The fact of the matter is someone didn’t.

Jay: So this motive has to be stronger than we imagine.

Andy: But like Sophie said, if you were interested in Justin, why make Annabelle your target?

May: Well…

May: I can think of one reason.

May: And everything makes sense if it’s true.

Pierce: Oh? Do tell.

Cassy: I’d be interested in hearing this as well.

May: Would you now?

May: Miss Murderer?

Cassy: Excuse me?!

Pierce: Oh this is getting good.

Justin: Are you saying that Cassy killed Annabelle?

May: Well, it’s the only thing that makes sense.

Cassy: How could it make any possible sense?

May: You wanna go?

May: Bring it!

FALSE CLOSER

Act 1: When we got the motive Cassy obviously got you. However, in her paranoia, she worried she wasn’t the only one.

Act 2: She began investigating, and sure enough, she found out that Annabelle also had you. Scared, she panicked.

Act 3: Cassy figured if she couldn’t have you, no one could, and so she began planning her devious plan.

Act 4: She grabbed a gun and a knife from the weapons room, took out a bullet from the gun, and went up to the recording studio.

Act 5: It was there where she found Annabelle, turned on the recording software, and killed her. She planted the knife and the gun to confuse us.

Act 6: She then edited the recording to bring us all up in an hour, and then went out to plant fake evidence elsewhere to further confuse us.

May: It’s a devious plan, but I saw through it. Isn’t that right, Ultimate Detective: Cassy Williams?

Cassy: I don’t know where you get off-

May: Can you refute it?!

Justin: I can!

Pierce: Of course you would.

Andy: Maybe now’s not the best time for that Pierce.

CCOA:

Act 2: she found out that Annabelle also had you. Scared, she panicked.

Truth Panel: Pierce’s Monopad.

Question: Would it be just Cassy and Annabelle?

Justin: You can’t rewrite the truth!

Justin: According to Pierce’s Monopad, he was also set to invite me.

Pierce: Oh yeah.

Pierce: If this was a case of jealousy on Cassy’s part, she’d more likely go after me.

Tammy: Maybe she didn’t know?

Sophie: It seems odd that the Ultimate Detective wouldn’t know.

Sophie: I mean, we were talking about Annabelle’s sense of observation.

May: Hmmmm.

May: Well, only one would have to do.

May: If she was willing to end it all.

Cassy: Clearly, you don’t know me that well.

May: Under normal circumstances, I’d imagine no one would do this.

May: But this is far beyond normal.

Justin: Well hold on, cause there’s another course of contradiction coming up.

CCOA:

Act 6: went out to plant fake evidence elsewhere to further confuse us.

Truth Panel: Monokuma’s Receipt.

Question: Would Cassy only buy two things?

Justin: You can’t rewrite the truth!

Justin: We had a little chat with Monokuma earlier.

Justin: He told us that the killer only bought two things.

May: …

May: I’m sorry, why does that contradict what I said.

Justin: If Cassy wanted to plant fake evidence everywhere, why only stop at two things?

Duke: Now that you mention it, things do seem a bit sparse in the evidence department.

Pierce: Furthermore, Cassy is used to the lap of luxury.

Pierce: Only using two things would seem light for her.

Andy: Again, I don’t think this is the right place.

Cassy: Well…Pierce has a point…

Pierce: See?

Andy: Still.

Justin: I just don’t see this being Cassy.

Justin: I know a lot of things don’t line up, but I think it’s too early to jump to conclusions.

May: OF COURSE YOU’D SAY THAT!

Justin: Come again?

May: Look, even if we don’t want to discuss romance,

May: You can’t deny you and Cassy are fairly close.

May: I know you’re trying to defend her, but you need to let go!

Justin: I think you’re the one who needs to let go.

May: OK, so we’re doing this!

REBUTTAL SHOWDOWN

BEGIN!

May: So what if she only got two things?

May: That’s two more things than was at the crime scene initially.

May: This is the only way things add up.

May: I’m sorry, but you have to know this too.

ADVANCE

Justin: I don’t “know” anything.

Justin: It just seems unlikely to arrive at a conclusion now.

May: Face it, this is the only way this makes sense!

May: She took the weapons!

May: She altered the recording!

May: She killed May!

CCOA:

May: She altered the recording!

Truth Blade: Recording Software

Justin: I’ll cut through your lies!

Justin: While it may be true that the killer altered the recording,

Justin: the recording software itself was on the other side of the room of the body.

May: So?

Duke: Hold on!

Duke: I think I get it.

Duke: Annabelle didn’t turn it on because she’d be under duress.

May: Yeah, but maybe Cassy turned on the recording and shot Annabelle from there.

Andy: The position of the body would be weird though.

Andy: Especially if Annabelle was already in there to begin with.

Tammy: Not only that, but between you and me, I think Cassy got the least out of your lesson on how to work that.

Cassy: Hey! I understand it just fine!

Justin: My point is that while Cassy may very well be it, I think it’s too early to jump to conclusions.

Justin: There’s still too many unknowns.

Pierce: Yeah, and unless you like dying, I think we should see if we can’t find any other answers.

Cassy: If we really can’t, then suspect me all you want.

Cassy: But until then, let’s work on figuring this puzzle out.

May: …

May: …Fine!

May: But I’ll be keeping an eye on you.

Jay: I really thought we had something there.

Jay: Guess not.

Sophie: Well, we kind of do.

Sophie: I mean, the recording itself is strange, don’t you think?

Pierce: How so?

Sophie: Think about it.

Sophie: Why record at all?

Sophie: You’re in a soundproof room. Why leave evidence of your crime?

Duke: I see.

Jay: That is something worth figuring out.

Jay: Everyone ready?

NON-STOP DEBATE

BEGIN!

Jay: If you’re in a soundproof room, why record at all?

May: Well, typically, it’s good for recording normally.

Tammy: But here, it recorded a crime.

Jay: Furthermore, why give yourself only an hour to do your cleanup?

Jay: If I were the killer, I’d have given myself more time.

Pierce: That is a fair point.

Duke: Well, whoever they are, they only needed one hour.

Duke: So maybe they timed it right.

CCOA:

Jay: Furthermore, why give yourself only an hour to do your cleanup?

Truth Bullet: Recording.

Justin: I agree!

Justin: Heh heh heh.

Tammy: What are you laughing about?

Justin: I think I’ve solved one of the problems.

Pierce: Oh?

Cassy: Do tell.

Justin: Why was there an hour long silence before the gun going off?

Andy: Is it not to give the killer time to clean up?

Justin: That’s what we thought.

Justin: But as Jay pointed out, why only give yourself one hour?

Justin: And there’s also another issue here.

May: Oh?

May: What is it?

Justin: Why had it been recording for an hour?

Justin: I think this person answers that question.

Duke: Well, spit it out!

PICK SOMEONE:

Question: Who could help solve the recording conundrum?

Answer: Annbelle Winchell

Justin: It could only have been you!

Duke: Annabelle?

Justin: Yes.

Justin: I believe that Annabelle started the recording herself.

Justin: That’s why it went on for an hour.

Cassy: I get it.

Cassy: It would be difficult to get that recording in a short amount of time.

Cassy: But if Annabelle had been recording for an hour, all the killer had to do was mute the sound.

Justin: Precisely.

Justin: Not only that, this also explains why there was no signs of struggle at the microphone itself.

Pierce: Alright.

Pierce: But do you know why Annabelle was recording for an hour?

Tammy: Maybe it had something to do with her class.

Pierce: Perhaps.

Andy: Well, regardless, we can’t figure that out now.

Andy: I think if we keep thinking about the case, things will come to light.

Jay: I think that’s a smart idea.

Jay: It’s not like we can ask the dead what they think.

Sophie: And it’s not like the killer will just say what transpired.

Jay: Right.

Duke: So, where does that leave us?

Justin: Well, maybe we should focus on what the killer did afterward.

Justin: After all, they only had an hour to do what they could to muddy the water.

Justin: Perhaps we’ll find some clear water in there.

NON-STOP DEBATE

BEGIN!

Andy: So, after the killer killed Annabelle, they left the gun and the knife behind.

May: They went to the computer to mute the recording, and set themselves up to play the sound over the PA system to draw us all in.

Jay: And then they seemingly escaped through the window.

Duke: And then what?

Cassy: Well, I know that they visited Monokuma’s shop at some point.

Pierce: But that could have been before the murder.

Cassy: True…

Cassy: But they did also go to the laundry room.

CCOA:

Jay: And then they seemingly escaped through the window.

Truth Bullet: Upper Wall

Justin: You’ve got that wrong!

Justin: You’re referring to the grappling hook, right?

Jay: Yeah?

Justin: I’m not sure you know this,

Justin: But there doesn’t appear to be signs that the grappling hook actually grappled the wall.

Jay: Huh.

Jay: Maybe they used it to get in then?

Justin: Even then, it still would have left an imprint of some kind.

Jay: Hmmmm.

Jay: So what does that mean?

Cassy: Perhaps that the grappling hook was a red herring.

Duke: But why go through the trouble?

May: To further confuse us.

Duke: But that seems like such an easy thing to fake.

Duke: Just tug on it slightly.

Duke: It makes no sense to add it if you’re going to follow through.

Justin: !!

Justin: Unless…

Duke: Unless what?

Justin: Unless that was the last thing the killer did.

Justin: If that grappling hook was placed when the gunshots rang out over the announcements system,

Justin: then the killer would have had no time to make it look like it was used.

Duke: Oh.

Duke: Interesting!

Cassy: So the killer went to Monokuma’s store after killing Annabelle?

Justin: That’s my hypothesis.

Tammy: Hold on.

Tammy: How was the window open then?

Tammy: That had to have been done beforehand.

Justin: It probably was.

Sophie: So did the killer know that the store had a grappling hook?

Pierce: I don’t think we can answer that concisely.

Pierce: Whether or not they did, proving it would be herculean.

Sophie: I guess that’s true.

Andy: Hold on. Something doesn’t make sense.

Tammy: What is it?

Andy: If the killer planned to murder Annabelle,

Andy: Why did they wait until after she was dead to buy the grappling hook?

Andy: That just doesn’t add up.

Pierce: Huh. Nice catch.

Andy: Thanks.

Justin: Well, I’m sure we’ll figure it out if we keep talking it through.

Andy: Then let’s do it!

Justin: Huh?

Andy: Let’s talk!

Andy: Do you have the answer, answer guy?

Justin: What’s gotten into you?

Andy: Don’t worry about that now!

Andy: Just answer my question!

Justin: OoooooooooK…

REBUTTAL SHOWDOWN

BEGIN!

Andy: The grappling hook was the last thing used

Andy: That’s your idea, right?

Andy: But then if the killer had planned all of this,

Andy: why not set it up beforehand?!

Andy: Why wait until the last possible second?!

Justin: Calm down Andy.

Justin: I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.

Andy: Well, what is it?

Andy: I’m waiting!

Andy: How do you not take this into account when you’re planning a murder?

Andy: It just seems so weird to me!

CCOA:

Andy: How do you not take this into account when you’re planning a murder?

Truth Blade: The Recording

Justin: I’ll cut through your lies!

Justin: While at first glance, it seems like this was planned,

Justin: We already found proof that it wasn’t.

Andy: We do?

Justin: The recording.

Justin: It was Annabelle who set up the recording, not the killer.

Pierce: But what does that prove?

Justin: I think it proves that this murder wasn’t as premeditated as it seems.

Justin: I think the killer had to react, instead of act.

Andy: Oh.

Andy: Interesting.

Tammy: Why’d you go off the handle like that?

Andy: Oh, uh, well, Pierce did it last time, and it yielded a good result.

Andy: I’d thought I’d give it a try.

Tammy: Really?!

Sophie: Well, it worked.

Sophie: I think we’re piecing together some of the inconsistencies better.

May: But then where does that leave us?

Jay: No idea.

Cassy: The only way out is through.

Cassy: So let’s keep going.

NON-STOP DEBATE

BEGIN!

Cassy: Let’s review what we know so far.

Andy: Well, the killer came in, killed Annabelle,

Andy: Then noticed that she was recording something.

Tammy: From there, the killer edited the recording to draw us all to the scene.

Duke: From there, the killer opened the window, and went down to get a grappling hook.

May: That wouldn’t take an hour though.

Jay: So what would?

