#is... one hell of a indictment really

[ssaalexblake]

It is, objectively, super funny that the Trek fandom in general is sitting around hoping that STP ignores their faves and doesn’t try and involve them. I mean, it’s many other things as well, but it’s funny that I keep being recommended random posts of random people crossing their fingers hoping that their blorbos will be ignored, never be seen on screen, and therefore saved from anything from bad characterisation to death via stupid contrived avoidable circumstance. 

[wilwheaton]

For some odd reason, moderator Jake Tapper told Trump in the beginning that he didn't need to answer the questions and that he could use the time however he wanted. Trump ran with that, essentially giving a rally speech whenever he had the floor and was unresponsive to the vast majority of the questions. He made faces and insulted Biden to his face, at one point calling him a criminal and a Manchurian candidate. If anyone had said 10 years ago that this would happen at a presidential debate they would have been laughed out of the room. After the debate when most of the country had turned off cable news or gone to bed, CNN aired its fact check. [...] Even had Joe Biden been at the top of his game, he would not have been able to parry all those lies and he shouldn't have been put in the role of being Donald Trump's fact checker. His choice was to either ignore the lies and let them stand so he could use his time to make his own case or spend the entire debate correcting the record. It was not a fair fight. It's obvious that Biden's terrible performance has caused panic among Democrats and liberal pundits and analysts. The calls for him to withdraw are loud and meaningful and it's going to be a very rough period in this campaign whatever happens. For me, this isn't really a question. As long as Donald Trump is on the ballot, I will vote for the Democratic nominee. If it's Biden or someone else, the calculation remains the same. Nothing is worse than another Trump administration and I suspect that at the end of the day Democratic voters will agree with that. So it's still a matter of those undecided voters in swing states, just like it was on Thursday morning.

CNN's debate was no fair fight

CNN, yet again, gave Trump a national stage to vomit an endless stream of unchecked lies, and today, CNN is telling itself and anyone who will listen that the network and its moderators did a great job. That’s just plainly false, and America is paying the price for their failure.

That doesn’t let Biden off the hook. Biden had a terrible night. He was so bad, it’s allowed the political press to completely ignore not just how much Trump lied, but what he lied about: January 6, all his indictments, his Covid response, and on and on. President Biden was a disaster, and his campaign should be at DefCon 1 to try and repair all the damage. I am terrified that his awful performance will obscure his surprisingly good record and leadership in the post-insurrection era, and give the political press an excuse to run with “Biden is old” in the face of Trump’s endless lies, his felony convictions, his pending trials, and all of his criminality. Someone at Salon said that Trump didn’t win, but Biden absolutely lost. I can’t argue with that, even if the facts are all on Biden’s side.

I’ve seen President Biden on TV today, and even last night after the debate, where he didn’t come across as an ancient dude who needs a walker on his way to some Matlock reruns. He looks and sounds like the SOTU Biden we all expected would show up last night. I have no idea why he was so awful for 99% of the debate (the campaign says he has a cold), and I have no idea why the guy who is showing up to speak to supporters today, and who delivered the SOTU didn’t show up last night to save America from Trump, again.

But we have to live with this reality now, and I hope like hell that the Biden campaign, the candidate, and the entire Democratic party apparatus scrambles like fucking crazy to get all hands on deck to fix this, and remind voters that

This isn’t about BIden vs. Trump. This is about America vs. Project 2025.

There will be no second debate where Biden can try to salvage something out of the wreckage of this one. Trump has everything to lose and nothing to gain. Trump will crow about how he won, and declare he has no reason to debate again, and he’s right. Biden had one shot and he absolutely blew it. The moderators did not help, but the campaign had to have known they wouldn’t, and it sure looks like they didn’t prepare Biden for what we all knew was coming. I don’t know how those same people stop the bleeding, and if they can’t, America and the world are in real, real trouble.

But we all have to remember that we have a choice to make in just a few months. Right now, and probably on election day, the choice is between Joe Biden and Democracy, or Donald Trump and Fascism. It’s stark, it’s clear, it’s binary, and I can not believe that it is even a question. I just hope that there are enough voters out there who will understand that we do have a choice. The options suck, but we do have a choice.

Please choose Democracy. Please choose America. Please choose the future world our children will inherit from us.

[monosanimegenericzone]

Hunter x Hunter: Conspiracy theory

this is a big leap and a reach and feeds my narrative satisfaction.

and it involves HEAVY troupe copium and apologist things of that nature.

you've been warned. proceed with a grain of salt.

(also gonna. put it under a break bcs this got long as hell XD)

I think the troupe was not solely responsible for the kurtan massacre and are on the Black Whale 1 to show the one responsible that they aren't going to continue to protect his clean record.

allow me to explain, starting with yorknew.

so i have had this theory knocking around in my head that the yorknew auction was meant to be a sort of finale or huge thing. because that was a big deal right, that's the world mafia they're pissing off.

