#his plan was so goddamn dumb that i cannot in good faith call him a well written villain

[maddyshome]

some of yall have such low standards that you think getou is a well written villain. no, no he is not susan.

[aggresivelyfriendly]

A Premonition of Love-Chapter 7

Hey Loves! Here is our chapter, just  in time for @dirtystyles bday-I’m glad I included her faves, like loud moaning and dry humping on bunk beds, or something like that! Tripod writing forever! Special thanks, again, to @emulateharry for the quick beta!

Himitsu No!

Last Time!

"Yeah, I got that now." And his hand went up to her face, she expected a soft touch on her jaw, but he cupped the back of her neck, and brought her forward like she was gonna be flung back, whiplash.

He tasted like sunshine on her lakebed, when the sun beat down on her shoulders after the cool of the car air conditioning.

His head slanted to the right, and she heard her own response. When her mouth opened to the glide of his tongue, her hands moved from his waist up to cross over his back. Get him and his smell closer. His shoulders were wider than her, and the height difference, those inches suddenly made a difference. Except at their hips, those notched together perfectly.

He tasted like coffee and coconut. Like sunny days layin out in LA.

His hand was in her hair, and it was messy and a little desperate. Inevitable.

Action.

"Action!" Sounded in Harry's head. Suddenly he was the director and the actor. He'd never been so forward. Well, maybe in 2013, but that was something of a lost year for him.

Harry remembered lots of it, but it felt like he was watching somebody else play another version of him. And none of that had been with somebody special, inevitable. There were no feelings involved, at least not on his side. He liked to believe not on their side. How could they have like him, they'd only just met him. That was his mantra, that they were fucking the idea of him, liked the idea, loved the idea. It was how he rationalized it.

Until his mom had sat him down and boxed his ears and asked where her son was? Because her son wouldn't take advantage of girls overcome by their inflated feelings for him.  Feelings. His mom insisted the groupies, god that word, had feelings for him, or believed they did. It may have been just an idea of him, but he was still taking advantage she had insisted. He didn't want to hurt anybody. He'd calmed down a lot after that, and then things got dramatic, and then he had feelings for Xander and they hid in plain sight. When he had feelings he supposed he was blunt about them. He had impulse control when the impulse was to love.

He was definitely feeling something now. He was feeling all of it, everything that had sounded in his mind when he'd been hungover and clumsy when he had met her for real. All the things from before that, when he'd first seen her image, and his mind had run with possibilities. The time since, where he watched her work, serious and in charge, and when she laughed, buoyant and like light- moving in waves. It was all mixing with the literal feelings of her in his hands.  His hopes for them had been shelved in the library of his mind because he was trying not to get hurt, downplay his interest and not freak her out with the long term plans he had unconsciously made. For them. All of the hopes he'd had were now intertwining with the reality of her, of this feeling, and it was was all over his brain, lighting up and activating long term memory.

He wanted to remember this forever, the feeling of her forever.

Boy had he been right about her mouth. He'd gotten a lot of compliments on his lips from lovers. It was something he brought to the table.

But, Ada Scott, she ran that table.

Her mouth was revolutionary. She filled in the space between his lips like a washer between a screw and object. Nice and snug, protective. But soft, god she was soft and her hips filled out his hands like her heart did his cracks.

Alright, he was writing fucking lyrics. Time to focus on the moment. His attention leg to action, inevitably. Her hips became her ass and the wall behind her was a sturdy surface to support them and kept him from taking her down to the metal grating on the floor.

What was that sound?

Oh shit! That was him, he'd lost all his faculties and was moaning loudly. He would have reined it in, but Ada had one hand in his hair and another was undoing his shirt and he couldn't. He wasn't sure he'd ever been with somebody this incendiary.

Now they were moaning in tandem.

Her voice sounded better than a songbird, a lark.

He wanted to hear her. He could listen to that sound, be carried by its current, every morning, noon and night for the rest of his life.

He's in a rush, a wave to her finish, when she lifted her thigh to his hip and ground against his insistence he could see the shore. A few more regressions and advances and they'd find the beginning of land and end of their tsumanmic ride.

"Harry!" Ada moaned.

"Harri!" Yuki called.

Harry had to come up to the surface to recognize the outside command. Ada's commands were what he would rather follow. What her voice was asking of him he couldn't do with another coming closer and getting louder.

Harry coasted his thumb over Ada's thigh, gave one last squeeze, and placed it down, pulled back to see her swollen lips, wet enough to dive into, and more inviting than a tropical pool on the first truly hot day, and her blinking eyes.

"Just one. More." He whispered and offered her a peck that she leaned into. Their noses notched together and around. Her hair went smoothly back when he smoothed it and he immediately wondered how unruly his looked.

"How's mine?" He could feel his giant dimples. This was the best day of his life. His tresses were tangled and messy, his fingers told him when his curious pointer finger became a concerted effort to comb out damage.

"Oh, fuck!" The knock sounded around the small wall just after she had said it. "Your hair is fucked! We are fucked!" Her voice didn't elevate, but her stress was evident.

"No, I'll just look distressed," he schooled his face into frown and pulled his lip, "see. And you look flustered."

Her hands slapped at the air above her waist and then down on her hips. "I am flustered!"

He pushed a lock behind her ear. "I know, just pretend it's at me."

"Who's pretending." And she lead the way out after she squared her shoulders. He caught the motion as she wiped his kiss, or the evidence, off her mouth. She was muttering, she looked a little pissed, definitely affected. He liked affecting her.

He found himself laughing as she walked around the wall with a square set to her jaw, like all the groaning that had just been going on was him being beat about the head and ego rather than the libido.   He needed to wipe the silly smirk off his face. Though it was rather at home there.

He knew, he'd know since her first saw her. Maybe from her films and interviews, but definitely the moment their eyes connected. He'd known.

He'd lost faith.

Harry usually trusted his feelings about people. But he rarely let himself off the hook. Ada didn't seem like a grudge holder exactly, but she did not take shit. That was clear.

And he had been shit.

If you didn't get a second chance at a first impression, he was fucked as then he'd sucked. The situation had felt hopeless, unrequited, until just last week.

But it was better, he was gonna smash this scene now. He had lots to work with. Though he still planned to use his idea for the kiss rather than what had just gone down. That was just for him and Ada.

He thought of Henry and Akio as a slow burn, a smolder. He'd give them a kiss fit for hot coals.

He and Ada had a flare up. Once given the proper fuel, a little oxygen- they were burning.

He put his hands in his hair and looked distraught as he approached the area side stage. Ayae was biting her lip when they made eye contact.

"Alright Harry?" Oh, they were selling it. Ada was frowning, fuming, she looked actually pissed. And Ayae looked concerned for him.

"Can you fix my hair? I think I fucked it up." He collapsed in the chair, coming loose like a cheap hem. "I've gotta do this right on the next take!" he huffed.

"You will Harry. You're so charming, and Henry is the sweetest character. And you and Yuki have great chemistry- just relax into it. You do so much better when you relax." Her eyes were on his hair, but she was skating, them down and biting her lip. "Maybe think about someone you want to kiss badly, if that is not Yuki....."

"The person I want to kiss," he looked at Ada mournfully. "Doesn't wanna kiss me right now."

He hoped that wasn't true.

Ada was fuming, at herself . She could not believe she had let that happen on set, wanted it to happen more on set! What was she thinking! "Goddamn you Styles!" She muttered it. But out loud. Didn't matter who heard, it would go with their act, The 'I cannot stand you and your dumb ass' act. He was pouting with all his might in the chair in front of Ayae. That was good, sympathy inducing.