Cassy: That’s the million dollar question now, isn’t it?

CCOA:

May: That wouldn’t take an hour though.

Truth Bullet: Washing Machine

Justin: I agree!

Justin: Maybe getting a grappling hook and setting it up might not take an hour,

Justin: But I think some laundry would.

May: Huh?

Sophie: What would need washing off though?

Duke: If I had to guess, blood.

Justin: I agree.

Cassy: So, the killer went to clean their clothes.

Jay: Seems like it.

Pierce: But why not go to the shop beforehand?

Sophie: I’m assuming they didn’t want to be seen.

Sophie: Sticking around in the hall would be pretty obvious.

May: I guess that’s also true.

Andy: But going through the halls is dangerous itself.

Jay: Maybe, but that’s the only washing machine we have access to.

Jay: So it has to be worth it in some way.

Jay: Assuming the killer used it.

Justin: Huh?

Jay: I mean, let’s face it, there’s no hard proof that the washing machine was used by the killer.

Jay: It could have been anyone.

Jay: I know I go out there a lot.

Jay: And I’ve seen plenty of people coming through.

Jay: It could have been anyone.

Justin: Hmmmmmmm.

Andy: But what else could it be?

Tammy: Yeah, given what we know, it seems like the only viable option.

Jay: You may be right, but there’s no proof.

Justin: He’s right.

Cassy: Pardon?

Justin: No matter where we go in explaining this, we’re always coming up short.

Pierce: So does that make this impossible?

Justin: No.

Justin: What this is telling me is that there’s something about the basics of the case that we are just getting wrong.

Sophie: What would that be?

Justin: Again, we don’t know until we explore.

May: So, we just have to review the facts on a more granular level?

Duke: I don’t mind that, if it means we can make it out of this.

Justin: Let’s keep going on what we know.

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bluemoonmusings · 1 year ago

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Ramblings on stability

Today I was in Piccadilly circus with my friend, talking about what stability meant to us. It started raining heavily and despite being in a long black dress with my handbag, I remained grounded and unperturbed by this, and instead enjoyed the beauty within that moment. After we said goodbye, the rain turned torrential - instead of running for cover, I embraced it with my full being. Feeling like I was being showered in love.

I haven’t felt that sense of freedom in a long time.

Life is unpredictable. Life will always throw at us things we cannot control. The most important thing you can do is create your own stability. Similar to how you don’t need anyone else external to complete you (you already are a complete person), you don’t need to reach a point where you can say you achieved stability.

I used to think that ONCE I get a job and buy my first home, I’ll be financially stable. ONCE I find my tribe or form a family, I’ll have familial stability. ONCE I get into a relationship, I’ll have romantic stability.

But none of that is true! There’s nothing wrong with desiring what I listed above, but I would exchange the word ‘stability’ for ‘abundance’. Those are extras to the already built in stability I have.

It is within our best interest to derive stability internally, because if you fixate on external sources of stability, the minute those things leave as quickly as they came in, you will suddenly be unstable.

I welcome the blessings that life gives to me and I will enjoy those blessings in the present moment. I learnt through many trials and tribulations, that the most important thing in life is to ground your inner core - that is the basis of creating a growth mindset. Be an unshakeable rock firmly rooted to the ocean floor, so that any and all unpredictable waves would leave you unflinching. Here is the inner monologue I’d like to employ whenever those waves come:

‘I am not going to panic unless I have exhausted all of my options. Only then (and only then!) if I have thought about this coolly with a level head, am I going to panic. Even if I get to that stage, why should I panic? I’ve been through so much worse in my past, and I came out stronger and better than when I entered into those situations. If I was not ready to overcome this obstacle, the Universe would not have made me go through this right now. The Universe knows that I am fully equipped to deal with whatever is at hand. This has been divinely timed. Otherwise it wouldn’t have happened. It could go horribly wrong, but what if it goes beautifully right?’

I don’t need anyone to fulfil my stability because I already am stable. If something unpredictable happens, that won't make me unstable. Only I have the power to align myself and only I have the power to unravel myself.

I self-regulate, I love myself, I take care of myself. I pull up for myself, I hustle for myself, I mitigate unnecessary risks by myself.

I show up in the world as my authentic self, and if I’m in a space that’s not ok with me pulling up as my authentic self, then that’s not a space I want to be in.

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nellievances · 3 years ago

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Amber Heard's team really needs to up their social media game. He's literally playing a PR game he knows he can't win this case so he's just trying to destroy her as much as possible.

The poop thing was proved to be false but his fans keep making it a thing. The UK judge found:

1. her dogs do have issues with the lack of control over their intestinal movements (they worded it fancy the fact that they poop where they want).

2. Amber has had to clean it in the pass from the bed because she felt bad about the maid doing it

3. Johnny Depp wasn't staying in that bed anyway that it was her bed and she was gone to Coachella so there wasn't even a point for her to do it??

4. And finally that it was Johnny who liked joking about doing that to her so that he could "prank" her by making her clean his poop thinking it was the dogs (bonus that it means he knew the dogs would poop on the bed).

Yet his fans continue to pretend she did it, it's clear he said that to humiliate her and his fans are going with it. Amber Heard is far from perfect but that man is disgusting and keeps torturing her, he purposely turned the trial into a circus to watch her squirm while he sits there and makes jokes to his fans. He has no case to sue her for an article that doesn't even mention him.

Honestly? I don’t think it would matter. Depp has probably spent millions (millions, which, we found out in court yesterday, he doesn’t really have!!) on buying bots and spreading his misinformation campaign on whatever social media platform he can reach. It’s a waste of time and money for her, at this point. The damage has been done.

Also, don’t even get me started on the fucking poo incident. It ages me 1000 years every time someone brings it up. It’s been proven time and time again that it was the dogs, but people just forget to use their brains when it comes to this case and their fave washed up 90s heartthrob. She’s better than me though — how she’s not busting out in incredulous laughter every time it’s brought up is beyond me.

Personally, I can’t wait for this whole thing to be over. His fucking behavior in court is deplorable, from his fucking smug laughter to his genuine lack of attention or interest in anything happening in the courtroom, in a case he wanted. Meanwhile, she blinks and is blasted as a psychopath. It’s literally endlessly frustrating. I want her to just be able to enjoy her life with her daughter and not be tortured for weeks by her abuser. She deserves that.

#her appearance in court has been nothing short of perfect and it’s still not enough for these crazies #honestly how she did just fucking laugh at that crazy ass psychiatrist is beyond me too like girl… you’re better than me!!!#how they can praise johnny as savage for laughing and not taking shit seriously and in the same breath #call amber a psycho for flinching at an audio recording of her abuse is fucking… wild!! these mental gymnastics!!!#allie answers #anti johnny depp #i stand with amber heard #abuse cw

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theneondemonx · 3 years ago

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HOUDINI | JJK

One Shot

▽ summary: jungkook was your first and only. When he got arrested, you felt like an idiot for always believing his every word and after a few years you decided to date again. But the word somehow got to his ears in jail and he couldn’t let you be anyone else’s but his.

▽ genre: porn with some plot, criminal au, established relationship

▽ pairings: escaped convict!jk x fem!reader

▽ words: 3464

▽ warnings: mention of abusive relationship, mention of alcohol abuse, mention of underage sex, criminal activities, implied murder, possessive behavior, mention of female masturbation, spanking, fingering, female ejaculation, overstimulation, oral sex (m receiving, deep throating), unprotected sex, lots of cum, dirty talk

( ➜ Drabble 1: first meeting ) [⏵playlist]

He hit me and it felt like a kiss He hit me and I knew he loved me If he didn't care for me I could have never made him mad But he hit me and I was glad

You were still very young when you learned that love was nothing like the cheesy romances you’d see on the big screen. Well, you didn’t actually have the money to go to the movies, but sometimes you found the way to sneak in and watch whatever was there to watch. You had a fascination for those stories, for those dancing images on the screen. They were made of pure light. Literally. While everyone was caught in the enchantment of the movie, you were the one to look behind your back and follow the light beam up until its source, looking straight at the small window from which the projector created the whole illusion of life before your eyes.

Most people want to escape from reality. They want to feel like their life has meaning, like it is just one plot twist away from being interesting. I didn’t. Maybe I should have, since mine was pretty shit. But I guess this was the whole reason why I was looking for the disenchantment. It’s like watching a magician. I’ve always been the type to be more observant, to look for the trick. Cause if there wasn’t any, then it would have meant that mine was the only pointless existence.

No one in your block had a penny to their names. Everyone dreamed of going away, of starting a new life and do something meaningful. But you knew that most of them would never make it. They were trapped.

We think of the key, each in his prison. Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison.

Those weren’t your words. They were Jungkook’s. Well, not his own words, actually. He had read them somewhere. He was the type to read, although he didn’t look like it at all. And you know how people who read are: they are good with words. They can shape reality with just a flick of their tongue. And damn if he got a way with words! That’s why you fell for him.

It wasn’t just the fact that he got the looks of an angel. He also talked like one. He could talk his way in and out of everything and you were pretty sure he could lie his way into heaven if he wanted to. He was an exceptional liar, a pathological one too. But you loved him anyway.

You believed him when he told you that he was going to turn your life upside down. Why wouldn’t you? He had already done it more times than you could count. He had done it since the day you first met in that dark movie theatre. You had always believed him and everything he said. He was the only man you ever loved, the first and the last you had sex with, and eventually the one you married.

He reminded you of your father. They had the same dangerous charm. Their eyes gleamed with the same light: that of a man who was willing to con the whole world and make it his own. Your father didn’t make it, though. He became a drunk mess and ended up in prison for attempted murder.

Only a pathetic fuck goes to jail for attempted murder. Either you go down for murder, or you don’t go down at all. That’s how much of a failure he was.

But you didn’t care about him. He used to beat your mother whenever he felt like it. Jungkook, on the other hand, never did that.

So, when he told you those words – “the less you know, the better” – you didn’t question him. You just believed him. And when he came home with a bag full of money and his hands covered in blood, you still didn’t question him. You just did as he asked and bent over the kitchen table to let him fuck you senseless.

You really didn’t care about what he did. Everyone in your block was somehow entangled with criminal activities. That’s just how it is when you can’t afford an honest life. What if he robbed a bank? What if he killed someone to get that money? So what? You’d love him anyway. You’d love him no matter what.

You still loved him when you heard the sirens wailing through the block and stop outside your shared house. You didn’t care about the fact that he just ripped your marriage into pieces. You always knew he was an Icarus.

“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll be home for dinner.” He told you with a cocky smirk, while being pushed inside the police car.

And again, you believed him.

He was the only magician who ever managed to deceive you into thinking that his was actual magic and not just a trick. But when the jury found him guilty of aggravated robbery and murder, you felt like the lights had gone off and the curtain closed on his magic show. It was over. And now you were left standing in a sad empty circus, with just the distant music of the carousel to remind you of the fact that it was all a rouse. A convincing one for sure, but still a rouse.

When you saw him being taken away from the trial, you thought about those words he told you years before.

We think of the key, each in his prison. Thinking of the key, each confirms a prison.

And you smiled to yourself. Somehow, even though your whole life had just gone to pieces, you found them ironic. Who would have thought, back then, that he would end up in an actual prison? Not you for sure.

The years had passed and although you never really moved on from Jungkook, you decided it was time for you to build a life for yourself. You were still young and pretty, so it wasn’t hard for you to fool some stupid rich boy from the city. Kim Seokjin was no Jeon Jungkook, but he had money and a steady job – one that could actually pay for rent, food and vices without raising any question from the authorities.

He didn’t know you were broke as fuck, and you did your best to hide it with the means you had and the cunning that your lowlife background had teach you. You would buy fancy dresses and hide the tag when you wore them, so that you could return them the day after. You would also tell Seokjin to come pick you up at work in Gangnam. You never worked there, of course, but he was dumb enough to believe you. It didn’t really matter: you planned on sleeping with him soon enough and let him knock you up. Men always get way too excited when you tell them that they can fuck you without putting on a condom.

What you didn’t plan, however, was to find yourself with a tattooed hand covering your mouth when one night you came back home from a date with Seokjin. At first you tried to scream and free yourself from the strong grip of the mysterious man that somehow got into your house, but you froze as soon as he spoke.

“Shh be quiet, baby. You want to be the one to rat me out?”