AND it was weird bcs chrollo wanted everything at the auction. the troupe calls him out on that. and since we all know chrollo is a theatrical bastard, there is a meaning behind everything so this is no different.

so why does he want to declare war on the world mafia.

here's what we know.

meteor city was selling their own people to the mafia for a guarantee of safety from the black market. we don't know if these people went willingly or not but it was why the mafia didn't want to continue to pursue the troupe. the connection between meteor city and the world mafia was very important.

we know a few things changed between the troupe flashback and present day.

a) the troupe gained a reputation. until yorknew, apparently no one knew they were from meteor city.

b) the elders learned how to use nen. at the very least, we know of one counteractive nen ability that was used to protect the city's citizens from unfair indictment. there were probably more but we dont know for sure.

c) the mafia had gotten really comfortable with their connection with meteor city, now relying more on the city than the city relied on it.

chrollo was the one who most likely set up this relationship. it was his promise to set up the city as a hub for criminals so that he could personally witness and sift through the absolute scum of the earth to find sarasa's killers.

so based on all of this:

Yorknew City was meant to be the start of chrollo's grand finale to tear down the criminal infrastructure in meteor city.

but, things happened. and he got his ass beat.

POINT IS: Chrollo organizes his attacks with purpose.

.... SO WHY THE FUCK IS THIS DUMBASS TRYING TO ATTACK THE KAKIN FUCKING EMPIRE.

"attack" being an exaggeration but cmon. stealing from is the same thing as coming over and spitting in their food.

here's where the conspiracy theory comes in.

what if the kurta massacre wasn't exclusively done the troupe.

yes this is the part with the troupe apologist bullshit but hear me out. i have something interesting to share.

so at this point we know the troupe doesn't do petty theft anymore. this isn't just a "hey the kakin empire is rich. lets rob them :D" job. chrollo on a mission.

i saw this on twitter and a single post led down this downward spiral. (images are linked to the post)

so these pages stood out to me. the troupe never starts fights? that sounds stupid. sound goofy even.

but it's true.

or, phrased correctly, the troupe doesn't start fights they don't know how to finish. since chrollo is the head, they all function as his limbs, meaning they share his mentality when approaching combat: he will not take fights he can't guarantee he will win.

that being said, as shown in the pages above, they will ALWAYS pick up the gauntlet. if someone picks a fight with THEM, the entire gang will spin the block. aint no one surviving.

in the succession war arc, they were framed for the murder of a char-r member because luini was a toxic fan.

so here's the hypothetical: what if the troupe was framed for the kurta massacre?

we know their hands aren't clean. uvo, chrollo, phinks and pakunoda all recall the killing, so that's evidence they were there for it.

here's some things I don't understand about the event though.

a) the kurta were supposedly super well hidden, to the point that when kurapika was shown in vol 0/the phantom rouge, there were tribe traditions that forbade anyone that couldn't hide their eyes properly from going outside of the village. this was like. i think 1 year or so before the massacre.

b) when exactly did the eyes become relevant to body part collection? if it is believed that the troupe attacked the clan for the money that the eyes sell for, that means there must have been some already on the market. we dont get confirmation of this

c) how was a process for preserving magic eyes conceived at this time? im flabbergasted.

leaning mostly on point b, the kurta clan must have had previous victims of their scarlet eyed members getting got. which leads to point a, heightened protection of the kurtans with scarlet eyes.

but, as is anything in the hxh world, if there is something rare, there will always be a market for it.

now keep in mind what i said before: the troupe never picks up fights unless they know they can win and unless there's an ulterior motive. money doesn't matter to them, neither does infamy. at this point they're grade A bounties so yeah, neither of those things mean jack shit.

so i raise the idea that was in that twitter post: what if someone framed the spiders for the massacre and they took it in stride. that's free street cred, of course they claim ownership.

but let's go back and analyze, because who in their right mind would pick these randoms.

the kakin empire would. or someone associated with a high seat of power that can't afford to be tainted with something like genocide.

let's look at fourth prince tserreidnich.

im not saying he specifically pointed the finger at the spiders, but he was most likely the benefactor that wanted the scarlet eyes in the first place. he would stop at no means and he lets his people handle the dirty work.

he even has a damn head that is probably also kurtan.

so let's go out on a limb and say that tserreidnich ordered a party of mercenaries to track down the kurta clan so he could expand his collection. but, obviously, the group can't take the blame, so they pin it on the troupe or claim to be the troupe.

and because the troupe was wronged all of those years ago, chrollo is now aiming a full frontal assault against the kakin empire. hisoka is just a side quest. chrollo *remembers* how he was wronged.

so to recap. here's how the theory says the story goes.

the phantom troupe is in lukso province for whatever reason. probably to target the large movement of body part collectors to the region or something completely unrelated.

the 4th prince's team moves into the kurta village and starts taking the eyes. the kurtans successfully fight back and demand to know who they are. they answer, "we're the spiders"

and the kurtans, now hell bent on revenge for their fallen, seek out the troupe and pick a fight. and the troupe being the troupe, pick up the gauntlet no questions asked.