Except she didn't want too much sympathy to go against her. Harry was already sympathetic enough.

Oh great- bitch rep. Again. She hurt little Harry!

She'd like to put a hurting on him.

In the short amount of time Ada had begun to re-entertain thoughts of kissing Harry on that mouth, she did not expect it to go like that. She'd seen him go full rockstar on that little stage, but she really figured that was some alter ego, something he put on that wouldn't come out without wardrobe or a microphone.

She told herself if anything happened, which she was still totally denying the possibility of, she'd have to instigate and lead.

It was a bit of a hold up for her, honestly.  It was another reason she had given herself to stay away after their flirtation.  She'd been pounding her treadmill thinking of why she wouldn't do. Knew better than to do. Exhibit A had just happened. Though she thought it would be way easier to avoid, because she could control her urges. Before he took over control of her urges. Damn him.

Another reason she had postulated was that he was so sweet and a bit insecure, in her experience, she figured that would extend into his romantic moments. His sweet little gifts only confirmed that for her. His stare downs yesterday made more sense now. He wanted approval, assurance, so she thought he would be a little timid.

She was Wrong!

Another piece of the Harry Styles puzzle. Insecure in unfamiliar or new intense circumstances and a badass elsewise.

Maybe he was the kind that took a while to cope with nerves and then got better.

He must be very sure of his mouth and its abilities. Wow! Ada wondered if that would extend to other intimacy? More naked nudity.

Ada hated leading in the bedroom. She liked being the boss everywhere else. She wanted to be bossed there, relinquish her beloved control and feel love flow into her wildly.

If that kiss was anything to go on, she was going to be handled. She loved being handled.

She had to shift on her seat, and wondered where her water bottle got to. For once the sound stage was a little too warm for her.

"Ms. Scott!" Her DP said.

"Ada!" Julie nudged her arm.

"Huh? Yes?" They were they all looking at her.

"Can we start?"

Shit, this was gonna be a distraction. He was a distraction. Harry was already in place, she'd only glanced at him once and was kinda avoiding looking at him as much as possible. He was flushed and his mouth was a little red. Did they put something on him, that green shit? The stuff that worked with your pH and gave a ovely pink.

Oh, no, it was her. She gripped her pant leg to stop from wiping her mouth. She had worn Fenty Uncuffed, only a bit should have smeared. It was set.

She wanted to test out its bounds on him. How many kisses, when? Where? How long after application, could she kiss or suck it all off? Leave smudges of another lovely pink, unlike his bath water or his natural blush.

Harry bit his lip and blinked at her. What the fuck? Sexy cow blinks? Was this a Greek story?

No! This was her story. Their story.

"Let's roll!" She gave the command, and meant it for herself more than anybody else.

The first take was slightly uncomfortable, but this time because Yuki had lost the moment.

"Sorry boss, I need to shake it off." He had directed at her.

"You need a min!" Harry laughed "What did you eat while I was getting reamed?"

Reamed? What? Oh, no, that was rimmed.

"I had a snack!" Yuki grabbed mint out of his pocket. "You should take one too, you taste like matcha. Grassy!"

Oh shit!

"Do I?" Harry smiled big! "Want more!" And he went in to kiss his co-star like it was an attack.

"Roll!" She said. They were cute already, she wanted it on film, she might get some use. It was a good moment to capture.

Once the puppy play slowed down, and Harry and Yuki let the moment become Akio and Henry's, the pace became languid. Harry's hand came up, slow, and cupped Yuki's jaw.

Her prince pulled back, giving her a shot at pulling this off as a first kiss. His smile was small, just enough to pop a dimple. And Yuki was pulling off dazed, or was dazed. The small fit of Harry's full lips into this kiss was snug as a warm blanket. Not the fire of their embrace, or laughs of the start of this one, less than one, more than the other.

Harry upped the ante, gave the camera goodness to devour, capture like so much attention. An ascension of the kiss, to a new place, a moment like Jake Ryan over the flames. His large hand splayed over Yuki's jaw and his thumb caressed his cheekbone.

Ada could feel it.

So could the cast and crew. Everybody was silent. You could hear the lip smacks and yummy noises alone among the collectively held breath.

Ada let it continue, at least she thought it was intentional, run to the end.

The caress fell, and the lip lock ended, slowly. When Harry smiled and laid his forehead on his companion's and his dimple punctuated the scene,  Ada squealed "Cut!"

And applause went up.  That was the second ovation worthy kiss he'd given today. And it was so different from hers. This boy was so many things. He was insecure, she'd seen it. He was cocky, she'd felt it, and he was damn good, they all lauded it.  She might fall for each Harry by turns. She wanted to seize each in any case.

"Amazing! Excellent work!" She clapped along. "Now let's get coverage and other angles! We may need to pull epic shots on that one!" That could go on billboards, even in still, the moment would translate, move.

She caught Harry's eye and nodded, nearly choked when he winked, but recovered enough to bit her lip and shake her head. When he was on, he was on.

This could be so fun! The flirt under everybodies noses, the danger was intoxicating.

Until she realized Julie was watching. Her friend raised her eyebrows, flared her nostrils and nodded a little.

Ada furrowed her brow and hoped it came off as confusion.

They needed rules. They had a lot of movie to finish. She needed the respect of her crew. Ada needed to put her feelings elsewhere. It was hard though, because he deserved all the praise. The rest of the day he earned it again and again, kissed multiple times, lots of ways, and each time she had to keep her cool.

To varying effect, and ability.

By 7 o'clock they'd got the shots done and set up for tomorrow. Their timeline accelerating as Harry found his feet and took off running, like her god-daughter who skipped crawling all together, went from being carried about to running the show, literally.

There was a metaphor there.

Ada was still tired at day's end, despite how well everything had gone. She was emotionally worn out from over analyzing the kiss, physically worn out from suppressing her body's response to watching Harry kiss Yuki, stomping down the same response to their kiss, and mentally tired from coming up with reasons she should stop flirting with him, or hide flirting with him.

She had no idea what this was. And she'd been weird with Harry all afternoon. She knew it. His batting average stayed high through her change up pitches.

What did they do now? They'd flirted publicly, kissed on set, and then what?

She fucked her star like all those male directors?

Dammit, she thought it was just easy for co-stars to get involved.  All that time together and mimicry of feelings, someone was bound to fall in love. She guessed that was true of directors too.

But this wasn't love. Maybe something like it, a precursor of love. Seedling.

Did she water it?

In any case, she was tired and wanted another matcha. But if she had one now, she'd be up late, thinking, with nobody to talk to. Maybe she'd go back to the hotel and have a couple glasses of wine.

She smiled to herself. Maybe she would do both.....

Harry felt exhilarated, like he did after the Graham Norton performance, when he did it right! He'd acted good. Just like Jeff said. And he'd pleased Ada.

He thought he had. He certainly had early in the day.

She'd gotten a little cagey at the end of day, but he figures she was just gun shy, he'd have to coach her through this. Business and pleasure -- he was a mixologist at. He could show her the ropes.

If she was interested. Her kiss said yes, and he was getting better at reading her. So did her freaking out.

"Hmmmm, what's this?" He asked the air when he reached the steps of his trailer and an iced coffee was waiting. He hadn't asked for one, he wouldn't be sleeping if he drank it.

The cup said, 'Ada.' Huh?

His phone buzzed in his pocket.

"Thirsty?"