You’d recognize that voice among millions. It was Jungkook.

How did he get out? His sentence is not over yet. He still has to serve twenty more years.

You thought that by being quiet and staying still, he would loosen the grip on you, but he didn’t.

“Fancy dress you got here, honey.” He hissed, pressing his lips against your ear and making you shiver from his touch. His hand trailed along the side of your body, caressing the expensive fabric of the white dress.

“Was your new boyfriend, the one who bought it for you?”

Your eyes widened at that question and you again tried to free yourself without success.

“Yeah.. I know. I was surprised too when Yoongi came to visit me and told me you were seeing some fancy city boy with his head up his tuxedo-covered ass.”

You knew that no matter how soft his voice could sound, he was mad. He was always calm when he was really mad.. until he wasn’t calm anymore.

“I told him: no, Yoongi, there’s no way that’s true. My sweet Y/N would never do something like that. She is a faithful wife, not some dirty whore who’s ready to sell her cunt to the first Richie Rich who comes around.”

He chuckled darkly.

“But he brought me the photos. So I guess I was wrong.”

He abruptly turned you around, pushing your back against the wall. It was then, that you saw him. His hair got longer and he somehow got some tattoos on his right arm. His dark eyes were gleaming in the dark with a mischievous light that you had never seen on him – not when he was looking at you, at least.

His fingers tightened around your jaw, forcing you to look at him straight in the eyes.

“Did you let him touch you?”

“N-no.” You muttered, with your heartbeat racing fast and your eyes wide open like those of an innocent doe who was just caught by a cold-blooded hunter.

He pressed his body on yours, breathing heavily against your lips without breaking eye contact.

“If you are lying to me.. I’ll know, Y/N.” He hissed. And you knew that those words were a clear warning.

“I expect your cunt to be tighter than it was when I left. If it isn’t..” he chuckled, slightly tilting his head to the side and licking his lips while caressing gently your reddened cheek. “..well, I guess I’ll stretch your holes so wide that there won’t be any doubt about whose little whore you are.”

He didn’t give you any time to breathe, let alone answer. He pressed his lips on yours with such passion that he sucked the air out of your lungs. And you melted.

You still loved him, after all. You still craved for his touch, which you missed every single night that you’ve spent in your empty bed. Every time you touched yourself, you always closed your eyes and think of him: his hands, his lips, his toned body, his cock, his breath, his smell.. everything. No man could turn you on like he did.

You could tell he had changed. He got more violent, more possessive. But for some reason, that didn’t bother you. Somehow, in a fucked up way, you enjoyed it. It was like you just had the proof that he truly loved you. That you were sill his.

You run your fingers through his hair, tightening your grip while kissing him deeply. A muffled sigh escaped from your lips when his tongue entered your mouth, exploring every corner of it like that was the last kiss he was ever gonna give you.

“Touch me.” You murmured, like it was a prayer sent straight to God.

The first one that was actually answered, since Jungkook’s hands quickly slipped under your dress while you kicked off your shoes. He turned you around again, face against the wall, and removed your underwear.

You gasped at his touch on your wet entrance, arching your back so that he could see your pussy in its full glory.

“Fuck, I missed you so much.” He murmured, starting to run his palm on your pussy.

You moaned, grinding against his hand in search of his touch while he steadied your hips with the strong grip of his free hand.

“Already purring like a kitten, baby?”

Another moan escaped from your lips, this time loudly, when he inserted his middle finger in your throbbing core, feeling it clench around his touch.

“Such a good girl. You didn’t lie to me.” He commented in a hiss, inserting another finger to test your tightness and starting to pump his digits on your most sensitive spot.

“So tight. Will you be able to take my cock, baby?”

“Y-yes. Yes I will.” You answered in between your heavy breaths and moans, chasing the pleasure that his movements gave you.

You suddenly let out a sharp cry when you felt his hand slapping your ass cheek without notice. But the lingering pain had the only effect of heightening the pleasure and getting you even more wet.

Hu chuckled, spanking you one more time.

“Fuck! Jungkook!”

He had always loved it when you said his name during sex, and he still did apparently, since he started pumping his digits harder inside you. The lewd sounds of your pussy soon filled the silence of the night.

When his other hand reached your clit and started drawing quick circles around it, your legs started shivering and your eyes rolled back from the pleasure. If it wasn’t for the wall, you’d probably fall on your knees when the orgasm hit you. You moaned so loud that you almost sounded like a dying animal.

“That’s it baby. Cum for me.”

His words only made it worse and you couldn’t help but feel like a fire ball hit you right in the belly. Your walls clenched around his pumping digits and soon your climax reached an unprecedented high, making you ejaculate on his hand while waves of pleasure went through your body like an electric shock.

“Oh my God!” Was is reaction to the mess you just made.

He let out a satisfied laugh, retracting his fingers from your overstimulated core just to smear your arousal on your own lips.

“Open your mouth, baby. I want you to taste yourself – the way I make you feel.”

You obeyed, and even if you were still panting and barely able to function, you took his fingers in you mouth, rotating your tongue around them and sucking every drop of your own arousal before letting them out with a pop.

“Good girl.” He praised you softly, caressing your hair. “Now get on your knees for me.”

Again, you obeyed without hesitation while he unzipped his pants and pumped himself a few times in front of your face.

You looked up at him, licking your lips. You could still taste your slick on them, but you wanted something different. You wanted his taste. And you were so eager to get it, that you didn’t waste any time.

You soon wrapped your mouth around his hard cock, sucking it like it was your last meal. But letting you have it your way was not Jungkook’s plan. He grabbed a fistful of your hair, tying them up in a ponytail that was only held by his own hand, and started thrusting inside your mouth until tears were gathering at the corner of your eyes.

A deep growl escaped from his lips at the sight of your mouth stuffed with his cock and your messed up make up smeared all over your face.

“My little whore. Always so good for me.” He said through his panting, face fucking you like there was no tomorrow.

And probably there wasn’t gonna be one. For all you knew, the police could come at any moment and take him back to his cell – this time, forever. But, if anything, the thrill just added something extra to the whole situation, making it even more exciting.

The rhythm of his deep thrusts against your throat soon made you gag. And that was it. That was what he wanted, what he was looking for.

“Oh shit! Fuck, I’m coming, baby.”

His cum shot straight down your throat, filling you with his warm liquid. You loved his taste. You always had since the first time he sucked his cock. You were only fifteen back then, and you had no idea how to do it. But he was older than you and he guided your every movement, teaching you what he liked and what he wanted. You thought you’d spit him out, but you always swallowed. You liked it. You liked the taste of his orgasm and you liked to know that you were the one to make him cum like that.

“Take off your dress and bra.”

Your jaw was still feeling numb and your legs weak when he ordered you to undress, but you still obeyed, in a daze.

“Now bend over the couch.”

Again, you didn’t raise any question. You just crawled towards the couch and rested your chest on the pillows, closing your eyes while you tried to catch your breath. You could feel your heart beating strong, muffled by the padded fabric of the couch. The only other sound was that of his steps, getting closer and closer to you until he dropped heavily on his knees, resting his large hands on your ass cheeks and parting them.

He let out a pleased moan and you could feel his gaze devouring the most intimate part of your body. You didn’t even need to look or feel him to know that he was getting hard again. And you felt proud. You arched your back and spread your legs a big wider, offering him the whole show. You loved to know that he wanted you so bad. Just the thought of his desire aroused you more than anything else.

He chuckled, spanking you again and making you gasp at the sharp feel of his palm against your sensitive skin.

“God, you’ve always loved being a slut for me. Am I right?”

You thought the question was rhetoric, so you didn’t respond. But when he gave you another spank and bent over you, pulling your hair to get your ear closer to his lips, you knew he wanted to hear your voice.

“Answer me. Whose little slut are you?”

“Y-yours, Jungkook. I’m your little slut.”

He chuckled darkly, letting go of your hair while caressing your reddened ass cheek and pressing his lips on your ear.

“Good girl.” He praised you, slowly starting to align the tip of his cock with your wet entrance.

You whimpered at the feel, arching your back even more to look for more friction. Seeing you like that, so eager to have him inside of you, was all it took for him to sink deep inside your core, filling you with all his length and stretching your walls.

“Fuck! You got so tight, baby.”

You did. While he was away, you didn’t have sex with anybody and you only started thinking about that when you met Seokjin. Not because you really wanted to, but because you felt like it was a necessary step to get what you wanted. Sure, Jin was handsome, but he was no Jungkook. Your husband, your first love, your first everything – he was the only one who could make you wet just by staring at you. He had that power – the power to make your head spin like you had too many drinks.

Jungkook hold your hips in place and started pounding you hard, making you moan at every thrust until you were just a hot wet mess at his mercy.

“Jungkook..” That was all you could say, breathless, while feeling your walls clench around his cock like they were holding to dear life.

He went balls deep inside of you, fucking you for all the times he didn’t in the past three years. It was intoxicating, and you knew you could never get enough of that feeling – of him.

“Jungkook.. cum inside me, please.” You whimpered, pleading him with a mere whisper when you felt his thrusts getting sloppier and more imprecise. Your orgasm was close too, but you wanted to make sure he didn’t pull out. You wanted to feel every drop of him.

“Y/N.. fuck!” Was all he said while he sank deep inside your core, filling you up with his cum and pumping it in to get you closer to your climax.

You came with his name on your lips and the lewd sounds of your sex filling your ears like the sweetest music you’d ever heard. Your hands grabbed the fabric of the couch and you could feel your saliva dripping down the side of your lips, parted by the intense sensation of your orgasm.

He dropped with his chest pressing on your back. You could feel his heavy breath against your skin and his heartbeat trying to get a calmer pace while the high of the climax was slowly fading away.

“We are leaving tonight, baby.” He whispered in your ear after a few moments of silence. “I’m not going back to jail. I’m not gonna let them tear us apart again.”

And again, even after everything that had happened, you believed him.

I guess this is my prison. You are. But I don’t want to escape.

“I love you, Jungkook.”

“I love you too, baby.”

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jk #jjk #jeon jungkook #jungkook oneshot #jungkook criminal au #smut #bts #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts criminal au #fanfic #oneshot #bts oneshot #bts x reader #criminal au

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fanfic-scribbles · 3 years ago

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Crash Pad

Fandom: MCU Captain America/Avengers

Summary: You’re just minding your own business when the Winter Soldier crashes into your life. Literally.

Quick facts: Romance – established past Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes leading into Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes/Reader – Nondescript Reader

Warnings: Fluff, slight mention of blood

Words: 7801

A/N: I started writing this a few months ago and almost finished when my life got fairly shook up. Still, I’m quite proud of being able to eke out an ending. For anybody who only cares about this story, feel free to skip this note, but for anybody following my other stuff: writing is going to be slow for the time being. My mom died and things are pretty topsy-turvy right now. Writing is still a comfort, but head to hands isn’t working the same right now. Thanks for your patience; I hope this is a pleasant read for you in the mean time <3

You’re getting ready for bed and have just turned off the living room light when you hear a clatter on the fire escape. You haven’t gotten over to shut the window yet and you wince at the thought of maybe coming face to face with a giant rat, or a raccoon, although you haven’t yet seen a raccoon and you’re pretty sure they don’t live in the city but it would probably be better than a rat the size of a raccoon–

What you get is much, much worse as a fully grown man falls through the curtains, knocks over a side table and potted plant, and crashes onto your living room floor with a wheezed (but emphatic), “God damn it!”

You freeze, unsure of whether to run or yell or maybe both. However the man flounders on the floor, unable to otherwise move much as he holds his side and– is that blood on your floor?

“Are you okay?” you ask despite everything.

He yanks his head back to look at you and grimaces. “Fuck, I–” He tries to get up, slips in what you are almost positive is blood, and slumps over with a little sigh and a handful of muttered curses that might be in another language. “I am really sorry about this,” he says lowly, like he's embarrassed to be bleeding out in a stranger’s living room. Then he shifts a little more and moonlight gleams on his arm. His very…shiny…completely metal arm, and you find a whole new way to be concerned.

You should have known the reasonable rent was a goddamn trap.

You take a few steps back, barely avoid hitting the counter, and flick the light back on without taking your eyes away from the man on your floor. He squints at the brightness and shows you a face that is, both fortunately and unfortunately, familiar. Fortunately because Captain America and the Avengers somehow got him pardoned for potential war crimes and treason even without him being present for any of that circus of a trial. Unfortunately because…war crimes. And treason. And that is definitely blood.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out and looks a little woozy. “There were sheets– I thought the building was empty.”