(alt. the kurtans seek out a powerful ally in the troupe to fight back against what we assume are trained human hunters and when they fail, beg to be killed as well)

chrollo at the time doesn't question the interaction. it was a gang of violent vagabonds trying to right a wrong that the troupe didn't even participate in.

it bothers him, just a little bit, that someone would try to frame the troupe for an atrocity that they didn't do. sure, it fit their narrative and added to their reputation, but it bothers him that someone out there had used their name.

but come yorknew, he's confronted with a surviving kurta. and the problem resurfaces.

he has his hands full trying to reroute the course of the yorknew heist and has to cut a lot of his plans short. he still completed his goal and started the process of severing ties between the mafia and meteor city.

but now the kurta are a problem in his life again and once he gets that damn chain out of his chest, he has two things to focus on:

a) getting away from hisoka to gather abilities

b) figuring out how to deal with kurapika

he remembers the kurta and is totally okay with shouldering the blame for their elimination. but that means that he's clearing the name of someone else for free.

and he doesn't do shit for free.

since he doesn't have to worry about meteor city immediately (the 10 dons are dead and the world mafia is in shambles), he can move onto bigger fish.

right now, his goal is to figure out the truth behind the kurtan massacre. and his search leads him to 4th prince tserriednich. a man in possession of eyes that the troupe didn't sell and way more than the 36 total that *should* be on the market.

THAT is why chrollo is picking a fight with the kakin empire. THAT is why he is on the black whale one. he's here to settle a 7 year old score, and if he can take hisoka down at the same time? good for him.

anyway thats my crazy conspiracy theory. there are some wrinkles in here that may be defied by canon reveals later in the story.

but damn would this make sense for why chrollo is on that damn boat. bcs i know he isn't stupid enough to send the ENTIRE TROUPE on a suicide mission just for hisoka.

so unless we get a reveal of something else substantial, this is what i'm working with.

[misterxsamsa]

This vignette is the comic is a real highlight due to the prose within, but there's a neat little detail that I'd imagine would've been really cool to notice in hindsight during the comics' release cycle. See that fire in the background, and that humanoid creature Johnny transformed into? As he's lamenting about his agonizing guilt and hopelessness?

They're the demons of the JTHM universe that we're introduced to later in Issue #6, and I think that adds a lot to Johnny's monologue. Of course the visual is alluding to hell, Johnny feels like he's doomed himself to eternal damnation — one of lonliness, regret, and self-hatred after ruining everything good in his life. When he says he's "dreaming of a world that's stopped dreaming of him" he's talking about Devi, but it goes beyond her.

Johnny willingly, and knowingly chose to hurt somebody he cared about for his own selfish desires. That's cost him Devi, but has also acted as an indictment against himself in a very major way. While previously, he justified his isolation through his hatred of others, and all their perceived flaws. Now, the truth reveals itself! Even when presented with the picture-perfect oppurtunity, Johnny would still rather priorize and pursue his current miserable existence of hedonism and decay over anything else. No matter who he meets, things will never change, because the deciding factor was never others. It was always him. He's fundamentally doomed by his own nature, and the realization is unbearable.

[qqueenofhades]

I'm not clear as to whether or not the 14th Amendment barring an insurrectionist from holding certain powerful offices needs that individual to first to be proven guilty of being an insurrectionist in court. We all know Trump is absolutely an insurrectionist, but do we technically need that guilty verdict first?

I mean, I'm not a constitutional lawyer so I can't give you a 100% for sure answer, but I think the problem here isn't nuances of law or interpretation so much as basic courage: are courts or judges actually going to come to literally the only conclusion that can factually and legally be drawn (that the evil orange is a fucking traitor who should rot in prison for the rest of his life and never be allowed near public office again) or are they going to chicken out of it by admitting that he's an insurrectionist but something something the statute doesn't apply to him?

That's why the CO Supreme Court ruling (and as a native Coloradoan, HELL YEAH GUYS HELL YEAH!) is so important. Yes, I'm sure SCOTUS will do their worst to it, though the COSCOTUS judges craftily tailored their ruling to a states' rights opinion written by Gorsuch, who will now have to go diametrically against his own previous jurisprudence to find in Trump's favor. Yes, Republicans only like states' rights when the states are doing what they want, and the rest of the time it has to be stamped out, but even though Trump has been formally indicted for insurrection in regard to January 6, this is the first time that a court has conclusively found that as a result, it would be illegal for him to appear on the ballot due to the 14th Amendment. Which. Yeah. It is incredibly fucking obvious that this is the case. As I said, the issue isn't whether the statute applies, as it clearly does, but if the legal system is going to actually do the right thing and correctly apply it to Trump. While he wasn't going to win CO in 2024 anyway, what I really hope is that states like Pennsylvania or Michigan, where it would be HUGE to boot him off the ballot, follow suit. Ideally with a slightly different model of legal theory, so it can't be invalidated by whatever nonsense SCOTUS comes up with in regard to the Colorado ruling, but yeah.