[xlittlelionhamiltonx]

To Me Belongeth Vengeance

{{happy belated bday, @prodigyofprincetoncollegex !! I love you dearly!}} 

“He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God.”

Humbly. Is man ever humble? Does man ever trust in God and His divine plan? 

No. No... humankind was yet a child, stumbling with every step and crying loudly when it fell and scraped its knee. Humankind was a mess, unsure and afraid, and continually disappointing its Father... not that He would ever admit to that...

Sacrilege, Alexander. Your Father is purity and honesty incarnate.

And still... people kill. They hurt and they maim and they torture... they do all that they are instructed not to do, and still, they thrive. 

Why do you not strike them down, Father? Why do you let them go on? 

“Ah!” Alexander curls in on himself, one hand pressed against the wound drawn so haphazardly upon his abdomen, the knife in his free hand shaking violently. He has overstepped. He has sinned, if in thought, alone, and he has beckoned this punishment. 

“God does not ask for perfection. He does not abandon His children for their doubts... for their questions...”

Alex perks up a little, blinking his eyes open and focusing on the peaked wooden ceiling above the empty choir loft. Father Burr seems to have foregone the Old Testament. He chooses not to preach fire and brimstone, though Alex knows that is what he lives and breathes. 

“No father could condemn his own child’s curiosity. Our Father is a good Father, brothers and sisters; he would not discourage the wandering thoughts that He, Himself, has made our minds capable of producing.” 

Does He not, then, Father Burr, condemn His children for taking advantage of the capability he has put in our hands to kill? 

Alex is panting, labored breaths, chest rising and falling like the ocean’s wicked tide. He drops his head over to the side, sweat dripping across his features in tiny, salty rivulets. He blinks his dark eyes a few times, clearing his vision as he attempts to focus on the pale, unseeing eyes that greet him. 

“He loves you for being all that you were created to be. He loves your bravery and ambition, your intelligence and your hope. Unconditionally. As only a Father can.”

“He sounds quite convincing for not believing a word of it, hm?” Alex’s hushed question is met with the cold silence of the dead. He regrets that he had to take action here, knowing Aaron abhors such graphic fits of violence. But it is a weeknight mass, quiet and held in absence of the choir, the pianist seated just near the altar so she might double as a reader for tonight’s scripture. 

The man had offered him no choice. Alexander had often seen him sitting upon a bench near the playground adjacent the church, watching the children play until the last had gone home. Alex had noticed, he had felt that familiar dread that raised the fine hairs upon his nape, and he knew that the matter needed his attention. 

His perch upon the roof of the chapel was typically overlooked by all but the priest whom called the sanctuary his home, and even he was keen to leave Alexander to his own devices. 

God’s will. He trusts in God’s will, not in you. 

It is a warm summer evening, but he still wears long pants and sleeves, covering every twisted scar and elegant scrawl painted upon his brown flesh. He is accustomed to the heat, considering where he grew up, and he pulls his sleeves down a little more, hood up as he studies the scene before him. 

It was only his second day minding this odd man, and already his is given justification for his suspicion. But he is not satisfied. He is not pleased with himself for having faith in God’s word. No... when he sees the man approach a young boy, handing him what appears to be a chocolate bar from his pocket before beckoning him away from the other kids, Alexander is angry. He is disappointed and disenchanted and so goddamn sad, so goddamn heartbroken... and he speaks to his Father... his Lord... the one for whom he protects these broken, ugly creatures...

“I cannot fix them, Father. I cannot vanquish all these wayward lambs. My God, you would have no flock left to watch.” He feels the heat behind his eyes and he fights it angrily, clenching his teeth and rising up from his perch. 

“But let thy will be done.” He drops from the rooftop with unnatural ease, crouching only a handful of seconds before he rises and makes his way toward the nefarious acts being committed. 

It takes him only a moment to reach the pair. He ignores the indignant look on the man’s face as he pulls the boy aside and tells him to return to his friends.  The child is already retreating when Alex finds himself in pursuit of the adult, the man having taken the opportunity to run, as men do when faced with the truth.

It could not even be labeled a fight, so short was the struggle. And Alex, left with a limp body and adrenaline pumping, had no choice but to lug the man up to the choir loft. Mass would begin any moment, after all, and he could hardly burden Aaron with a murder committed upon the estate. 

He murmered to the unconscious form as he moved, more than accustomed to this art of deception.

“I got you buddy, just a little further and you can sleep off that Irish dinner of yours...” 

He is grateful that almost no one crosses their path, and that even fewer take much interest in them. They manage to make it in through the back entrance and a quarter of the way up the stairs without incident. But God does work in mysterious ways, does he not?

It is then, surrounded by naught more than the distant sound of lambs eager to atone, shifting in their pews, and that old, musky smell that somehow settles as a permanent guest in well-loved temples, that Alexander’s plans are upset by the sharp, biting tip of a blade.

He cries out only briefly, clamping a hand over his mouth as he throws the man off of him, a pale fist clenching weakly at the fabric of his shirt. 

“Fucking die, you piece of shi-” 

The pervert is making his attempt at another meek thrust toward Alex’s neck, and the raven-haired man supresses the urge to pull back, instead pushing forward, forcing the attacker to stumble back, foot slipping off of the step and throwing him off balance long enough for Alex to land both palms solidly against his chest, sending him toppling down the stairs. 

His body hits the door that closes off the stairway from the foyer, and Alexander hopes that the noise is being drowned out by the chiming of the church bells. He wastes no time catching his breath, rushing down the steps and reaching forward to lock the door as he had neglected to before. A few, deep breaths, he gives the wound gifted him a quick assessment before leaning down and checking the man for signs of life. 

But his eyes are open and lacking the soul’s spark, his chest is still and his neck is bent at a notably unnatural angle. 

“No last rites for you, I’m afraid.” He exhales softly, picking up the fallen blade and tucking it away before gritting his teeth and hoisting the man up and over his shoulder, pushing down the pain of exertion and moving slowly up the stairwell. 

And that was how he ended up here, as he is, flat on his back, gasping for air and contemplating his next move. He had no worries about being rid of the corpse... once he had managed to remove it from this holy institute, at any rate. Which could prove to be a slightly tricky task if he hoped to avoid being discovered. 

“When we bow our heads in prayer and contemplation, I encourage you all to reflect upon the questions you have. What in the scripture gives you pause? Is there a question that you have told yourself one mustn’t dare ask? If so, now is the time.” 

“I have a question.” There is a new voice, deep and gruff and noticeably agitated. The creaking of wood indicates that the congregation is shifting in their pews, turning to identify the owner of this voice. 

“And I am here to help you find the answer, my son.” 

“I sure hope you can, Padre.” The voice is moving, the pews groaning as their occupants continue to follow the man’s path toward the altar. 

“See, I saw someone draggin’ my brother into this church just a few minutes ago, and I took a gander about the place while you was preachin’, but I didn’t see ‘im anywhere. You wouldn’t happen to know how to answer that mystery, would ya?” There are a few seconds of heavy silence, and it seems even the congregation is holding its breath, listening, waiting, right along with Alex. And when the man does speak again, the voice is quieter, more menacing, and the words make Alexander’s heart skip and his blood boil. 

“I hope you do, because I’d really, really hate to have to kill a man of God.” 

Alexander is up in a heartbeat, peering over the rail, doing what he can to stay cloaked by the shadow of the dim loft. What he sees only aggravates him further. The man is huge and looks as rough as he sounds, and he is towering over Aaron, standing mere inches before him. There is a spark of pride in Alex’s chest when he notes how steady Aaron appears, unwavering and unafraid. 