“The sheeting is for the building right next to us,” you say and sigh. “I’m going to guess you are not in favor of me calling an ambulance?”

He just blinks at you a few times. Maybe he is secretly a raccoon.

“Please don’t,” he says, some life returning to his eyes, and he looks you up and down. The rubber duck pajamas must put him at ease because, while he is still tensely holding his midsection, his shoulders relax a little. “I’m so–”

“Sorry, yes, I know.” You point at the bathroom. “I’m going to get the first aid kit and hopefully I won’t have to explain to the coroner’s office why Captain America’s boo bled out on my floor.”

You’re just opening up the cupboard that hopefully contains at least some band-aids when he calls out, “What the hell is a ‘boo?’”

Two old t-shirts, one and a half rolls of dusty gauze, and his own homemade stitch kit later, the man is finally all patched up. “How are you not passing out from blood loss?” you ask, eyeing the mess on the nice hardwood that has definitely just lost you your deposit. But there’s no corpse to deal with, so at least things aren’t as bad as they could be.

“I’m built pretty hardy.” He sits up a little more and groans. Before you can beg him not to split his side again, he extends his hand. “James Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

You shake his hand (gently) and tell him your name. “Do you let everybody call you Bucky, or just the people whose floor you bleed all over?” Something moving catches your eye and you sigh at the sight of your inexpensive (but still nice) curtains blowing slightly, showing off their new stains. “Floor and drapes…”

“I’ll clean it,” he says. “I can get blood out of anything.” He winces. “I…that sounds worse than it is.”

“I imagine getting blood out of anything is a good skill for an international spy-assassin to have,” you say.

Bucky scowls. And, you think, blushes a little, though how he has enough blood to do that you don’t know. You look at the spot again. It looks big to you but maybe you’re making a fuss over nothing. No, wait, there’s still dried blood on your floor. You’re allowed a fuss. “So you know who I am.”

“Your boy made it hard to miss,” you say.

He grumbles to himself, then says, “He’s always such a drama queen. I didn’t need to be pardoned.”

“Really,” you say and look at the bloodied handkerchief wrapped around a bullet he dug out of himself. “Looks like at least one other person disagrees with you.”

“This was Steve’s fight, not mine.” He huffs. “Story of my goddamn lif–”

He suddenly falls back and you reach out instinctively to catch him. He recovers quickly, wild-eyed and stiff and you scoot back just in case. He takes a few deep breaths and seems to force himself calm. It doesn’t look very effective and you’re honestly starting to worry. “You really–”

“I did not faint,” he snaps and maybe he has more blood than you thought, or maybe absolutely all of it has come to collect in his face.

“I was going to say you really need a hospital,” you say. “But yeah, you did.”

He grumbles under his breath and then, as if predicting your protests, stands up quickly enough to waver. Serves him right, you think, but when he scowls at you, you wonder if maybe he’s psychic too. “Try not to pass out on your way home,” you say, because if he wants to leave there’s really nothing you can do to stop him.

“Funny,” he says. He clears his throat and adds, much more sincerely, “Thanks.”

For the t-shirts, for the first aid kit, for not calling the cops, for not calling the Avengers so Captain America can hone in on him like a cartoon hound, for not bitching about the floor too much– the list is many and varied and so you give him a simple nod and hope you can get even a little bit of sleep tonight because work tomorrow is going to be hell without it.

He goes back to the window and before you can point out you have a perfectly good door, Bucky slips out onto the fire escape again. You shrug to yourself and go over to firmly flip the lock. You’ve done your part– in the event he slips and hits his head, someone else can be the good Samaritan. You’re going to bed and tomorrow this is going to feel like a weird dream, if there is even a single good deity in existence.

You’re not sure if it’s proof of or a mark against the existence of said single good deity when Bucky shows back up in your fire escape the next evening and taps politely against your open window before he lets himself back in, scooting your new plant just an inch out of the way.

“I have a door,” is the first thing that comes out of your mouth.

“Your hallway’s too well lit,” he says, much more hale and hearty and obviously not suffering major blood loss. His hair even looks like he just got out of the shower, all soft and shiny and bouncing a bit as he twists his upper body to start pulling stuff out of a backpack hanging off one shoulder. “I got stuff to clean the floor, and a replacement first aid kit. You outta keep it better stocked, so I got you one of the good ones.”

“O…kay,” you say, for lack of anything better. There’s a hysterical laugh building up in the back of your throat as the Winter Soldier brings out some rags and a cleaning solution for your bloodstained hardwood floor, but you cough it out and say, “Thanks,” when the formerly-feared international assassin looks at you like you’re crazy before he gets on his hands and knees and starts scrubbing.

It’s not fair no one would believe you. You’re not quite sure this isn’t an elaborate daydream, but then, you like to think you’d imagine something more fun than this. You clear your throat. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thanks,” he grunts, glaring at the floor and rubbing at the stain like it has offended him personally. It’s a little worrisome when he goes at it hard enough to maybe rub a hole right through the floor– you’d rather deal with the stain– but there’s a hard edge to his eyes that make you think maybe it’s a good idea for him to work it out in a productive, non-violent way. And if it turns violent, hopefully he has some home repair skills to make up for it.

You busy yourself with making tea, using the nice pot and the nice cups you never get to break out, and by the time it’s almost done steeping Bucky isn’t rubbing quite so hard and, in fact, seems to have made the stain do a disappearing act.

“Nice,” you say. “You want some tea? I made plenty.”

He lifts his head and tilts it as he squints at you, like he’s still not sure of you. But he shrugs, says, “Sure,” and stands up, rolling his shoulders. He looks down at the floor and nods appreciatively before coming to sit on the other side of the counter. “It’s almost gone; just a little bit more and it’ll be like I was never here.”

That last part could have been a decent joke, but he said it so seriously you just clear your throat. “Thanks,” you say and start pouring. “My landlord is going to have to find some other excuse to try and keep my security deposit.”

Bucky snorts but otherwise makes no noise. At first it’s nice, if a bit awkward, as you don’t really feel the need to fill the silence, but it becomes clear by the way Bucky glares at the plant sitting in front of him on the counter that something is eating at him. You’re not sure whether or not to pry, but it seems polite to at least ask, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he grunts and leans even lower to the surface of the counter.

You stare at him. “I appreciate what you did, but you didn’t have to come back,” you say gently, because a pissed-off former-assassin isn’t really a problem you want to have on your hands. “I’m not awful enough to actually expect you to clean up your own blood the day after you nearly bled to death.”

“What?” He blinks and then scowls and shakes his head. “No, it’s not that; it’s…” He picks up his cup and downs all of it, despite the fact that it was still steaming. Tentatively you pour him another cup, to which he says, “thanks,” before loading it with sugar again. “It’s good,” he says and this time he sips it.

“It’s one of my favorites. Very soothing,” you say. “Normally.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “I wish anything was soothing. You know Steve almost ran into a goddamn minefield today?”

You didn’t know that, you don’t think anything the Avengers do is any of your business, really, and where does one even find a minefield in New York City– you don’t say any of that, but you apparently don’t need to, because Bucky is off like a shot saying more words than you’d have thought possible for him. All of it is ranting about what a reckless dumbass Captain America is, and a Brooklyn accent increasingly comes through, egged into existence by sheer aggravation. You sit and listen, transfixed not so much by the details (they’re too fleeting and sparse) but by how annoyed Bucky is with Captain Amer- with “Steve goddamn pain in the ass Rogers” and you’re never going to be able to see him again without snickering.

Bucky sighs heavily and rests his chin on the table. He looks very tired, all of a sudden. Maybe a relaxing tea and enthusiastic rant wasn’t the best combination. Then again, he also looks less tense, so perhaps it’s fine. “Why don’t you stop for the night and go get some sleep,” you say and take away his cup. “You can finish up tomorrow.”

He squints at you, squints back at the floor (that you honestly can’t tell is any different from the rest), and looks back at you. “You don’t mind?”

“Not at all,” you say and stack the cups. “When you come back refreshed you can tell me why Steve Rogers can never walk past that animal shelter without ducking his head in shame.”

Bucky’s smile is lopsided and he shakes his head. “Maybe,” he admits and hops off the chair. “I’ll just…leave the stuff here then, if that’s okay?”

You nod and he quickly picks up and puts the supplies in the empty bottom space of your side table. He goes for the window.

“I have a-!”

And he’s gone. You roll your eyes. If Steve Rogers really is as much of an asshole as Bucky says he is, then those two deserve each other.

For all that the Captain America mythos has been debunked for you, you’re still brought up short when you suddenly encounter Steve Rogers the next night.

On your fire escape.

He knocks his head against the railing in his scramble to simultaneously get up and face you, curses, and lifts his hands defensively. “I can explain.”

You rub your face with both hands. They definitely deserve each other. “I doubt that,” you mutter and sigh heavily. Thank goodness there haven’t been any actual fires; you don’t know how you’d get out with all these buff superheroes hanging around outside your window. “Have you lost something?”

Captain America looks at the ground for a moment, and then flashes you a smile. “…Yes?”

God, he is a smartass. “Do you want to come inside or do you want to risk some Nosy Nancy from the building across the street seeing a big shadow and calling the cops?”

That would never happen, but he slips inside almost immediately and then there he is, in all his uniformed, shield-holding glory. It’s too weird to think about, and you step back to give him (and you) space while you close the curtains. “Thank you,” he says politely and looks around. “Your apartment is lovely; it’s very…green.”

You’re not sure why he hesitates, until you see him looking at your yellowing majesty palm. “He’s coming back,” you say and go to adjust the plant for lack of anything else your nervous hands can do. “Would you like something to drink?”

“No thank you,” he says and stands with his feet shoulder wide and his hands clasped down in front of him. It is perhaps the least comforting thing he can do and for one ridiculous moment you wish Bucky was here to be in between you. You wish the Winter Soldier was here. To protect you. From Captain America.

You clear your throat. “So,” you say and grab yourself something. “Do you lurk outside everyone’s apartment at some point, or am I just special?”

For all his military posturing, Captain America squirms like a schoolboy. “I swear I wasn’t– okay, I guess I was but not intentionally? I was…looking. For something.”

“Something you dropped?” you ask him.

“A person,” he says, staring elsewhere. For a moment you have a paranoid thought he’s staring at the space where Bucky had fallen in that night, but no, he’s just looking at the window. At least you remembered to change the curtains.

“Pretty sure you can see one of those without squinting into the grates,” you say.

“He might have passed through on his way somewhere else,” Captain America says. “Have you seen a man outside?”

“Other than you?” you ask. He blushes even harder than Bucky does– and think of the devil, you have a moment where you’re not sure what you should say, but quickly come to realize that whatever is going on between the two of them, you do not want to get stuck in the middle.

You’re prepared to lie your ass off, but he apparently takes your response as a rebuke. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to make you feel unsafe.”

“It’s fine,” you say. Despite his previous answer, you lean into the fridge to get him a bottle of water. “I’m pretty sure Captain America isn’t going to murder me. And if you decided you wanted to, well, there’s nothing I could really do about it.”

He chokes on the drink he’s just taken. You instinctively lean in so you can slam his back but after a couple of hits he covers his mouth and waves you off. “Sorry, sorry,” he says and grabs a nearby dishcloth to wipe up what he just spit on the counter. “That was just…really dark.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not the one lurking on fire escapes,” you say.

He rolls his eyes. The nerve. You laugh and he actually grins. Asshole. His smile softens though and he says, “I’m really–”

“Sorry,” you finish for him.

“Am I that predictable already?”

You shrug. You want to tell him it’s because he and Bucky seem very much alike in that respect. You want to but…you don’t. Whatever Bucky’s problem is, he seems to want to deal with it himself, and it’s not your place to get in between them and start snitching. “You seem the type. Don’t worry about it so much. You…look pretty worried. I’m not going to hold it against you.”

“Thank you.” His lips turn into a sad sort-of smile and he takes a slower drink. “I guess I am pretty worried. This man I’m looking for, he’s…important to me, and he’s been through a lot, and I just want to know he’s okay.”

You stare at him. He looks down. And looks down. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to babble like that,” he says and glances at you with a strained smile. “I don’t normally do that.”