The original judge's ruling in the case was a mess because they were clearly trying to have it both ways and avoid taking a stand: yes, Trump is clearly a traitor, but they didn't want to be the one that said he couldn't appear on the ballot as a result. But now that COSCOTUS has found that a) Trump engaged in legally defined insurrection and b) that therefore disqualifies him from standing for elected office as a matter of straightforward application of the 14th Amendment, let's hope that gives other judges in these suits across the country nerve to follow suit. Because this is not a candy-ass or trivial statement:

That's as about as strongly worded a statement as you can get in a case like this, and it's been made by a state-level supreme court. It likely will not survive SCOTUS, but they might also try to find a way to split the difference (especially as Jack Smith has asked them for an expedited ruling on the absolute immunity question and they might have to pick one or the other in terms of helping Trump out) and come up with some vague weasel word opinion. So. We'll see. The issue is not that it applies to Trump, but that he's heretofore been handled with kid gloves and gotten the benefit of the doubt and preferential treatment at every turn. This is not that, and God, do we ever need more of it.

[lakesbian]

OH have you finished all of animorphs then? Any general wrap-up thought on the characters n their arcs if so?

oh boy okay that's a big ask because the lack of specificity means i'm inclined to be comprehensive. i'm gonna force myself to be brief

jakey: very coherent arc from "i'm not the leader why are you guys saying i'm the leader stop saying i'm the leader" to "Subhuman. Flush 'em." it's good. i also like the chain where he's like. initially invested for saving his brother > tells marco he can't make calls about his mother because he's too close to the situation and is frankly an ass about it while hypocritically insisting he can handle the yeerk controlling his brother trying to murder his father, relieved when the animorphs take the difficulty of having to make the choice away from him but still views it as an indictment of his leadership capabilities > during the evacuation of the families he almost like...overcompensates w/ under-prioritizing himself and his loved ones, irrationally prioritizes everyone else's families being moved out first despite the fact that it would have made more tactical sense to do his first > he loses his family over this and it breaks him

rachel: problem w/ rachel is that, unbeknownst to me when i started reading, multiple of the books for her just had no idea what the hell or fuck they were doing, and were wildly out of character. ignoring the books that were fake and didn't happen, her arc is good. the thing is that "we might have to do something terrible, too. get rachel" is the crux of her Issues and the ghostwriters didn't need to do any of that other shit. the fake and true rachel books would've been served better by exploring the fundamental divide btwn her and cassie as people i'm sure you know what i mean

marco: probably the most consistent/strong arc? it's good. reading the end part was like

marco: i haven't seen jake in a few months. i still worry about him of course, just...from my hot tub me: that seems not true marco: okay so he hasn't seen ME in a few months but i have been continuously accidentally-on-purpose spying on him, and also sometimes i turn into a lobster in my fountain to cope me: okay yeah that's true

i like his fundamental internal conflict of. Being a person who is very capable of seeing, as per his iconic monologue, the bright line from a to z, and also continuously kicking the part of him that's horrified & upset by how that line impacts himself/the things personal to him under a rug. and despising when people pity him or acknowledge that he's upset/hurt because it reminds him he's got all that shit under the rug and distracts him from the bright clear line. really really good character writing how he's completely okay with constantly yelling and crying about how he's the most scared and afraid boy ever because fear over physical things is pragmatic, but he can't tolerate having it acknowledged when he's upset by something he knows to be necessary, because that's Not pragmatic. it adds flavor

cassie: i think it's funny how some of the other roles on the team are "the leader" "the lieutenant" "the axe-man" (<- not to be confused with the ax-man) etc and she's The One With A Continuously Functioning Moral Compass, Nerd #2, and The Emergency Lisa*. i've been told that the cassie books are either some of the strongest in the series or absolutely nothing but the thing is that i like the absolute nothing ones because i think the shenanigans are fun. so overall she's got great books. the struggle of a character who finds the moral compromises she's forced to make while participating in a war genuinely psychologically intolerable but still keeps being sucked in further is good & a nice sort of foil 2 some of the other morphs. i do have. And this has to be said despite being somewhat tangential. i do have the firm opinion that. rachel and cassie v much come off like they should be the classic "people who were bffs as kids and start becoming distant/incompatible as teens but are ignoring it and will be insisting on hanging out/calling each other bffs for several more years until something causes a bigger schism" dynamic & it would add a lot more if the text was aware of this fact and did something about it. but that's a longer post for a later time

tobias: his stomach flipping over while he tries to deny that the hawk-boy form of himself ellimist is showing him is him is perhaps one of the most stark scenes in the entire series and i think we should all be drawing it more. it's nice they put an abused autistic kid who doesn't feel like a human person in animorphs so that various children reading could have their brains rewired. i like how he's got a very heavy internal life. he's always Pondering. the torture plotline is a bit weakly written i think, his strongest moments are when he's doing an identity crisis thing. his dynamic with rachel is really good and the end of his arc does feel fitting. i think with how aximili is always going on abt how tobias is his shorm aka soulmate it would've been good if we saw more of the convos they were having or they had a more clearly Besties bond going on. although i DO like that aximili almost never shouts, someone (jake?) explicitly notes that when ax Does yell it means you'd better fucking listen, and to my memory the only call-caps moment aximili has is yelling "TOBIAS!" when he thinks tobias is critically wounded. more of that shit please. i would've also liked more tobias books in general bc he has one of the strongest narrative voices out of the gang