“I am afraid that I have seen nothing out of the ordinary this evening. But, if we were all to assist you, I am certain we could find your brother. Was he ill? Is there a chance this person was attempting to help him?” 

As he speaks, Alex wracks his brain for a solution to this little problem, a way to remain unseen and unheard and still put a stop to this man before he can do anything regrettable. 

“Not a good time to play dumb, priesty.” He moves forward, reaching out and clasping Aaron’s shoulder, stoking the fire burning in Alexander’s belly. 

And he knows what needs to be done. He knows how to save the priest and punish the sinner. And who better to do it than a ghost? What has he to fear? 

He crouches down, crawling to the lifeless body and ripping open the man’s shirt. He retrieves the dagger from his waistband, using it to carve into the man’s chest, no less certain in his action than he would be if it were pen to paper. When he is finished, he tucks the blade away, quickly pulling one shoe from the man’s foot, ignoring the pain and the sweat that is dripping down his face as he drags the lifeless pedophile back toward the railing. 

Once finished, he stands and takes in the scene unfolding on the altar below. It is not favorable, to say the least. The man is still near Aaron, still close enough to be touching him, but now he is staring out at the frightened church-goers, a twisted smile on his lips and a mania in his eyes. Aaron, despite how terrified he must be, somehow manages to look entirely at peace and in control of the situation. 

My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.

He needs to act now. He is the power upon which Aaron relies. He is the deliverance the man has preached. He mustn’t leave room for doubt.

“I will ask you one more time, and only one more, where -”

The words are interrupted by the thud of a shoe hitting the floor, the man’s focus quickly shifting toward the object in question. After a moment of confusion, recognition settles over his features, and he releases Aaron with little thought, moving forward and crouching down to retrieve the footwear. He turns it in his hand, looking around and then, finally, up. 

He hardly has the time to draw in a breath before the heavy body of his dead brother is crashing down upon him, pinning him down and drawing out a pained grunt. Alexander follows closely behind, landing with practiced ease, his hood pulled down over his eyes, head bowed and body crouched low as he speaks.

“Go. All of you.” He rises slowly, aggravated by the stunned silence surrounding him as he moves toward the struggling terrorist. 

“Go now!” A few gasps are followed by the sound of the creaking pews and rustling fabric and hurried footsteps, the people rushing to heed his command. He is upon the violent man just as he manages to push his brother’s body off of himself, his eyes barely able to lock onto Alex’s face before the blade has opened his throat, the blood flowing freely while the man chokes on it.  

Even as the man struggles to hold onto his meager life, Alex has ripped open his shirt and set metal to flesh, sketching out the scripture in violent crimson. 

Ne prohibueritis eos!

He steps away from the quickly dying heretic, setting forth in readjusting the cooling corpse of his equally evil brother, making certain that the first responders to the scene will not overlook His message. 

Mea est ultio.

“Forgive them, Father; they know not what they do.” Alexander turns to meet Aaron’s eyes, the air leaving his lungs when he sees the look on the young priest’s face. 

He had been wrong to do this. He had thought Aaron ready to bear witness to the wrath of the Almighty, but now... 

Aaron looked lost. Confused. Terrified. It wasn’t what Alex had wanted for him. Why did he not feel elated? Why was he not in awe of this divine intervention to which he’d borne witness? 

“Be not afraid, Aaron.” Alex rises. He approaches the stunned man carefully, his own dark eyes made darker by the adrenaline, his heart pounding in his chest and his pain all but forgotten. 

“These animals at your feet... they hunted the purest of God’s flock. They stole innocence and planted seeds of hatred.” 

He can hear the sirens approaching, and he knows he has little time. 

“Aaron.” No more than a whisper. He reaches out and trails his fingertips over the priest’s cheekbone, finally gaining the attention he’s been seeking. Aaron looks at him as though he is only just becoming aware of his presence, reaching up to grip his hand as he shakes his head, eyes quicly assessing the taller man’s body. 

“Alexander - you’re injured.” 

“And time will heal me, as it does all wounds.” He squeezes Aaron’s hand, chuckling quietly when the man seems to remember himself, pulling carefully away and taking a small step back. 

“You need a hospital.” 

“And you need to have faith.” Alex doesn’t regret the bite behind his words, even when Aaron flinches and looks away. 

The sirens are much too close now, and Alexander has wasted too much time tending to the priest’s shaken nerves. 

“Pray tonight, Aaron. When dawn arrives, so, too, shall your answer.” 

He heads toward the priest’s quarters, knowing he can escape from there unseen. He doesn’t look back as he retreats, but he sends up a quick prayer of his own. 

“Let him be loyal. Let him be of good faith. Stay his tongue, and stay my blade. Or, come tomorrow, I shall be anointed in blood once more.” 

[jacobbigdickseed]

i had an idea of what would happen if the deputy just took john to the ground instead of shooting him down and killing him, so this is what happens after I guess.

posted on ao3 as well 

there’s a read more, i promise, if it doesn’t show up on mobile i cannot apologize enough lmao

Fields of Holland Valley rolled passed, the truck going fast enough to blur them together so  they were more like smudges of browns and greens. Rook wasn’t planning on slowing down, not until the roads were barred by trees thick enough no one would be able to see them from the sky.

His radio crackled from its place in the center console and Mary May’s voice filtered through the static.

“Dep, I - please, just, if you can hear me - answer as soon as you can. If no one hears from you by tomorrow morning, we - we’ll just - “ The shaky breath she released into the speakers sounded more like popping bubble wrap than it did a sigh, but Rook knew it too well to mistake it for anything else. “Please, just get back here.”

He didn’t like lying to her. Even if it wasn’t exactly lying, the remorse crawled from his chest and into hands, curling his fingers around the steering wheel tighter. It was for the best, though, Rook had to keep reminding himself that.

He pried a hand off the wheel, reached for the radio, and shut it off. John Seed watched the movement, but didn’t say a word.

He’d been like that for well over twenty minutes; silent. It was a drastic difference from when Rook had first shoved him into the passenger seat, when he’d been hissing every curse from under the sun, struggling even though his arms were held behind him, bound by a complicated knot Rook had made from John’s own dumb fucking coat. The way his head lolled back and forth probably wasn’t a good sign, Rook decided. How John had been fighting and resisting before almost made Rook forget he had fallen a few hundred feet from the sky.

While there were a lot of things people could say about the youngest Seed sibling - a good amount no one would be able to argue against - being a bad pilot was not one of them. With the way Nick had knocked him, the plane should have dropped like a rock, but John had managed.

Still, he’d hit the ground hard. Rook wasn’t about to risk everything by driving a Seed to safety only to have him die to a concussion he couldn’t wake up from.

“You’re awfully quiet over there.” He looked away from the road for a second to make sure John could hear him. Sure enough, he was met with the other’s gaze, burning with exhausted rage. It made Rook grin. “Only so many ways you can tell someone you’re gonna carve their skin off, huh? I get that.”

John rolled his eyes - honest to god rolled his eyes - and kept them focused on the sky, like he’d rather burn his retinas from the setting sun rather than look at Rook. He still didn’t say a single thing.

“Seriously.” Rook turned his attention back to the road but kept the grin on his face because he knew it would irritate the other to see it. “What happened to the guy who could never keep his fuckin’ mouth shut, huh? Loved hearin’ himself talk? Couldn’t get through a night without you barking your shit in my ear and now you’ve finally got nothing to say?”