“Hm.” You stare at him for several seconds and notice he is blinking an awful lot. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m a little tired,” he says, quietly, and some of the posturing seeps out of him and he lets himself slump a little more. He suddenly shakes his head and sits up straight again. “Thanks again for…” He looks around and settles for shaking his water bottle.

You hold back a laugh. “Sure. I uh…do you need me to call you a cab?”

He shakes his head firmly and, to his credit, he’s pretty excellent at pretending to be okay. You almost believe him. “I can get home all right.”

“Well, please make sure you do. I can think of a lot of people who’d be sad to think of you collapsing on the way home because you wore yourself down to the bone,” you say. “And from how you seem to worry about your friend, I bet you can think of at least one.”

He blinks, like he’s surprised, but a smile curls onto his face, warm and true. “Good night,” he says, and because you’re so nice, you don’t stop him when he goes back out the window. At this point, it’s beginning to feel like a lost cause.

“What did you say to him?”

“I know you don’t like the door,” you say, not even turning away from the plant you’re watering. Any time you put down the canister you forget where you left off and you are not going to kill these plants by overwatering. Not again. “But maybe you could at least tap on the window when you decide you’re going to enter my apartment.”

“Why do you leave your window open?” Bucky huffs. You can hear him sit at the counter behind you. “You know what kind of creeps can take advantage of that?”

You finish watering the last plant and turn to stare at him. “I’m starting to get an idea.”

Bucky scowls. “I’m not a creep,” he mutters.

“Polite society encourages doorways instead of windows,” you say. “It’s okay. Captain America, apparently, is also a creep.”

Bucky sits up straighter. “What did he say?”

“Not much,” you say. “He was squatting on the fire escape like he could make you spontaneously materialize. I invited him in for an explanation and after a little while he went on his way.”

“After a little while,” Bucky repeats and squints at you suspiciously.

You shrug. “He likes to vent to complete strangers, apparently. But I didn’t tell him anything about you, it doesn’t seem fair to tell you anything about him. If you want to know, I get the feeling you can go ask him.”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he stands up and stretches. “You said I bled on the drapes?”

“I already scrubbed that out, if you can finish the floor,” you say and go for the tea pot. “Do you like green tea?”

“As long as you do it right,” he says and starts scrubbing again. “I hate it all bitter.”

You go for the good matcha and start preparing it while he works out his frustrations on your floor. You glance at him a couple of times but he seems fully focused on his task, until you finish the tea and call him back to the bar.

“Steve Rogers is a pain in the ass and don’t let anyone tell you different,” he grumbles, but it’s soft and there’s a troubled look on his face as he takes his cup.

“Do you miss him?” you ask and blow gently across your drink.

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. Just as you're about to apologize for overstepping, though, he speaks. “It’s hard to go back when you’ve done the shit I have, you know?”

No. You have absolutely no idea what it’s like to live as a free man after decades of literal objectification and being used as a murder weapon for fascists. But it doesn’t seem very helpful to say that, so instead you say, gently, “I can’t even imagine.”

Bucky bobs his head and takes another sip of his drink. You’re delighted he seems to be drinking it fairly quickly, but also a little dismayed because a good matcha latte takes a decent amount of work and it’ll take a little time if he wants another cup. “I want to go back but I can’t yet. I wish he wouldn’t be so goddamn stubborn about it is all. Just because he thinks I didn’t do anything wrong doesn’t make it true.”

You nod, like any of this makes any goddamn sense to you. But maybe– maybe it doesn’t have to. Maybe Bucky’s saying all this because you’re an outside entity with no personal stake in, or knowledge of, what counts as treason, or what’s needed to lack culpability, or what it means to be an absent friend.

He rambles, a little bit, and though about half the words are proper nouns you don’t recognize, you nod along, and when he finishes his latte you make him another one, and when he leaves, you don’t mention the door. Even though you want to.

You’ve actually forgotten how nice it is to have someone come through the door. Case in point–

“Um, I hope this is all right,” Steve Rogers, dressed in casual civilian fare and holding a small pot of flowers, says as you can do nothing but stare at him. “I just wanted to stop by and thank you again for being so understanding. May I…come in?”

That snaps you out of your funk and you quickly stand aside. “Of course; sorry, I just…wasn’t expecting you.”

“I was just going to leave the plant with a note if you weren't here, but I’m glad you were,” Captain Rogers says and walks in, and sets the pot down on the counter.

You walk over to the fridge. “Would you like something to–” As you turn to finish the question you see him glance furtively at the window. Ah, of course. He looks down guiltily and you can’t help but roll your eyes and laugh. Well, he did come through the correct entrance and brought some pretty flowers. “All right, you did knock on the door this time; go sniff around the fire escape all you want.”

“I’m just checking something I forgot,” he says quickly and goes to the window. He’s only outside long enough for you to brew some tea and he comes back in just as you’re pouring his cup. It isn’t until he’s about to take a sip, however, that he says, “Oh– I know it looks bad, but Bucky– sorry, James Barnes– I swear he isn’t dangerous.”

“I know. I saw some of the trial stuff,” you lie. Well, you did see some of it, but it wasn’t until you heard Bucky mutter “Martha Stewart was right,” while fussing at some of the blood on his shirt that you felt safer. Strange as it is to think.

Steve relaxes his shoulders like some of the weight is off of them. “You have no idea how good that is to hear. You wouldn’t believe some of the things people say to me. I can’t really punch people anymore because I’m so much stronger now but it’s so tempting sometimes. At least when it’s online I can mime punching them.”

His annoyed tone allows you to laugh a little. “Maybe imagine the block button is a punch in the face?” you suggest.

He grins. “My friend Clint suggested printing out the most irritating comments and taping them to a punching bag. It didn’t really work but the thought was nice. The block button as a punch to the face though…”

The guy doesn’t really need more violence in his life, but he genuinely seems pleased with the idea, so you let it be. And when he starts ranting in detail about some of the comments he gets about Bucky, you make a new pot of tea– chamomile. For the both of you.

You don’t know how the flowers are dead already– it seems like Steve just brought them and they were so pretty you immediately looked up care instructions and followed them to the letter. Or so you thought. But now, only days later, you have a pot of dirt and withered petals.

And Bucky sulking at your counter.

“I told him I was fine,” he says petulantly.

You sigh and bring the pot over to the sink and think about what to do. “Did you tell him in person?”

“In a letter. He knew it was from me.”

The soil looks nice, so you’ll dig out the remains and try to plant some replacement seeds. Maybe that was the problem– maybe the flowers were sick or something. “Well reading and seeing are two different things.”

“He knows I cover him in fights.”

You slowly look at Bucky. His oh-so intelligent response is to bristle like a cat and go, “What?”

You roll your eyes. “He’s desperate to see you, knows you’re near when he’s fighting, and you wonder why he’s “so goddamn reckless?’”

Bucky just glares. Yeah, these two morons absolutely deserve each other.

You hope Bucky figures it out sooner rather than later.

He doesn’t, but he keeps coming by, as does Steve, and you resign yourself to hosting two pining idiots who keep dancing around each other.

Bucky drinks anything you give him without complaint. However he drinks the lattes and almost anything green tea a little quicker, though he tries to hide his cup from you when he does. Whether he’s ashamed of going through them so fast or embarrassed you don’t know, but you start to give him bigger cups, and that seems to help.

The first time you give Steve a cup of apple pie spice, he gives you a severe glare– which he then completely undermines by liking the blend immensely.

“I swore the next person who offered me apple pie would get popped,” Steve says, an amusing mixture of half-bluster and half-shame as he sips from the classic teacup you hope not to regret handing him.

“Lucky for me it’s not actually apple pie,” you say. “Do people really make that joke?”

The eyeroll Steve gives that is 200% sass. “You have no idea,” he says, deadly serious, “–how funny people think they are.”

This becomes…oddly normal. Listening to Steve talk about anything that’s on his mind, giving Bucky new tea blends just to see how he reacts to them; your apartment is no longer just you and a bunch of greenery that seems to wilt more often than not. Everything seems warmer, and better– even your plants seem healthier. (For that, though, you suspect Bucky is giving them a special mixture of something after you catch a glance of him messing with one of the pots. You want to ask him what he’s doing, but you don’t want to admit that he’s better at taking care of them than you are.)

It’s so normal, that you feel the silence only after the first few nights without a visit. They don’t visit every night, but they visit often enough that you know they’re off somewhere even without them telling you. For a couple of weeks you try to pretend the quiet doesn’t bother you, but you check the fire escape twice every night, and then once more before you go to bed.

The next time you see Bucky is during one of these checks. There was no tapping, no noise to otherwise alert you, he’s just suddenly back, sitting next to the window, hunched over in black clothes nearly blending into the darkness and staring out at nothing in the night.

“What’s wrong?” you ask and crawl out to kneel next to him. “Are you hurt again?”

“No,” he mutters and continues to glare at some imaginary point in the distance. “Steve was, though.”

It’s a little harder to swallow. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Yeah,” Bucky mumbles and buries his mouth further against his arms. “He’s fine, strutting around the hospital like a- like a- …” He huffs and sits back to wave his arms before he curls back in on himself. “But it was close, and he’s an asshole.”

“Mm,” you say. “Chamomile mint?”

He sighs heavily but he gets to his feet and starts to enter, only to stop and hold open the curtains for you.

“Thank you sir,” you say with only a hint of sarcasm and go on ahead to get the tea started. Bucky snorts but doesn’t say anything and you use the time the water needs to heat up to take care of some of your plants.

“Stop it.”

The snap comes so fast from Bucky you immediately stop what you’re doing. He doesn’t look as angry as he sounded, but he’s frowning pretty hard. “You're overwatering that one; jade plants are succulents. You don’t need to drown it.”

You look at the plant and set the watering can down. “Oh.” You knew that. You think. You’re just nervous. “Did you see him? In the hospital?”

“Briefly. I didn’t talk to him; just made sure he was all right,” Bucky says. “And he is. I wouldn’t leave him if he wasn’t.”

That does assuage some of your concerns. Steve is nice. You want him to be okay. And Bucky is– also nice, but god, they’re both so fucking frustrating. “You couldn’t have just–”

“Don’t start with–”

“I’m just saying–”

“And I’m telling you not to say–”

“I pay the rent for all that you sublet my fire escape; I’ll say what I want,” you manage to finish to Bucky’s consternation. You lift your head proudly and he frowns to one side. And then he…smirks. You’re not sure you like that.

“Crappiest space in the city,” he says and sits up. “You could at least get a chair.”

You roll your eyes and dole out the tea, fixing it the way Bucky likes. No sugar for this one, but plenty of honey. “If I ever have to leave for an actual fire, I’ll be in enough trouble trying to get around you.”

“Nah. I’d carry you out,” Bucky says and lifts his cup in a silent ‘cheers.’ He takes a sip and the sigh sounds content, so you assume you did it right. For a few moments a comfortable silence settles between the two of you as you sip warm drinks surrounded by greenery (that is mostly green) and life goes on in faint sounds outside the confines of your home.

Bucky sets his empty cup down with a sigh. “Do you think, if I show up to throttle him, that he’ll actually start watching his own fucking back?”

You give that some serious thought. “Will you give him time to moon at you first?”

Bucky sighs with disgust and flumps back onto the counter. “This is stupid. This all feels so stupid.”

You open your mouth because you do have a lot of opinions about honest communication and using innocent civilian apartments to dance around each other, but Bucky shoots you a glare to let you know that a, he knows, and b, he doesn’t appreciate it. You roll your eyes and go back to drinking your tea. It is a very good blend, and you’re not going to let it go unappreciated because two early 20th century boys can’t get their shit together.

Not that you’re complaining, really– you’re starting to feel like less of a disaster by comparison. Or maybe letting two strange men into your apartment makes you just as bad by default. You rub the bridge of your nose. Yeah, no one is getting out of this looking sane. You feel like that should bother you more than it does, but it’s just a fleeting thought before you go back to worrying about Steve and pouring Bucky’s cup back to full.

The next night when someone knocks on your door, you’re only mildly surprised to see Steve on the other side. And most of that surprise is because you can see fading bruises on his face, and also because he is holding a fairly big potted plant with tall green and yellow-edged leaves.

“Hi,” he says and lifts the pot slightly. “I got you a present.”