aximili: I was so mad about his very last book in the series being a shit ghostwriting moment. So mad you do not even want to know. entire plot of, like, book 8 all over again, except this time he's casually considering endorsing genocide for some reason. anyway i think there's a lot of interesting things going on in his head but his arc doesn't really wrap up well & there are a few ghostwritten books where he feels poorly done w/o having a rachel-type Really Iconic book that makes up for it. he works better early and mid series. he's also just a fundamentally hilarious character concept which is great. i'm sad that people lied to me about him being autistic compared to other andalites (he's not) but i like when he has axtism moments anyway. i would like to see 100 drawings of axmini get cinnamon roll now please

[doggendoodle]

Realising now that a not insignificant portion of people online have taken "racism is systemic" to mean all racism is wholly systemic, and thus racism that occurs on an interpersonal level can and should be dealt with by systems.

Specifically I just saw a tweet saying that a literal child deserves to have their entire life ruined because they said something racist. And when someone pointed out we don't even give lifelong punishments to children for murder they were told that we should start doing that too, which kind of encapsulates this whole situation. People want wrongdoers to be punished for their sins crimes, and the only way to make sure that punishment sticks is to be as thorough as possible.

And I feel so strongly about this case in particular because it's the clearest possible example where the issue cannot be just a personal one and yet people are willing to call for this child to be ruined.

If you were a teacher in a class and one student said something racist to another student or teacher, the appropriate response would be to take that student aside, explain why what they said was wrong (and not just that it was wrong), and have them apologise to the student/teacher. And then maybe talk to their guardians to figure out where they learned that sort of behaviour.

But online, people are driven to use the strongest tools they have for a given situation. it's not enough to report the account for an incident of racism, you have to also brand the offender - again, an actual literal child - as a Racist permanently. And people are motivated to do this as publicly as possible, because it feels good to see someone get punished, even if we later decide it was too far. Hell, even as someone who's against it as a principle, I still do feel some sense of satisfaction, like, "Oh, well this isn't something we should be doing, but if it's happening at all i guess I'm glad it was to someone like this" - and to be clear that's not a good thing! It shouldn't be happening at all! But because it sometimes happens to people who have actually done something wrong, it's nigh impossible to call it out without something thinking you want the offender to be given a free pass.

I don't really have a solution, especially (maybe ironically) not on a systemic level, but I wanted to rant about it and get my feelings out. And of course, obvious caveat that in turn, the people who feel this way don't deserve any grand punishment or indictment on them either.

[mechakingghidorah100-blog]

Y’know for as much flak as Ward sometimes gets for not having enough folks give some level of push back/side eying some of Victoria’s more wild decisions, at least for punting people to planet Siberia like… I kinda think the part where it settles in for Colt its going to happen to her does that really well?

This is a child whose superpower massively fucks with her head, had a shitty enough home life she ran off with NAILBITER, pretty much trapped afterwards, and given aphetamines and a gun and told to go wildrght before her trigger. Especially coming from Worm, where Colt is the exact type of person who I feel like could have ended up with the Undersiders.

And we see her genuinely panicking, genuinely terrified as she realizes she's going to be punted into the middle of the wilderness in another dimension with basically no one else, and at best we get frustration and anger from Victoria and co towards her for this?

Because she hadn't realized ‘soon enough’ and was only now apologizing for the admittedly genuinely shitty things she did because there is consequences.I get that but also Rain, its REALLY easy to interpret your remorse as only feeling that way because your Cluster decided they were going to torture you to death and you of all people are NOT biased with her given she was working with Love Lost.

All the while Victoria very clearly is ignoring the signs her power has completely fucked her head during the conversation as they notice repeatedly Colt is spacing the hell out and barely lucid. Meanwhile in her very first interaction w Colt in a fight she figured out its the type of Breaker state to likely it has some sort of effect on her out of a fight, and in general she’s pieced together FAR more complicated power shit in fights. It’s patently clear her biases involved w the entire event and how close it affected her team are affecting her as well as just the general strain she is in during that part of the story.

I adore Victoria and this was one of the rare times I managed to actually was angry with her rather than being like ‘ok this is kinda fucked but I get it/it’s a fun part of her character,’ and honestly probably the best indictment of her whole secret no accountability exile thing we really could have gotten, even if I still would have liked to see her actually debate someone more over it/really defend it.

Ward back on the brain as of late.