John remained quiet and when Rook spared him another brief look, he was still squinting up at the sky. Rook resisted the urge to knock the sunglasses that were still miraculously perched on his head down and over his eyes, just to be a nuisance; harder for John to ignore. He didn’t, afraid to find out if they actually could move from there or not.

Rook blinked and refocused his vision, remembering to return back to the task of driving.

“Why am I here?” John’s voice was quiet, most likely on account of the wheezing, rattling noise his chest made every so often.

Rook weighed his chances of getting the medical clinic near the Ryes’ house to accept them as patients without alerting the entirety of the county before he responded to the Seed. “I mean, that’s a little introspective, y’know? More soul searching for oneself rather than a topic of conversation, but if that’s what you wanna talk about,” he shrugged. “Unless you meant generally, then - “

“Just kill me,” the other groaned petulantly, mostly a whine but Rook could hear the underlying tone of genuine desperation. He was scared, shocked, confused, Rook could see all of it in the color of his eyes. Saw too much of it, his pupils like pin pricks from the intake of harsh sunlight, only leaving him with blue. John must have been searching Rook, too, found something he wasn’t fond of as well if the next shuddering breath he took was anything to go by.

Rook tore his gaze away again so he didn’t have to look at him.

John leaned forward as far as his bonds would allow, the muscles along his shoulders straining from the pull of it. He didn’t seem to care, or maybe everything else pained him much more for him to notice the duller ache of it. “Joseph saw this coming, all of it, no matter what you did - we knew what was coming. If this is the path you’re making, I’m supposed to be dead. Joseph saw it to be so.”

“That’s not - that’s not how the fucking world works.” Rook bit the inside of his cheek, breathed out through his nose; steadied. “He’s not a goddamned oracle or prophet - he’s just a man, how could he know what I would do?” He pulled the truck on a turn without slowing much, the brakes whined and the momentum pressed him against his door. The road was darker, hidden by the trees like Rook had intended, but he still felt cut open and bare for the world to see. The world and John fucking Seed. “I didn’t come here for that,” he confessed. “I was just a replacement for Williams ‘cause he called in sick. I wasn’t even supposed to be here. I never wanted to hurt anybody - never wanted to kill anybody.”

“Liar.” The way John said it, low and on an exhale, made the word come out like a hiss, like a curse. Rook flinched when he heard it, but only slightly. “You came down on our project like a plague. Dozens of our followers lay dead on the street by your hands and you’ve never batted an eye.” He jolted in his seat suddenly and Rook knew it was a subconscious attempt to grab at him, pull at his shoulders until the only thing he could see was John, only hear his voice, only feel the grip, like a vice on his skin. It frustrated him to be held down, so much so that he continued speaking through the grit of his teeth. “Never batted an eye and yet you still refuse to see. I carved it into you, wrote it across your chest so you would be reminded every,” he took a breath. “Waking,” another one. “Moment.” He let the silence sit between them for a moment, the air in the cab so tense it sat like lead in Rook’s chest. “You still don’t see it,” John whispered finally, then scoffed as if in disbelief, shook his head. “You don’t care.”

Rook veered off the road with a violent jerk, the tires kicking up dirt and mud until they finally rolled to a stop. He counted to three, looked at John, looked away, counted again. “I do care. But they - none of these people will stop until I deal with you. You and your family.”

“Dealing with us,” John repeated slowly, anger still evident in his voice. “This is dealing with us? Going on the run from my men and your own?” He punctuated himself by jerking his chin at the silenced radio between them. “If you were smart, you would have killed me. My chosen will find us. They’re trained - “

“I know, I know.” He sighed and leaned forward to rest his forehead on the steering wheel. “Trained hunters, best of the best, pros at what they do. I fucking know. I’ve seen Brother Jacob’s training grounds.”

When he finally lifted his head after a few more calming moments, he found John still hung forward, strung up by his seatbelt threaded through his coat’s tied up sleeves. He was staring passed Rook, outside his window, somewhere else entirely. It reminded Rook of just hours before, how John had been sat over his hips with a hand running over his bare chest, hot with Rook’s own blood. He spoke about sin then, too, but with the same far away look in his eyes; expression dazed as if he was remembering something he thought he had buried deeper than he had.

“Why am I still alive?” He asked again.

No matter how long he tried to hide it, the answer would never change. Obvious, like a puzzle he’d already solved time and time again, or a knife stuck through his skull. If he were a better man, someone with more worth and sense, Rook would have hesitated. But he wasn’t, so he didn’t. “I want to save you.”

John laughed something ugly, a rasp from his throat that sounded more like a cough. He slumped back in his seat, head thumping against the rest behind it. “I was already saved.”

In order to resist begging the other to understand the insanity in his defense, Rook switched gears and parked the truck so he could curl his fists over his knees. There were layers and layers of trauma and violence and conditioning Rook would have had to dig through to get John to see it. He imagined it would have been akin to hammering through concrete with only his hands. There were just too many reasons for John to be the way he is, but none of them made it right.

Rook heard the rumors of John Duncan when he spent enough time in the valley. It didn’t mean much to him until he found himself strapped to a chair in the man’s bunker. He told Rook about his upbringing, hesitated before he called the people his parents, went on to describe how they had beaten their faith into him until it was all he knew. The wrong faith. Joseph found him, had shown him that. John used prettier words when he recounted the tale, though; a stark contrast to the hand on Rook’s throat. Despite it all, Rook was enamored. And high, for lack of a better term, having just woken up from a Bliss bullet to his thigh. Whatever the reason, he soaked up every word and touch John gave him, leaned into him, never took his eyes off of him. John had noticed that, practically preened from Rook’s devoted attention. Hudson, who had been sat across the room from him, noticed as well. She screamed through her gag like she was begging him to come to his senses, but he hadn’t, not until John had left, dragging her with him.

Sitting in the truck now, Rook wondered if he ever truly did come to his senses.

He mimicked John’s busted laugh without meaning to. “I think we have different meanings for the word ‘saved’, then.”

John made a noise, almost a groan but cut off short so it was more like a thoughtful hum. “I wish Joseph would’ve just let us kill you all.”

“Yeah,” Rook agreed. They listened to the rumble of the truck’s engine, Rook tapping his fingers along to it. “What the fuck am I going to do?”

“The smart thing,” John suggested. Rook laughed again, because evidently he was not prone to choosing the smart thing and John goddamned Seed was not one to talk. “You have been cleansed in our rivers,” John continued anyway, pointedly ignoring his amusement. “I have exposed you to your sin. All that is left is for you to confess - to accept the Father’s word into your heart. He saw it like he had seen everything else; you, standing in the Garden of our new world.” He was back to staring at Rook with those large, desperate eyes, like all he needed from the world was Rook’s agreement - for him to say yes. “I just need to get you to see.”

That night, the night Rook thought back to so many times, where he received his second baptism was when things started making more sense to him regarding the youngest Seed brother. He remembered how immediate John’s muscles had frozen at the sound of the Father’s gentle-voiced scolding. Rook had never torn his eyes off of him, even though they stung from river water and Bliss, just so the image of John shamefaced and terrified would be hard to forget. He was still rigid when his brother brought their foreheads together, maybe even more so then. This one shall reach the Atonement. Or the Gates of Eden will be shut to you, John.

The intensity of John’s actions were driven by something deeper than the need to save as many as he could by way of confession, something more personal. Without Rook, there would be no John. He found himself staring at the letters scratched into the other’s chest and wondered if that had anything to do with it. If his sloth was the reason behind it all, as he would perish without the help of others. Maybe John was never clean himself, had yet to reach his own atonement - and Rook was it. To cleanse one would save the other, and together they would walk, side by side, to the supposed end of the world.