“Uh, wow; thanks?” you say and quickly step back to let him in, momentarily forgetting he can probably carry it around with ease. Steve places the plant on the floor near the end of your couch, where it actually looks fairly nice. He gestures at it proudly. “It’s a snake plant. The man at the nursery said it’s very hard to kill.”

“You’re not funny,” you say but you look at it appreciatively. It is nice, and you could do with ‘hard to kill’. Speaking of– “Should you be up? You look like you should be in a hospital.”

He shrugs and his face goes neutral. “I’m healing well enough that there’s nothing a hospital could do for me. And I felt so…restless.”

You nod. “Want some tea?”

“Please. I really like what you make,” he says and immediately takes a seat at the counter. Oddly enough, it’s not the one Bucky always takes. You don’t realize you squint at the space for too long until Steve looks curious and asks, “Is everything okay?”

You squint at the countertop. “Yeah, just…trying to figure out if that’s a stain or a spot.”

Thankfully there is a spot of spilled something and you quickly grab a towel and wipe it away. You think it’s a pretty good save, but Steve looks at you with a raised brow, like he’s figured something out. You freeze. “What?” What are you going to say? How is he going to react? What will you–

“Was that a coffee ring?”

You blink a few times, and then roll your eyes as your chest practically deflates. He smiles and winks. “I can’t believe you.”

“I am a layered human being who can drink many things,” you say defensively. “And if you want coffee you’ll have to ask another time. I’m not giving you anything with caffeine in it when you look like you got hit by a truck.”

“Train,” he corrects absently. “It barely clipped me.”

You sigh and go for the sleepy blend. One of you is going to have to bow out of this conversation due to exhaustion and at this point you don’t care if it’s you. However it might truly come in handy as Steve keeps looking out the window and shaking his foot. You set the cup in front of him and before you can ask what’s wrong, he takes the cup in both hands and blurts out, “I think I saw him.”

You look at the window and squint. “Seriously?”

“Not here.” Steve rolls his eyes. Like you’re the crazy one. He blows gently across the surface of the liquid and says, “Though it’s strange you’d think I saw Bucky out of your window.”

“Isn't that why you started showing up here in the first place? I distinctly remember someone with a big red, white, and blue shield lurking on my fire escape.”

“Oh, right,” he admits sheepishly, hunched over his cup. His eyes glimmer with mischief as he looks up at you through long lashes and asks, “Did I ever apologize to you for that?”

You’re brought up short by the amount of boyish charm this giant walking wall of muscle manages to pack into that look and you have to find your tongue to say, “I– y-yeah…”

Steve chuckles to himself and you give yourself a mental slap on the face. “Troll,” you mutter and sip from your mug. The liquid is piping hot and burns your tongue, giving you an excuse to grimace when Steve flashes you a beautiful smile.

You’re in trouble.

Not physically, not immediately, and perhaps someone on the outside might say you’re being dramatic about it, but they wouldn’t know shit about the situation. They wouldn’t know about how your hands felt as they slid over Steve’s when he handed you a new small pot of flowers; they wouldn’t know about the feeling of serenity that settled over you when Bucky abandoned some of his oh so careful control and rested his head on your shoulder for four long seconds; they wouldn’t know how it feels like you’re missing something until someone shows up at your door or taps at your window.

You’re falling in love with two people who have always been, and still are, desperately in love with each other.

Isn’t that just your luck.

In the end, Bucky takes your advice more to heart than you ever expected he would– you and Steve are quietly enjoying each others’ company, with you standing in the kitchen and Steve sitting at the counter as per usual, when the curtains move dramatically for Bucky to slip in, which makes Steve whirl around, and your hands jerk so hard from all the sudden surprise that your cup slips out and crashes to the floor.

“Shi-” You forget to watch your step and immediately catch a jagged shard that embeds itself right under the ball of your foot. “Ow, fuck!”

Your name is said in different voices but very similar tones of alarm and you suddenly find yourself gathered into Bucky’s arms, bridal style, and he carries you over to the couch. “Wh-” You swallow at the close proximity to Bucky’s chest and the way he holds you so effortlessly but so securely. “I’m fine; it’s just a little–”

Bucky sits down on the couch and doesn’t move you, which means you are basically sitting cross-wise in his lap. This is not something you need after your recent revelation, and it doesn’t get any easier when Steve comes back with the heavy duty first aid kit Bucky got you and gingerly takes your foot to examine the injury. His sympathetic look towards you gives you the warning you need to brace yourself before he pulls the shard out. It doesn’t hurt too terribly and he’s almost tender as he cleans your foot.

“Look at us, matching blood and all,” Bucky says lightly.

“It’s my floor I’ll bleed on it if I want,” you grumble, but you’re too distracted by how focused Steve is on fixing you up. “You…seem to be taking this well.”

“I knew he had been here since the first time I came,” Steve admits as he rolls the gauze around your foot. “There was a bloodstain on your floor still.”

“Seriously?” You had thought Bucky was being overdramatic about the supposed stain and humored him, but it…makes sense. Why else would he come back the next night. Why else would Steve continue to come by. And because Steve had kept coming, Bucky had kept coming, and…they won’t need to come back anymore, will they? They now have what they’ve wanted. Each other.

Someone says your name and you force yourself back to neutral as much as you possibly can. Steve looks curious though and Bucky says, “What’s with that look?”

“There’s no look,” you say. “And if there is, it’s only because you two have devised the weirdest meet-cute ever– decades after you actually met.”

“Hm.” Bucky continues to stare at you, but doesn’t say anything else.

They come back. And they both use the door.

You don’t know what you’re more shocked by– that Bucky and Steve, having come back to each other, are still coming around to you, or that Bucky is actually walking through the designated threshold. You don’t have a lot of time to think about it though because the place is…a mess.

“What happened here?” Steve asks as Bucky’s shoulders go up to his ears and he looks around the place like he’s going to find something unpleasant.

“It’s not that bad,” you say and glance around. You’ve cleaned out a few of the pots already and stacked them away in the closet, but some of the plants are still…slightly alive, for a little while. A couple are even doing fairly well– one of which being the snake plant Steve got you.

“What happened to the jungle?” Bucky asks, looking around shrewdly. You don’t like the sound of that. It feels so…probing, and raises your hackles. Why should he care?

“I wasn’t keeping them alive for very long.” You flick a yellowing leaf and keep your tone light. “I just got tired of it. What are…what are you doing here?”

You don’t look at Steve, but he clears his throat and his tone is similar to Bucky’s when he asks, “Is now a bad time?”

“For what?” You square your shoulders and face them. Like an adult. Like an adult who had two other adults just sort of crash into their life one day and start sharing space until such time as the two window-crashers decided they…didn’t need to come around anymore. “I’m happy you both found each other. You didn’t have to come back.”

Steve looks…well, he looks hurt. You don’t know any other way to describe it; it doesn’t show in his face so much as in his eyes, in the feeling you get watching the line of his shoulders lower. But before he can say anything, before you can explain yourself, Bucky speaks up.

“It isn’t like that,” he says.

You look down. It’s easier than looking at a man who feels rejected, and a man who has you completely pegged.

“What?” Steve asks.

“It’s okay,” you say, in perhaps the biggest bald-faced lie you’ve ever told.

“That’s not– no,” Bucky insists and lifts your chin. His fingers are warm and gentle and linger too long.

You pull back from his touch before you can embarrass yourself further. “You guys were literally circling each other.”

“Please.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I don’t need to keep coming back here to be near Steve. I know where he lives.”

“And I leave my window unlocked,” Steve says. He aims a cheeky grin at Bucky and adds, “Guess I should have left it open though.”

“Shut up,” Bucky tells him but looks at you and says, “Point is: we weren't using you.”

Steve blinks. “Oh– no, of course not!”

“It’s all right,” you say, trying as hard as you can to assuage their discomfort even though you can’t put much into it. Even though you did very much want this meeting to happen, somehow you don’t feel very ‘all right.’

“No,” Bucky says and takes your hand in his. The flesh hand, which he runs up to the middle of your forearm. His touch is gentle and light, even when he grips. You can break away, but you don’t– you let him pull you in, close and closer, until there’s barely any room between you.

Steve crowds from the side and puts one arm behind Bucky, and one arm behind you. “If you only think we’re here because of each other, then it’s not all right,” he says softly.

“I know it isn’t– I know you weren't ‘using’ m–” You swallow hard. “And I know it’s not–”

They both swoop in for a kiss– for a kiss with you. Somehow they avoid bumping heads and the lip-lip-lip contact is barely there, with Steve at the corner and Bucky barely catching one side of your upper lip, but they're both there for a glorious moment that leaves you stunned.

“Oh…” you say, dumbly. You try to fight it, but a smile pulls at your lips. “Oh.”

“That good already, huh?” Steve asks quietly, slowly forming a small smile of his own.

You let out a little sigh that is immediately undermined by an uncontrollable laugh that swells from a bubble of relief at the base of your throat. “Bucky’s right, you are insufferable,” you say but you reach out to sweep your fingers in a gentle touch down Steve’s cheek and under his chin.

“You get used to it,” Bucky says.

You think about that. Even with how you’ve been, entertaining these two rotating planets over the last however many weeks or months, this would be an entirely new normal.

You think you can’t wait to get used to it.

#steve rogers x bucky barnes x reader #captain america fanfic #reader insert #stucky x reader #mcu reader insert

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nny11writes · 2 years ago

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No six sentence sunday today, have a silly wip idea that I do not know enough about and do not have the time to research to write it lol.

She Ra, Modern AU, College AU, either glitra or general, G or T rating

Glimmer does contact juggling, she learned as a kid because she thought it looked super magical and really kicked her fairy costumes up a notch at the ren faire (look me in the eyes and tell me that Bow does not go to ren faires, he would absolutely go and do archery demos/play his lute). It’s a fun hobby, and when she finally moves out of the house to go to college she feels super lonely. Glimmer chose to not go to the private school her mom picked out specifically to be more “normal” and to follow her only friend. But Bow is busy all the time now with his major and new extracurriculars, and no amount of him inviting her will let Glimmer enjoy the experience of a robot club not building battle bots. She eventually finds a club on campus that is basically a juggling club although a few people also do tight rope and slack rope walking or other fun circus tricks. She grabs her favorite orbs and wants to give it a real go!

Catra learned to juggle because she was bored and Adora gave up. Adora begged for a set of soft cubes to learn to juggle and then got so frustrated that she couldn’t get it done quickly enough for her liking that she stopped. Catra found them and was just goofing around, but it was also a little bit of a “Wanna play N64 with me?” where your friend who ones the console is the only one who plays and you have to watch a little excited a little bored and a little frustrated that it’s never your turn. She gets decent at it and eventually starts juggling other things for shits and giggles, teaching herself through trial and error to juggle knives and eventually even use a whip. Adora was accepted to a private school and Catra never even applied to it. She ends up going to college because “it’s what you’re supposed to do” but she doesn’t know what she wants from it if anything. Catra learns there’s a juggling club and decides that she wants to do flaming torches and is wondering if there’s a fire eater who can teach her some tricks too.

Glimmer and Catra are what you would call frenemies. They are easily annoyed by one another but don’t actually hate each other. Despite not doing the same sort of juggling at all, they’re always trying to out do one another. Their friendly rivalry can get Intense at times but most of the club is just waiting to see what happens.

Sea Hawk teaches Catra how to eat fire, so Glimmer demands to be taught as well. Perfuma teaches Glimmer slack line, so you bet your butt Catra decides to learn it too.

Eventually the whole club goes to do a performance at one of the small theaters tucked away on campus and Glimmer and Catra decide to do an act together where the whole thing is designed to look like they are seriously trying to sabotage one another but keep failing because of the other’s talents or obliviousness.

They have a grand ol’ time and when the performance is over Adora and Bow have bonded because THAT WAS AWESOME AND ALSO SO DANGEROUS BUT MOSTLY SUPER COOL!!