[phantommarigold]

gritting my teeth Kristoph Gavin has so much unexplored potential and at the same time it's great! Because it leaves a mystery and a lot of room for thought and analysis. If the franchise ended at AJ:AA/aa4 his narrative would really be perfect. But then AA:DD/aa5 and AA:SoJ/aa6 came out and he never gets metioned again. Like he never existed, like the impact he made on everyone from phoenix through apollo and klavier and even trucy! And it just makes it kind of shallow. He went to jail and we forgot about him?

Like sure Apollo turned on Kristoph with almost no hesitation- but that's because Apollo will do anything to uncover the truth, that's just Who He Is. That doesn't deny the fact that Kristoph was a respected and successful attorney who probably was good teacher and mentor for Apollo, and I ask, where's the inner conflict? And if not that, an explanation on why it's not there?

What about Phoenix who had a strange friendship with suspicion and distrust ingrained at the core of it with Kristoph? That was whole seven years they were playing a game with each other and hell, neither of them planned on ending it during turnabout trump! Phoenix asking Kristoph to defend him wasn't some trick or mindgame, and Kristoph's initial plan wasn't to get Phoenix convicted! He wanted to indict Orly and walk away with it.

And don't get me started on Klavier. We all saw how he acted during turnabout succession and then it's. Never mentioned again. Klavier is kind of like Apollo, he wants to seek the truth no matter how unpleasant it may be, but Apollo barely hesitated. Klavier was clearly trying to not believe it for a long time. For seven years actually. But after AJ:AA? Not a single line spared for him.

And one thing I'll give to Dual Destinies is the parallels between Apollo and Kristoph during the whole plot surrounding Clay Terran:

This? This is great. Ace Attorney always did a great job portraying similarities between characters through the sprites/body language.

And ynnow it's just, a real fucking shame because of course Kristoph Gavin isn't a morally good character, but he's a damn well written one! But it seems people writing games past AJ:AA didn't care about him.

(....okay so I just want to say I am writing this at 3am and it's kind of hard to find resources on the wiki cuz the internet is shittt at this hour and my brain is only half working so. I might've missed a lot of stuff that actually referenced Kristoph and I might just not remember. If anything I said here was wrong please feel free to correct me in the tags or add onto the post, thanks.)

[gojosbf]

Do u think yuuji is meant as an indictment of the typical shounen protag? Like the never giving up, iron clad will, indomitable human spirit is present in a lot of shounen characters , and yuuji is an embodiment of these traits, but the narrative constantly punishes him for displaying them, like his life is a living hell to the point that shibuya renders him nearly insane, and it just gets worse for him from there. And he’s explicitly doomed from the very beginning, saved only by gojo and megumi’s mercy. Idk and yet people still say he’s badly written and boring

i have always said this 1) never to underestimate and disrespect yuuji as mc 2) he is constantly learning and evolving. i know people want a protagonist with cool and op ct but yuuji is the perfect protagonist we could've had for jjk. yeah he's been continuously punished and he shows qualities of typical protag but his resilience makes him so unsettling for sukuna. sukuna has been in his body, there's still a theory of how he can hear yuuji's thoughts even now, he saw how yuuji truly felt in all of those moments and he also knows that the only reason yuuji keeps going is for other people, not himself. he's doomed by narrative because he is really not that special, there is nothing "groundbreaking" about him to sukuna as compared to the other sorcerers he's met but yuuji has the same hunger for victory and winning as sukuna and for entirely different reasons, yuuji has lasted the longest against sukuna despite being "nothing special" and even in one panel of sukuna thinks about he finds yuuji annoying/irritating which makes him being a "boring" character his special strength.

[winchesterszvonecek]

Prosecutorial Misconduct 18+

Chapter 5 - A Pretzel, A Pigeon and A Patrol Officer

Word Count: 11,646

Series Masterlist | Full Masterlist

The day of the grand jury had arrived and Melanie was still Barba’s only hope of getting the indictment he needed. He should have known things would always have played out like this. That he would have been so blatantly stonewalled by his colleagues. By his friends . Cops always did go out of their way to avoid having to answer certain questions, he knew that, but to see for himself just how far some of them were willing to go… 

It had been downright shocking, if he was telling the truth, and had he not already felt more out of his depth than ever before, he’d easily be charging half of them with committing perjury.

Of course, none of those who had unintentionally perjured themselves would have ever thought that they did as they all believed what they were saying was the truth. For example, Liv had remained adamant, throughout her entire testimony, that what went down had been a good shoot. But even Barba himself didn’t need to be a detective to know that that was complete and utter crap, and he could only hope that by the end of the day the jury would see it through the same eyes as he did. 

He still couldn’t quite get a feel for where their heads were at. The entire time, they’d heard one version of the events after another. Terrance had a gun . Terrance might have had a gun . I don’t know if Terrance had a gun . Statements were bouncing all over the place like a DVD screensaver and by the end, even Barba himself felt lost as to whose word to truly believe so how in the hell could he ever expect twenty-three regular civilians to know either? He was truly counting on Melanie at this point. She always did have a way of making people see things clearly and if he ever wanted to get the justice that Terrance and his family deserved, then he needed her to do that for him. 