He hated that all of their madness started making sense to him. He wished John had just drowned him in that fucking river.

Rook breathed in deep, let it out as a long, suffering sigh that ended with a firm “fuck”.

“I wish you weren’t so fucking crazy,” he said at last.

John didn’t snap back like Rook thought he would. He kept staring, waiting, Rook realized, because it was the first time he didn’t dismiss his long winded speech with a fuck off as his definitive no thank you.

“Deputy?”

Rook returned his gaze back to him, like he always would. All of the Seeds had something magnetic about them, but John always had drawn him in. The bastard knew it, too, smiled something wicked when Rook didn’t look away; manic and large, fucking feral. His eyes were blue, made up of poems Rook wished he knew how to recite so he could put an exact pin on the feeling they gave him. If he had known the words to describe them, maybe it would have grounded him, set him steadier on his feet so it would’ve been harder for John goddamned Seed to knock him off them. He didn’t know them.

Rook was finding he didn’t know much of fucking anything.

lemme know if there’s any mistakes or if the read more didn’t fucking work i’m so paranoid about that shit

[words-writ-in-starlight]

George Cooper for the hc meme!

Wow, okay, plumbing the fucking DEPTHS of childhood reading here.  I’m pretty sure you mean George Cooper from the Tortall universe, and I will freely admit that I’m not SUPER familiar, but all right, let’s do this.  These are going to be much shorter because it’s been 95 years since I read anything that included George as a major character.

Send me a character and I’ll write 10 headcanons!

George never really meant to become the Rogue.  Really.  He’s just charming like that.  He made some friends, pulled off a few spectacular jobs and made some enemies, made some more friends, made some more enemies, got in a fight, and somehow wound up King.  No one was more confused than George himself.

No one ever believes George when he tells them this.  Literally not even Alanna.  (Actually Alanna does believe him, because while George seems like he plans everything, he’s helped along by a healthy portion of sheer dumb luck.  But it’s funnier to pretend she doesn’t believe him.)

George is also King of the Bisexuals.  He doesn’t give a single fuck.  Sometimes Alanna ties up her hair and binds her chest and wants to be called Alan and George is good with that.  Other days she wears beautiful dresses and paints her lips red and leaves kiss marks on his cheeks, and George is good with that too.  His kids could show up dating a Stormwing and George would probably learn to deal.

George never really thought of himself as the paternal type--older brotherly, maybe, by virtue of being the Rogue and having to take care of a bunch of idiot baby thieves who keep getting caught, but he honestly expected to be a mess as a parent.  He got arrested when he was six, he’s a terrible role model, no one let him near children, or so goes his thought process.  He’s been pleasantly surprised, overall.  Turns out he’s doing pretty good at this whole thing.

HOO boy George wants to adopt Daine.  Like.  He takes one look at this stubborn angry orphan with magic wildly out of her control and he’s like “You know who we should adopt, my love?  That kid.”  Alanna’s like “she’s traveling with Numair and they’re trying to save the world” and George is like “yes but we should still adopt her.”  Daine gets care packages.  They’re very George And Alanna care packages containing nonperishable food and knives.

George actually thinks Thayet is a strong contender for the greatest person he knows.  He saw her straight up murder a riding contest and shoot five targets out of the air from a galloping horse and there is nothing that will convince him that it wasn’t the absolute coolest shit in the world.

George works very hard to be completely unflappable.  He is eminently gratified with his success when he’s able to keep a completely straight face when a goddamn dragon comes booming in to wreck the shit out of a fleet of ships, closely followed by a fucking kraken, no really Alanna he’s adopting that girl and you can’t stop him.

Related to George’s determination to adopt Daine, he’s one of several shovel talks that Numair sits through after that starts happening, post Immortals War.  Somehow, despite the fact that two of the shovel talks Numair received were from an actual god, George is still easily the most intimidating.  

George is a bit nervous around horses.  He’s a competent rider, but he also grew up a firm devotee of the rule that one should never put one’s faith in someone or something that might toss you aside for a sufficiently tempting meal.  Not a fan of horses, by and large, less a fan of being a noble and therefore being expected to ride everywhere.

I cannot help myself George is into pegging and we all know it, that’s all, sorry if I’ve damaged your childhood in any way.

[ladyloveandjustice]

The Great Ace Attorney Replay: Trials and Tribulations, Case 5, the final part

Phoenix and Miles meet and Miles basically gives him a motivational speech

“U GOTTA FIGHT WRIGHT!!!” 

And Phoenix is all “YEAH U DON’T HAVE TO TELL ME!!!!”

“I KNOW U CAN DO IT U HAVE THAT LOOK IN YOUR EYE YOU’RE GONNA DO IT”

“YEAH I’M GONNA DO IT GONNA GET THIS GUY!”

And then they double high-five in the middle of the lobby or something.

Miles:  I leave the rest in your capable hands... partner.

PARTNER IN LAW. PARTNER IN LIFE. PARTNER IN LOVE. AMIRITE.

I dunno how chatty I’ll be during this trial because there are only so many ways to say “I hate Godot so much”. (Note from the future- I will still be chatty).

Dahlia is so good at being passive aggressive during this whole trial. I like this heartless serial murderer so much better than u Godot.

And we finally reveal that Dahlia is in the courtroom hanging with us, not Iris

Phoenix: Did you say the plan was to kill Maya?

Dahlia: Yes? You got a problem with that?

YES DAHLIA I KNOW YOU DON’T UNDERSTAND OR LIKE FEELINGS BUT MOST PEOPLE WOULD HAVE A PROBLEM WITH SOMEONE TRYING TO KILL THEIR BESTIE.  

She insisting Maya is dead and this part:

Phoenix: Th-That's absurd! M-Maya is just... She's just trapped! Trapped inside the Sacred Cavern!

Dahlia: Really...? You're as foolishly optimistic as ever, aren't you... my darling Feenie?

Phoenix: ...!

Dahlia: Do you want to know the truth? Ever since we met... I've despised you. Your sniveling naïveté and your pathetic faith in other people.

Just always give me chills. SHE’S SO DELICIOUSLY EVIL.

I mean she’s basically going “HAHA LOOK AT YOU CARING ABOUT PEOPLE AND HAVING EMOTIONS. LOSER.”

Dahlia was super disappointed when she couldn’t take revenge on Mia from beyond the grave. OR COULD SHE? She decided to “go after the person Mia Fey loved most.”

HEY GODOT. DO YOU HEAR THAT. MAYA IS THE PERSON MIA LOVES MOST IN THE WORLD. AND YET YOU PUT HER IN DANGER FOR YOUR STUPID EGO. IT’S ALMOST LIKE YOU DIDN’T REALLY LOVE MIA AND ONLY LOVE YOURSELF.

AT LEAST DAHLIA’S HONEST ABOUT HER ISSUES.

Ohh yeesh I forgot how intense this got. Dahlia tries to convince Phoenix that Maya accidentally killed her mother, then killed herself out of guilt. Phoenix is of course like “WTF NO” but you can see him starting to panic. IT IS PHOENIX’S ETERNAL CURSE TO THINK HIS LOVED ONES HAVE COMMITTED SUICIDE.

At least it only lasts two seconds this time.

Christ, both Phoenix and especially Maya need so much therapy after this case. Pearl too.

GUESS WHAT MAYA REALLY DID. GOT HER SIS’S ADVICE AND CHANNELED DAHLIA HERSELF SO DAHLIA COULDN’T KILL HER. The moment where Mia appears and is like “lol owned” will always be one of the greatest moments in Ace Attorney.