#catra would totally have an edgy juggling act #like she'd either go heavy metal and dangerous acts or ''oooh I'm spooky!'' acts #Glimmer goes for a more ethereal/fantasy style with a lot of cheek to it #she would look super graceful as she suddenly moves from one position and trick to another #idk folks I just like the idea of them both doing juggling #and somehow it brings them closer #and then Adora getting to go ''WHEN THE HECK DID YOU LEARN TO JUGGLE MACHETES!?''#while Bow is whispering ''what are the safety standards I know there's safety standards what are they? I'd feel better if I knew!?''#they both think it's cool as fuck and are very into it #they both learn some juggling basics afterwards as well because Bow does feel better trying it and Adora wants to try again #(once he knows enough to feel set Bow is good to go)#(Adora has successful adult syndrome and gets frustrated when she's still struggling and stops again lol)#wip for adoption I guess?????#I wanna read the fic #not write it #is there a SPOP circus AU? I feel like there has to be but I don't want high drama more slice of life style :\

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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

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Spoiled Rotten (Reid Fic)

Summary: After Spencer went radio silent on Reader while he was in prison, their pride and stubbornness threatens to tear them apart forever. Reader’s forced to mourn the death of who they were and experience the inner turmoil of navigating who they are.

A/N: Y’all are gonna kill me for the ending, but it’s one hell of a way to go. Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Category: Angst Content Warning: Imprisonment, humiliation, abandonment, anger, frustration, angst, yelling, fighting Word Count: 5.3k Playlist: Traitor by Olivia Rodrigo

Time jumps are indicated by “. . .” or “_ _ _”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

A rather unfortunate predicament we’ve found ourselves in tonight. I can’t say I’ve ever been quite this uncomfortable in my life, yet I’m careful not to speak too soon. Because I know the second Spencer opens his mouth to break the silence we’re currently sitting in, I’ll stand corrected.

“You’re breathing really hard,” He tells me out of nowhere.

See, I stand corrected.

Now that I’ve become hyper aware of my own inhale and exhale, my respiration is just that much more restricted. I’m practically holding my breath at this moment - both from the anticipation of catching this unsub in the act and giving Spencer one less thing to scrutinize about me.

“I didn’t say you had to stop breathing,” He tacks on as if it would put me any more at ease. Not that if he had explicitly said such a thing, I would’ve.

Unlike other people, I wasn’t exactly jumping at the chance to throw myself at his feet so he’d like me. But to use that as grounds for his disdain would be foolish. Our rancor went deeper than the basic lack of synergy between us.

And in the spirit of getting to the bottom of that abyssal pit, I finally asked the question with words that always seemed to hang above but never would form.

“Why was I the only one denied visitation while you were in prison?”

It may surprise you to know that it wasn’t always like this between us; we were actually close once, although it is hard to imagine that version of us ever really existing. However, if I think about it hard enough, I can remember with perfect clarity who we used to be.

. . .

“Jeez, you really don’t like these things do you?” I nudged him playfully before feeling instantly guilty once I witnessed the result of my shove that must’ve been a little too much for all 120 (at most) pounds of him. I’d neglected to remember the strength I held over the lanky Doctor as well as neglected to notice where the trajectory of my push would land him - in the direct line of a circus clown walking the opposite direction as us. This, of course, brought him face to face with the character. Unfortunately, I managed to catch a glimpse of the lens of Spencer’s glasses grazing the white face paint of the caricature.

After a shudder of mortification and a very brave shriek, Spencer ran to my other side to be as far away from the clown as possible and apparently, as close to me as possible. From a distance, you’d think we were conjoined simply by the way he was glued to me - shoulder to shoulder, elbow to elbow, hip to hip, thigh to thigh.

While removing his glasses to clean them off with the hem of his blazer, he answered, “Carnivals? I mean, what’s not to like? What with the loud noises, the heart-attack-inducing food that’s more grease than actual food, or the sheer amount of bacteria harboring on each and every handle, hoop, ball, or button of these ridiculous game booths.”

“Wow, you really don’t like carnivals.” I should’ve figured.

“Nope. Never have and probably never will.”

As someone who looked forward to the fair every summer of her childhood, any aversion to carnivals broke my heart. I had a fondness for them borne in adolescence that I couldn’t quite justify now in my adulthood.

“But they’re fun!” was the best argument I could muster. The whine in my voice being provoked by the possibility that the higher the shrill of my pitch, the easier he’d be to sway. Turns out, Dr. Reid was not nearly as susceptible to my auditory persuasion as I might’ve thought he was. Just a stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel.

“I’m sorry. I know you brought me here because you love these things, but I just can’t get past the ...” He surveyed the fair, ostensibly against his will, in search of the perfect word to describe our surroundings. “Filth.”

I would’ve argued in the defense of the carnival, mentioning how it’s endearing that the only bathrooms for miles were porta potties, and that the screaming, crying, sticky children galore just added to the attraction, and that there was a hidden charm to the way the roller coasters creaked beyond their means with every ride.

But to an extent, I agreed. It was rather filthy, and I wasn’t much of a germaphobe myself so to someone like him, this would be hell on earth.

“Well, you get what you put into it. If you’re willing to overlook some minor imperfections, I really think you’d enjoy this place.”

Spencer by now had his hands in his pockets and his walking pace had slowed to a complete halt. There was a moment of skepticism, followed by a partially open smile to make way for the laughter that escaped from the disbelief that he felt for letting me break his resolve so easily.

“Alright then. What do you want to do first, Brat?”

The nickname I’d earned could be seen as meanspirited, but truly, it was affectionately diminutive. Like all good nicknames are. And like the proclaimed Brat I was, I’d taken him to all my favorite parts of the fair.

First came the bumper cars to ease him into the experience - as ironic as that sounds. He was reluctant to submerge his gangly body into a mini vehicle, much less one that’d been inhabited by God knows how many people before us, but he pushed his reservations aside when he realized he’d get to slam into my car (safely, of course).

Secondly, we went on the Carousel, but this was only in preparation for the real ride that I wanted to take him on next - the Swinging Chairs. He’d gotten a little nauseous, from both the repetitive circling and the galvanized chains he had to hold that were definitely held by several others.

He had no interest in going on the Gravitron - super lame, I know - so we opted for the Ferris Wheel instead. I didn’t mind making this compromise so much after recognizing all that he’d done for my benefit that night. And for his generosity and selflessness, I thought it only fitting to end the night going somewhere so tame he couldn’t possibly have any opposition to it.

The photo booth.

The booth in particular we’d gone to was smaller than an airplane bathroom, if you can imagine that. The bench seat was barely wide enough to fit Spencer, let alone seat the both of us. While he didn’t explicitly make the offer to let me sit on his lap, it was kind of a give in that I’d have some part of my body intertwined around him like stubborn ivy.

. . .

I still laugh thinking about the tangled mess of limbs we were below what the camera couldn’t capture. It was arguably the furthest extent of contortionist work I wanted to do in my lifetime, and henceforth exceedingly uncomfortable, and yet, I’d never felt more at home than when I was in his arms.

That night he would tear off the top three photos to keep for himself while I kept the bottom three photos.

To this day, I have never seen the pictures that he kept, and I’m left to wonder if he had them at all.

Because I still have mine. And they were virtually the only thing keeping me sane throughout his trial and subsequent imprisonment.

Six Months Ago ...

My eyes were locked on the loose thread of my cardigan that I was rolling between my fingers anxiously.

“Would you stop that?” Penelope swatted my hand away from my sweater. “You’re making me nervous just looking at you.” She grumbled.

“Sorry,” I apologized bleakly.

A few seconds later she groaned again, making me think I was still doing something bothersome, but it turned out to be just the opposite. “Ugh, I know that sounded mean, and I hate when I sound mean, but I can feel my forehead creasing from the stress, and watching you fidget is going to give me an ulcer.”

“I wish I could help it. I’m just really worried about him.”

“Well I am, too, but that’s not gonna do us any good right now. All we can do is hope for the best.”

Sometimes Penelope’s overly optimistic view on life was futile and unwelcome, and truthfully, this was one of those times.

“Penny?”

As she turned her head, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the lenses of her dark green glasses. I could see my own mournful expression as I asked, “What if he’s found guilty?”

She started to say something but stopped herself. “Right now, all we need to focus on is his bail. We can worry about a verdict later.” She put her hand on top of mine and shook it briefly to remind me that we were in this together.

Moments later recess was over and the team came trudging back into the courtroom.

The sound of the judge clearing her throat and our footsteps on the floor made this feel all too normal.

How could Spencer’s life be hanging in the balance in such a place as non-intimate as this?

It frustrated me how casual things felt today and how everyone was acting normally. Prentiss had yet to bat an eye, Rossi’s stoic expression never changed, and Penelope was telling me not to worry. Everyone was acting so aloof.

My eyes darted to Spencer, who was looking back at us woefully. I couldn’t bear to see him like that any longer, so I kept my head down and stared at my feet after I took my seat.

Even when I closed my eyes, I was haunted by the vision of him in a suit, just like one he’d wear to work. But instead, he was wearing it for this - this vastly different situation.

I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to look at him the same in one anymore. I’ll probably just remember this particular look on his face, in this god awful courtroom, during this horribly nauseating circumstance.

If one thing was for certain, it was that this would all come back to me if I ever laid eyes on him in a suit, and that thought fucking terrified me.

Because that one thought spiraled into the next: Everything was bound to change after this. Every little thing would change in every little way.

Spencer’s lawyer, the judge, and the prosecutor were going back and forth for a while, but I tuned it all out because I knew if I had tuned in, I wouldn’t have been able to hold back my arguments. Eventually, though, I heard something I could no longer ignore.

“If past behavior is the best indicator of future conduct, and I do believe it is, then your client presents a flight risk.”

I stood up immediately, getting a head rush from the speed. I knew what was to follow, so I needed to be on my feet the second I heard it. Maybe so I could run and escape before I had to.

“Bail is denied. The defendant will remain in federal custody pending trial.”

“Spencer!” I shouted, losing all the composure I’d been trying to maintain. I reached for him as if he was at any capacity to reach back and hold me. God, I needed him to hold me. Hold me like how he did at the carnival.

Hold me.

Luke held me back as I fought to be near him.

“Let me go!” I screamed, trying to break free of his tight grip. Spencer could only stand and stare, mirroring my own wistful glance. He mouthed something to me that I couldn’t quite make out, but if I knew him at all, he probably said something about not wanting me to worry about him.

“(Y/n), (y/n) it’s gonna be alright.” JJ reasoned, pulling me into a hug.

“How long before this case goes to trial?” I heard Prentiss whisper to Spencer’s lawyer.

“It’s a complicated case. I’d say three months maybe?”

Immediately, I worked myself out of JJ’s arms and pushed my way through the team, running up to the barrier between us.

“Spence!” I cried out in anguish.

To the sound of my voice, he glanced over his shoulder sadly. He wasn’t even shocked I’d been able to get so close to him - he seemed to expect it, and for that, he was sad. Because he knew if I was going to be as stubborn as to fight to get to him at this hearing, then I was going to be stubborn enough to reach him in prison, too. And should he find himself behind bars, he knew that I’d get to him one way or another.

That is if he’d let me.

“Be strong,” He weakly smiled. ‘For me’ his sad eyes begged in addition. He held my gaze for as long as he possibly could before disappearing into another room.

As I watched him walk away, I could feel my heart shattering and crumbling into the pit of my stomach. Perhaps that was a premonition, a true gut feeling, telling me something I at the time couldn’t have known and wouldn’t have accepted.

That was the last time I would see Spencer.

People always say when something unbelievable happens, it doesn’t feel real, but this? Nothing felt more real and more intense than this.

There was no other way for me to see this situation but as the first defeat in an endless line of them.

If Spencer was denied bail, what else could happen to him? Could he be found guilty too? Because prior to this, the denial of his bail seemed impossible. He posed no flight risk, but according to the judge, he did. So if what I once thought to be impossible happened, then it could and would happen again.

I knew Spencer was going to be found guilty.

What I didn’t know, though, was how I was going to live with myself from then on.

I didn’t go that day.

I knew myself too well. So did the others, which is why they didn’t object to my decision not to come to Spencer’s trial. They knew I was better off staying home. Especially, if there was the chance that I might react hysterically again.

I didn’t stay home, though. That part the team never found out about.

I went to visit Diana instead. A much wiser choice, in my opinion.

“You know, we’ve been talking so much about Spencer today, but we haven’t talked about you yet,” said Diana.

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” I feigned a polite smile.

“You thought I wouldn’t notice?” She tilted her chin downward and gave me that sly grin of hers.