The only problem was… when the time came for her to do so, Melanie was nowhere to be seen. 

Barba had specifically told her, multiple times both in person and through text, to be waiting for him in the hallway at exactly 3.45pm… which was a whole half hour before he actually needed her to testify — a little move he’d learned from Carisi, unfortunately, for whenever he really needed that fine ass of hers to be somewhere on time. 

Most of the time it worked. She’d come strolling in, a smile on her face and a coffee in hand, at exactly the time he needed her. Yet today, of all days, just had to be the day when Melanie was officially late, didn’t it? When all eyes, both public and political, were trained on him. Were relying solely on him to do the right thing, and it just so happened that the one godforsaken witness he needed to do that had to go and be awol. 

Great. That was just… great. The DA already had him under a microscope. He still needed to weave his way back into the good graces of city hall and as if things literally couldn’t get any worse for him than they already had, his smoking gun was nearly an hour late. It was just… P erfect. He might as well go kiss his job goodbye and move on with his life if this was how things were going to be for him now. 

Nevertheless, with the blood swirling in his head and rage coursing through his veins, Barba continued to relentlessly pace the marble floors of the courthouse hallway, his dress shoes making an irritably loud tapping noise with each agitated step he took. He kept his eyes trained on the stairwell door each time he passed by it, desperately praying that Melanie would finally come sauntering through it with a large coffee in her hand and an unapologetic grin plastered on that pretty face of hers. 

He normally looked forward to seeing that. To feeling how his heart would race and the world around him would simply fade away as he got lost in the intoxicating pull of her presence, but today literally couldn’t be more different. He was pissed off. Furious. He couldn’t understand how she could do this to him, especially after last night . The way she’d looked at him. With such care. Such adoration. Such intense longing for him , swimming in the ambient light of her eyes, to him, it had almost felt like they were nothing more than star-struck lovers. And when she said his name. God… The way it rolled off her tongue in such a perfect, breathless, desperate whisper that he didn’t think he would ever be able to get out of his mind, there was no way that she was intentionally standing him up. Not after that. 

At least, that's what he kept telling himself anyway, as he continued to pace. He knew he had to keep the faith that Melanie would never, in a million years, do this to him on purpose, but as another ten minutes flew by where there was still no sign of her, Barba had eventually lost all hope that he’d ever see her today. He couldn’t even begin to describe the hurt — The betrayal that was blossoming in his heart when he came to a slow stop next to the stairwell, his chest heaving with each sharp breath he inhaled through his nose. He gave it thirty more seconds of staring optimistically at the door before he finally gave up, shoving his hands in his pockets and beginning to make his way angrily back towards the courtroom. 

Only, just before he could reach the heavy, gold trimmed doors that the grand jury sat behind, a soft creak from behind him met his ears and he spun immediately on his heels, his shoes squeaking against the floor in his haste to see who it was. And to his minor relief, yet insatiable annoyance, the first, and only, person he saw when he did was Melanie, her cheeks lightly flushed and her hands free of the large iced coffee she normally sported when she would rock carelessly up to things several minutes late.  

“Finally,” Barba gritted, crossing the hallway towards her in a few large strides. His nostrils were practically flaring with rage as his hardened eyes pierced straight through hers, missing the faint smear of blood that swept across her hairline as he was too busy being pissed at her, “You’re late.”  

“And you can tell time, bravo,” Melanie snapped back, rolling her eyes, “Can we just get this over with?”  

It was only when she went to push grumpily past him, did Barba finally appear to notice the faint blood that was crusting on her forehead and in her hair. His face fell and guilt began to build in his chest as he hooked his hand around her elbow, hearing that familiar deep sigh of hers escape her throat as he stopped her dead in her tracks before she could so much as move an inch. He raised his free hand, worry riddling every ounce of his handsome features as he gently brushed his thumb over the faded spot on Melanie’s head, causing a soft wince to seep through her lips as she recoiled from his touch. 

“It’s nothing,” Melanie said, ruffling her hair to fix her curls to better cover the cut before Barba could go and get all hysterical on her. “Just a perp with a temper, that’s all.” 

“A perp did this to you?” Barba repeated, and Melanie nodded. He scoffed, his face tightening and his jaw tensing as he tried his hardest to keep his thoughts on that scenario to himself. It didn’t work though. He always hated seeing her injured and so, with anger bubbling away in the pit of his stomach, he grumbled, “Carisi is supposed to have your back. Where the hell was he?” 

“Not there,” Melanie defended, roughly pulling her arm free of the hold Barba still had on her. She watched as he studied her, his eyes narrowing as they cast over the entirety of her face and she could tell that he didn’t believe her for a second. Why would he? Her excuse was as pathetic as the cops who’d caused this entire mess in the first place, and deep down she knew better than to try to lie to someone with such a gut instinct as Barba had. Therefore, after a deep exhale through her nose, she gave in and confessed, in barely telligible mumble, “I got into it with Detective Campesi.” 