Haha I forgot how HARD Phoenix and Mia verbally eviscerate Dahlia. They tag-team it too.

Phoenix: WOW GEE THAT SURE DIDN’T WORK OUT DID IT DAHLIA. SURE GOT OWNED HARD THERE.

Mia: OF COURSE YOU MUST BE USED TO GETTING OWNED BY NOW.

Dahlia: what no shut up

Phoenix: Did that kidnapping thing- owned by Mia Fey. Tried to kill me- LOOK WHO’S STILL ALIVE, MOTHERFUCKER! AND BY SHEER DUMB LUCK THAT MAKES IT EVEN WORSE HAHA! Poisoned some other dudes- owned by Mia Fey.

Dahlia: YEAH WELL…WELL…YOU HAVE FEELINGS AND FEELINGS ARE DUMB…

Phoenix: Tried to kill Maya…owned by Mia Fey….

Dahlia: STOP LOOKING SO GODDAMN SMUG IF IT WASN’T FOR MIA FEY YOU WOULD HAVE GOTTEN EXECUTED INSTEAD OF ME. I ONLY DIED BECAUSE OF MIA FEY.

Mia: True!

Dahlia: ….

Mia: Looks like no matter what I’ll always own you. Even death cannot stop me from owning you. For all eternity you’ll be Dahlia Hawthorne: That lady who got super owned by Mia Fey

Dahlia: but HOW COULD I LOSE?

Phoenix: Hey Dahlia, guess what! Nobody gives a shit.

*Phoenix and Mia high five*

Phoenix: Now GTFO of Maya.

SO SATISFYING. EPIC HERO-VILLAIN LADY RIVALRIES ARE MY EVERYTHING and Mia and Dahlia hit my sweet spot. SUCH A PASSIONATE HATE-ON. And Phoenix getting to be spell out exactly how badly she messed up after everything she did to him and how he looked down on him for his dumb feelings-it’s the best

THIS SURE WOULD BE A GREAT WAY TO END THE CASE. BUT NO WE GOTTA DEAL WITH GODOT’S BULLSHIT.

Like seriously. He could just confess that he murdered Misty Fey RIGHT NOW and not waste everyone’s fucking time. BUT NO. Let’s drag Maya, who is completely exhausted and deeply traumatized after almost being killed and witnessing the murder of her own mother, onto the witness stand and make her relive the entire horrible experience YOU PUT HER THROUGH because you don’t give a shit about anything other than ~testing~ Phoenix.

I like that Dahlia has a backstory where you can see where her “look out for number one” and “feelings are dumb” mindset came from. Her Mom abandoned her, her dad set an example by loving no one, ditching people when they were inconvenient for him and only caring about money. You can see why she decided to do the same. It doesn’t excuse what she did obvs, but there is a logical thread to her actions beyond “she’s just a demon child” and that gives her some dimension as a character, even while being so unrepentantly evil.

Mia makes sure Nick’s realized Godot was the killer and then says she’s gonna peace out- I’m sure you could give a lot of explanations for why she recused herself from the trial indicting Godot (like her ~feelings~ ugh)- but I’m gonna  say its cuz she knew if she spent any more time in Godot’s presence she wouldn’t be able to restrain herself from running across the courtroom and beating the shit out of him for putting her little sister in danger and killing her mother for the sake of his macho revenge fantasy.

She would have been fine doing that normally, but she’s in Pearl’s body right now and she doesn’t want Pearl to suddenly wake up with a man’s blood on her hands. She’s been through enough.

 SO IT’S UP TO PHOENIX.

Godot fucking yelling at Maya not to cry after all the bullshit he put her through and the fact she wouldn’t have to even be on this stand reliving this bullshit if he just fucking owned up to what he did I HATE HIM SO MUCH.

She’s trying so hard to protect him NO MAYA IT WAS HIS FAULT THIS SHIT HAPPENED TO YOU

Like he knew Morgan has hidden the note! He found it! It was unsealed when Pearl found it! He could have just taken the note! That is literally all he had to do! That’s not all! He could have explained to Pearl why she couldn’t listen to her mother! He could have TOLD MAYA SOMEONE WAS TRYING TO KILL HER.

But nope. He just leaves to note for Pearl and lets everyone go through with this entire murder attempt because he wanted to “save Maya” and feel all manly. HE. IS. NOT. WORTH. PROTECTING.

The only good part about Maya protecting Godot is seeing her call Nick out on the holes in his logic. AND U THOUGHT U HAD IT TOUGH WITH MILES.

And also! At one point the judge says Maya will be suspected for the murder if Phoenix can’t prove it’s Godot! So he the possibility of Maya going to jail/being executed in his place literally came up and Godot STILL didn’t confess. WOW  DEEP LOVE FOR HIS BELOVED’S MOST TREASURED PERSON HE HAS THERE.

Defeating him is so satisfying at least. BLOWIN’ YOUR MASK UP.

 And in the end, even he admits he wasn’t really concerned with saving Maya…because he didn’t tell Phoenix what was going on. OKAY. OR ACTUALLY YOU COULD HAVE TOLD MAYA HERSELF. I’m not saying Nick would not have probably been more helpful to Maya’s situation than you were, because literally anyone would be, but THE BEST WAY for her not to get murdered is to tell her “HEY MORGAN FEY IS TRYING TO SUMMON SOMEONE TO MURDER YOU THROUGH PEARL, MAYBE TALK TO PEARL ABOUT THIS AND ALSO DON’T GO ANYWHERE ALONE FOR A WHILE.”

Like even after admitting he messed up and his grudge against Phoenix makes no fucking sense, he still does the exact same shit! Only men are people worthy of being told anything! Women aren’t allowed to know what’s happening to them! They don’t get to make decisions about their own lives! Only men can make decisions for them!

And he STILL makes Mia’s death about him and how he “failed to protect her”. It is just so disrespectful to her, acting like he could have somehow done something she didn’t to prevent her death when he couldn’t even protect HIMSELF from being poisoned. Mia died doing what she believed in. She knew the risks and she accomplished her goal. She was satisfied. Her death was about her, not Phoenix and definitely not YOU.

So no, I really don’t feel sorry for him, nn matter how much the game wants me to.

I’m always kinda ehhh about the reveal Iris was subbing for Dahlia. I mean it’s nice for Nick and all and it is incredibly unlikely Dahlia would have had the patience go on all those dates with Phoenix and pretend she gave a shit, she would have murdered him the first night.

But on another level it’s feels unnecessary to say “see Phoenix was right to believe in her, because he wasn’t REALLY dating Dahlia, it was Iris and she did actually care about him!” Like, Phoenix’s belief in people is a positive thing, but I think it’s more meaningful if he’s y’know, not always unfailingly correct.

Having faith in people means sometimes you can have people not worthy of that faith take advantage of it. And I think the thing with Dahlia impacted Phoenix and helped him realize he can’t just be a total doormat for people and believe in them even when shit’s clearly suspicious. This was an important lesson for Phoenix, and also something that left him with some issues. Being like “oh yeah but he was also right kind of” just kinda dilutes that.

It doesn’t RUIN it, since he still did trust someone he absolutely should not have trusted in Dahlia and the betrayal had a lasting impact on him regardless of Iris’s involvement, but it’s just like “eh” for me.