“No, no, of course not. I know better than to underestimate the Diana Reid.” I quipped, making her smile widen. “I just figured you’d wanna spend your time talking about someone much more interesting.”

“Oh please, Spencer and I talk about you all the time.”

I perked up from the checker piece I was fiddling with. “You do?”

“Mhm,” She nodded over and over again. “I always knew there was something between you two because you could always talk about each other to me, but for some reason, you could never actually talk to each other.”

For the first time in months, I genuinely laughed and I couldn’t help it. “He makes me nervous! I always feel like he might correct something I say, or tell me that there’s food in my teeth.”

“You know, now that you mention it, I do remember him saying something about seeing a really big piece of lettuce in your teeth one time.”

“Diana!” I squealed, pushing the checkerboard at her, pretending to take offense.

“I really don’t know what you’re so nervous about! I think it would be good if you just talked to him.”

“It’s, um, it’s not that simple. Not right now, at least.”

My energy quickly nose-dived and I tried to do my best to hide it from Diana, but it permeated through the rest of the visit. I couldn’t fully enjoy myself after it.

The team and I all agreed not to let Diana know, especially not with the uncertainty of the case. There was no point riling her up if there was nothing to be worried about. And I could only imagine how I reacted - Diana would be reacting 10 times more hysterically.

But as much as I hated to say it, I almost would’ve rather been in her position.

I would give anything to un-know Spencer’s circumstance.

Present Time ...

In this car, there was nowhere for him to run or hide, not like before.

Anytime I so much as entered his gravity by being in the same room, he’d flee the space in the next breath. Granted, he couldn’t really avoid me entirely. We did have to be on the same flight for an extended period of time, but he made that work by letting me choose my spot first, then choosing a spot directly on the opposite side of the jet.

What a gentleman, huh?

“Kudos to you, by the way. For managing to avoid me for this long. I imagine it’s been as not-easy as it has been incredibly-cowardly.” My words stung as they flowed from my lips as badly as I imagine they seared his already cracked skin. I couldn’t believe that now that I finally had the opportunity to talk to him, I was using it to be petty and passively aggressive. But then again, I could.

Because after what he put me through, he deserved to feel the full severity of my indignation.

My only wish was that he knew exactly how I had felt when I found out.

. . .

Icarus.

He died tragically while using artificial wings, invented by his father, to escape from the Labyrinth. When Icarus flew too close to the sun, it melted the wax that held the wings together, and he fell into the sea.

‘Don’t fly too close to the sun.’ That’s the moral of the story. That’s what Reid was trying to tell me. But I didn’t listen.

I flew too close.

I had approached the window with more zeal than this predicament warranted.

“I’m (y/n) (y/l/n). I’m here to see Spencer Reid, R-E-I-D,” I eagerly spelt his last name with ease as though it were my own last name.

She’d flipped back and forth between pages, running her index finger up and down the sheet for far too long that it made me worry. Turns out, I had every right to be worried.

“I don’t see you on the list, ma’am.”

I was so mindnumbingly dumb that I couldn’t even see how dumb I was being. “Oh no no no, I’m with the FBI. I called earlier and left a message, remember?”

“Yeah, I remember you,” She smiled politely, giving me the tiniest fragment of hope. “But you’re not on his list.” Only for it to be shattered in an instant.

I had yet to process or accept this information. “So what does that mean?”

“It means he doesn't wanna see you right now. And frankly, neither do I. Next!”

“Wait, could you just please check with him? My name is (y/n) -”

“Ma’am, you are holding up a whole line of people that wanna see their loved ones too, so I suggest you see yourself out before I call security to help see you out.”

I knew by her tone of the word ‘help’ that meant a prison guard would most likely forcibly remove me from the premises, and the last thing I needed was to feel even more humiliated.

I got plenty of that when I had to come back to the BAU.

“You’re not on the list?” Luke seemed genuinely shocked. More so than I was. Above all, I just felt really stupid.

“I’m sure it was just a mistake.” Stephen reasoned. He was so good at being level-headed. Which normally, I would’ve loved. But right now, it only fueled the fire burning in my chest.

“That’s what I thought at first, too. But later on, she asked him herself, and he said - and I quote, ‘I don’t want to see her. Not now. Not ever.’”

. . .

Those were the words that seared my skin, and he hadn’t even spoken them directly to me to do it.

The words that did just enough to heal me back to health were, of course, Penelope’s.

“Since you haven’t seen him yet, the rest of us will just wait until you have. It’s only fair that you have your first turn before the rest of us go back for a second time.”

Back then, it was easy to hold out hope, but the more and more time passed, the more he kept denying my visits. Therefore, the more my hope began to fade.

It had been weeks since anyone else had seen him before I finally surrendered. Although I had newly-brewing sourness towards Reid, it didn’t feel fair to deny him everyone else’s presence until mine was permitted.

Luke was the one who volunteered to visit first. And to my dismay, Spencer didn’t fight against it.

The proof was finally there. Now I could say with absolute certainty: Spencer just didn’t want to see me.

It was both ironic and utterly frustrating to think about how I’d never gone more than two weeks without seeing him. Even when the BAU got time off after big cases, we’d always spend that time together. The longest we’d spent apart was 12 days. And right when he came back to D.C, we were attached at the hip for the next week, trying to compensate for all that time we were apart.

Now, look at us. I haven’t said one word to him in half a year.

If tragedy and comedy could coexist, this would be it.

“How is he?” I asked Luke as soon as he got back.

“He’s holding on,” Luke affirmed with confidence. What he said next lacked any of that. “He told me to tell you not to worry about him.”

Something in me knew it was a lie. “Did he actually say that?”

His lack of an answer was one itself.

“Did he say anything at all about me?”

“I tried telling him how much you wanted to see him, but he just brushed it off. I’m sorry, (y/n).”

This became my routine for the months to follow. Every time someone would come back from the prison, I’d ask them if they talked about me, but the answer was always no. After a while, it had gotten to the point where I purposefully started leaving myself out of the loop. At least in that case, it was by my own volition that I was being excluded, not by a predicament being forced on me.

Not by Spencer.

“We’re not doing this right now,” Spencer declaration brought me back to the present, where I found him removing himself from both the conversation and the vehicle. When I heard the latch click to open, my hand reflexively flew to my auto-lock to prevent him from leaving. Naturally, he still managed to escape using his door’s button.

If I couldn’t stop him, then I could follow him.

“Then when will we do this? Huh, Spencer? When? Because anytime I try to talk to you, you run away.” The mere fact that I was speed-walking after him was proof. While he casually strolled down the sidewalk paying me no mind, I tried to be clever and walk down the street so we’d be somewhat side to side. I was tired of staring at his back every time he walked away. I needed to see his face.

For his every stride, I had to take at least three steps. He was gliding through the world so effortlessly as I was trekking my uphill battle. It was quite fitting, though. Further exemplification that, between us, I was fighting harder to preserve the people we used to be, the relationship we used to have. Meanwhile, he couldn’t care less. A stone cold, inconvincible slab of steel. Just like he always was.

As I began to speak, I had to also be conscious of the parked cars along the curb, being careful to weave in and out.

“For months, you have blatantly ignored me. The entire time you were in prison, you denied my visits. And it’s not like it was a one time thing. I tried to visit you over 100 times while you were in jail! 100 times I got rejected. 100 times I got turned away. 100 times my heart shattered.”

By now, I was speaking so loudly that I could see household lights within neighboring homes turning on. I hadn’t even realized how far we’d walked down the street and away from our car, but it was the last thing on my mind.

“Then after you were released, it’s like I never even existed. I had to find out that you were out of there a week later than everyone else because they all assumed you came to me yourself to tell me the good news,” I laughed wryly at my own stupidity. “Do you know how hard it was for me?”

“Do you know how hard it was for me?”

It took me a second to register that he was actually engaging with me in this conversation now. But when I looked at his expression, I could see that something within him had snapped. A little piece of me was glad, though. Now I knew for sure that there was some effect I had on him.

“Hard for you?”

“I know you came to visit me 100 times! Want to know how I know? Because I was there, too! I was there every time a guard came to ask if I wanted to see you. I was there every time I turned you away. And while you got to walk out of those doors every time I did, I was stuck in there, rotting in that cell, thinking about how badly I wanted to see you. How badly I wanted to touch ...” His voice faltered. “To touch you. But I had to protect you!”

“You do realize in protecting me, you were hurting me in the process.”

“Because you just don’t know when to leave well enough alone!” His hands tugged at the root of his unruly hair like evidence of the frustration that my stubbornness caused. “You’re such a pain in the ass because you can never cooperate! It’s gotta be your way or no one else’s! ‘Spencer, it has to be this way because I said so. Spencer, you have to let me see you because I said so. Spencer, you have to talk to me because I said so. Spencer, you have to ride this stupid roller coaster because I said so,’” His imitation of my nagging voice would’ve made me laugh before. Now, it was bringing me onto the verge of tears. “Since clearly no one’s told you this before - not everything is about you! You just want it to be because you’re a whiny, little brat! You’re so spoiled rotten that you can’t even see how far down it goes. If you did, you’d know that you’re rotten to the core and that nothing will ever satisfy you. Especially me.”

His words had done more than sear me. They pierced me. They ripped me. They destroyed me. When he called me Brat, I thought it was endearing. Now, looking back, I realize - no, that’s just how little he thought of me.

As I came to the conclusion, I stopped dead in my tracks on the pavement.

I was done chasing Spencer.

His face had fallen from its anger, indicating he was apologetic, but I was beyond accepting his sorry excuses anymore. I couldn’t stand to look at him so I looked behind me to find our car at least a football field away. I guess in many ways, I’d gone the whole nine yards.

“This is what you wanted right?” I turned back to him momentarily. My voice scared me how calm it was because, inside, I was boiling with rage. “Well, here you go, Spence. Have all the fucking space you want.”

It was usually me watching his back while he walked away, and now, he was watching mine.

“(Y/n), wait!”

And for the briefest second, it actually felt good to be the first one to leave.

I was free.

_ _ _

To my dismay and relief, when I walked into work the next morning, he wasn’t there. I would’ve looked for him with more than a cursory glance except I was stuck on looking at something strange in the bullpen that I couldn’t quite put my finger on. But as I walked further in, a blaring siren went off in my head.

Spencer’s desk is completely empty.

I instantly sorted through my purse for my phone to reach Prentiss when I noticed something more.

I had been desperate to cling onto any notion that he still loved me, and there it was, just sitting on his desk. Proof that the man I loved was still in there somewhere.

The top three pictures from the carnival photo booth.

I laughed, as I always did, thinking about how much we had to exert ourselves to be positioned in a semi-adequate way. In the next wave, I felt profoundly empty. He had kept the pictures all these years, and now that I finally get to see them, he’s left me.

As I brought my hand to my face to clear the tears pooling at my lower lashes, I saw that my finger had an ink smear on the pad of it. There was nowhere else I could’ve obtained it except for if there was writing on the back of the photos.

What I read when I turned it over was as follows.

I want to be this guy for you again, (y/n). I just don’t know how.

I just don’t know if I can.

No matter how much I’ve changed, one thing’s still the same.

I love you.

I should’ve focused on the message, but all that I could focus on was that if I managed to smear the ink, that meant it was fresh, written just now.

He was still here.

I pocketed the photos and abandoned my purse, only carrying with me the phone that I forgot to use to dial Prentiss. After a moment’s indecision, I figured that taking the stairs would be faster than the elevator, and I bounded down the steps without hesitation.

“Spencer!” I yelled into the parking structure when I reached the ground floor. The sound of me bursting through the door caught the attention of Anderson, who was getting out of his car.

“I just saw him leave.” Anderson threw his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the exit. I knew, even in my state of mind, there was no feasible reality where I could reach him on foot. I had to call him.

I pleaded to myself for him to pick up with every ring of my phone.

“(Y/n),” He said like a statement instead of a question. Again, he’d anticipated I’d do this. He probably picked it up not even having to look at the caller ID but knowing it was me and no one else.

“I don’t need you to be the guy you were before, Spencer. I just need you to bend a little bit. I know we’re both stubborn people, but if we can just find a halfway point-”

“(Y/n), (y/n),” He was settling me and the sentences that were coming out of my mouth at 100 mph.

“I’ll bend if you bend.” I promised.

The static of the call filled my ears until his voice finally did.

“For everyone else, I bend ... for you, I break.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

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