Also it comes off like they were trying to set her up as a potential love interest- obviously they didn’t actually go through with it since she is NEVER MENTIONED AGAIN after this- but egh, if they had... it doesn’t work on so many levels and I’m not just saying that because it disrupts the otp. Like first of all, she did still lie to Phoenix about who she was for months (I hope they didn’t have sex because that could. Technically be a crime on your part, Iris) and I can’t see that baggage being easy to deal with.

Also, I hate to say it, but Iris is boring. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with her, but her connection to Dahlia and the insight on her she provided is about the only thing interesting about her. Her entire personality can be summed up as “shy and nice”. Which is fine. Not every character has to be the fascinating, and she served her function in the plot. But in a series full of quirky, complex, dynamic characters, it’s kinda like. Literally anyone would have a more entertaining romantic dynamic with Phoenix.

(Not saying that Iris couldn’t have potentially been turned into a more interesting character if writers had been interested in it. There’s a lot to work with, considering her tragic past. But as it stood in the game, there’s zero spark there)

Also, judging from the people he’s closest to and spends the most time with, Nick prefers to hang around people who are the opposite of demure, who he can banter and argue with constantly. HE REALLY LIKES ARGUING. IT’S HIS CHOSEN CAREER. I think there was even an interview where the writers said Nick’s type is “someone who would boss him around”. And Iris is not that person. (And Phoenix is also way more sarcastic now than he was in college and I’m not sure if she’d be into that either.)

So yeah I’M GLAD THEY DIDN’T GO THROUGH WITH THAT basically.

I AM glad we went through with putting Godot in jail though. Mia’s just like “nope, don’t feel guilty, it’s fine, this was the best thing to do for him”. I will cling to my theory that she is super disgusted with him. U can’t take it away.

Lol at Maya deciding she’s on a first name basis with Franziska and they’re friends now and being able to make her be nice to Larry just by pouting. Thus a ship was born. They really would have had a fun dynamic I wish we could see more of it.

There’s also the part where Fran is genuinely confused with why Maya is being so cheerful in the wake of losing her parent:

Edgeworth: ...Wright. You seem to be uncharacteristically puzzled. I suspect you are wondering how Maya can be so cheerful despite all that has happened?

Phoenix: Y-Yeah...

Franziska: To be honest... I can't understand it either.

Phoenix: (Franziska... That's right... She lost her father fairly recently as well...)

So she does seem to sympathize with Maya and seem really interested in why her reaction to grief is so different from hers. when Miles and Phoenix say they get why Maya’s doing this, she DEMANDS TO KNOW. What is WITH Maya Fey, how does she work, Fran is fascinated. 

She’s learning about things she doesn’t understand and expanding her worldview thanks to Maya already and that could be another interesting bit of their relationship to explore- similar trauma, different ways of coping, they can sort of connect and learn from each other on that level.

I’ve mentioned that I really like Miles and Maya’s friendship, and this little dialogue exchange coming up is kinda the culmination of that. It’s not just that they both like the Steel Samurai, or both know Nick or anything- they actually have a pretty deep connection and weird understanding of each other. They both witnessed a parent die, they both experienced trauma connected to the DL-6 incident- Miles understands what Maya’s going through in a way Phoenix doesn’t, because Phoenix hasn’t experienced the same loss. And he sees the pain under her cheerful attitude.

Miles: I think I understand how she feels. Maya is a much wiser person than she appears, and I think she realizes something... Now is exactly the time when she needs to be as strong as she can.

Franziska; Wh-What do you mean by, "Now is exactly the time"...?

Edgeworth: Maya wasn't the only one that was badly wounded by this incident. In fact, there was someone that was hurt far more deeply than she. I believe it's for that person that Maya is trying her best not to cry.

Phoenix: (Someone who was hurt more deeply than Maya...) Edgeworth... I think I'm starting to understand, too.)

(She’s doing it for Pearl)

Phoenix: After all, the reason [Pearl] she worked so hard to follow the instructions... ...was because she loved and believed in her mother, Morgan. "It's for the good of the Fey clan"... I'm sure she believed in every last word. She thought she was doing it for Maya... That's why she was so happy. It shows how truly devoted she is to Maya.

Edgeworth: But it's a cruel irony that it was her exuberance that led to this tragedy. Maya Fey's mother was killed and Maya herself was put into the deepest peril imaginable.

Phoenix: (And that's exactly why Maya is putting on a brave face... She's doing it for Pearls's sake... Until she can see her smile again...)

I mentioned this in my last liveblog, but not only is Miles familiar with trying to be “strong” in the wake of tragedy, he also gets what Maya’s doing for Pearl because he’s sort of trying to do the same thing for Franziska right now- he’s pretty messed up over all the von Karma stuff. But he doesn’t blame Franziska for the connection she had to the person who ruined his life or for her attempts to be loyal to him. He recognizes Franziska is just as messed up over the revelations with VK and just as damaged by him, if not more so. So he’s trying to be strong and set a good example for Franziska right now, leaving the past behind and helping them both move one with their lives. And that is exactly the situation with Maya and Pearl.

So yeah, in addition to all the other things Maya and Miles have in common, they both basically have little sisters they feel responsible for and want to help and understand that about each other. ACE OLDER SIBLINGS.

Maya does indeed ace it as a big sis and manages to reassure and comfort Pearl. Her mother is gone, but Nick and Pearl are always there for her, and she loves her family.

Phoenix decided to end the trilogy with a dramatic monologue:

 "It's only natural for living creatures to fight to protect their own lives. But what makes us human is that we fight for others. But who do you fight for? How hard must you fight...? That's the true measure of what human life is worth.

CAN YOU TELL THIS BOY WAS AN ART MAJOR BECAUSE I SURE CAN/.

"We defense attorneys are warriors who are constantly challenged by that question' 

Yeah you’re a warrior champ. Whatever makes you feel cool.

"Even when the battle is over, and the bonds that connect us are severed... We always return... Time and time again. Mia, Maya, Pearl [REDACTED I HATE HIM]... I learned that... from all of them."

 I’M GLAD HE’S LEARNED THIS AMAZING WISDOM ABOUT LIFE FROM THE AWESOME FEYS  AND ABSOLUTELY NO ONE ELSE.

Gr8 anime protagonist speech Phoenix. Your heart has been made fullmetal.

NOW IT’S CREDITS TIME.

Maya: I'll really have to work extra hard now! Master of Kurain and the office manager of Wright & Co. Law Offices. And I have to be a good big sister to Pearly and Nick, too!

Other things Franziska and Maya have in common: insisting guys older than them are their “little brothers”. I love it. YOU BIG SIS THE HELL OUT OF NICK, MAYA, TEACH HIM THE WAY OF THE WORLD.

Maya: Well, as long as I'm not locked up or captured or something like that.

Sorry about ur life Maya. Things will indeed not get better for you in that respect *sigh*.

Franziska taught Adrian how to use a whip everyone must now bow down to their dom lesbian overlords.

Nick actually went with Maya to her special meditation course and did the whole thing with her AMAZING. He’s like an honorary Fey now, which is probably terrifying.

Well, that finishes the game! God this game is so weird, It would definitely be my favorite- it has a lot of great parts, I love playing it, you really get a little of everyone, but it also has to have the most SUPREMELY ANNOYING PARTS in the whole series aka Godot’s whole existence. So I can’t say for sure it’s my fave because of that. But maybe it is. I don’t know. Why’s Godot gotta complicate everything.

Anyway, next up is Apollo Justice. Which on my first playthrough, it’s my least favorite game of the current six in the main series. Let’s see if I’ll have a better opinion of it this time or stand by that assessment.