“I’m sorry, you what?” Barba stammered, turning his head a little as though trying to hear her better. In reality, he’d actually heard her perfectly. But he was just hoping that the words had somehow gotten jumbled on their way to his ears, as he couldn’t bring himself to believe that the ones he’d heard were correct.

“I got into it with Detective Campesi,” Melanie said in a much slower, clearer tone like she would with a child. That made Barba frown profusely, the lines on his face only deepening and tightening when he came to realise she was serious.

A delusional laugh then left his lips as Barba placed his hands on his hips and began pacing again, “Oh, you cops are single handedly trying to lower my life expectancy, aren’t you?” 

Melanie rolled her eyes, “Oh relax, will you? All I did was shove her.” 

As if that made things better, Barba thought to himself. He came to a slow stop, exhaling deeply through his nose as he eyed her and tried his best to settle his nerves without retreating upstairs and opening the bottle of scotch he had hidden in his office.

“Melanie, with all due respect,” He began hesitantly, his tone completely contradicting that statement and Melanie quite clearly picked up on it with the way she folded her arms and raised her eyebrow daringly towards him. “What the hell were you thinking?”

“What was I thinking?” She exclaimed, pressing her fingers to her chest and showcasing her bruised knuckles. Sure Melanie, all you did was shove her. “That bitch came at me first, okay? She slammed my head into the doorframe, what was I supposed to do?” 

Campesi initiated first? Now that was intriguing. 

“Why?” Barba asked, causing Melanie to narrow her eyes briefly in question. “Why did she go after you?” 

“And that would be the million dollar question, counsellor. Now, would you like to phone a friend or should we ask the audience instead?” Melanie replied sarcastically, making Barba frown again. She sighed softly, stepping up to him and his brooding face, then placed her hands gently on his outer arms. “Look, I don’t know why she did it. Or what her agenda was, but all I do know is that had I not already been planning to win this indictment for you… Then she sure as hell would have made me change my mind.” 

“You shouldn’t phrase it like that,” Barba said flatly, “You could get me disbarred.���

“Who’s gonna hear us?” Melanie chuckled breathily, raising her hands to briefly gesture to the empty hallway they occupied before placing them right back on his arms again. “The ghosts of past ADA’s who haunt the building and only wish they could have been as charming and skilled as you are?” 

“Now you’re just trying to flatter me out of being annoyed.” 

“Guilty,” Melanie smiled sweetly, dropping her sorrow filled eyes from his and moving her hands to adjust the knot in Barba’s tie that he must have tugged loose during the time he spent angrily waiting for her. 

It pained her to see that she’d gotten him so stressed out that he’d felt the need to claw at his throat for air. She hadn’t meant to. Truly . She’d fully intended to be here for him twenty minutes earlier than the fake time she knew he always gave her, but it wasn’t like she could just sweep what happened under the rug simply because he needed her. Campesi had attacked her. Unprovoked, simply because she read a situation wrong and in Melanie’s book, that meant she needed to be taught a lesson over thinking she could take things out on her fellow detective’s just because she, herself, was in the hot seat. Her only wish was that it could have happened later rather earlier as maybe then Barba wouldn’t have gotten caught in the crossfire, and she wouldn’t be left with such a dark hole of guilt filling the pit of her stomach. 

“I’m really sorry, Rafael. I didn’t…” Melanie took a breath, running her thumbs gently over his neatened tie as she forced her eyes to draw up the length of it and finally meet the glistening emerald light of his own again. “I know you’re under a microscope with the DA, but I just… I want — I need you to know that it wasn’t my intention to make things harder for you than they already are.”

“I know,” Barba said softly, assuringly. He really did know that she hadn’t meant it on purpose, but sometimes he couldn’t help but wish she wasn’t so hot-headed. He lifted his hand, gently brushing his knuckles across the bruise that was slowly forming on Melanie’s jaw. “But in the future, just promise me that you’ll think before you go punching anyone else… I really hate to see you get hurt.” 

“It’s sweet that you care so much,” Melanie said quietly, her heart dancing in her chest as she drew her hands up and over his shoulders, feeling the subtle way in which they loosened beneath her touch. “And I promise I’ll try to think before I act next time… But for now, what do you say we get in there and get to it? Then maybe afterwards you can let me buy you a drink by means of an apology.” 

“As appreciative as I would be of that, it would be ill-advised. Someone could see us.” 

“Oh, so it’s a crime now for us to be seen together?” 

“So soon after the grand jury indictment of the woman you just got into it with? Yes, absolutely.”

“Indictment, huh?” Melanie raised her eyebrow, her tone shifting playfully. Perhaps even flirtatiously, “You’re seeming utterly sure of yourself that you’ll even get one.” 

“Oh, I will…” Barba replied equally, fighting against the smirk that tugged on his lips. “Once I get you in there, anyway.”

Melanie chuckled, although her heart was still hammering furiously beneath her chest, “Now who’s flattering who?” 

“You opened the door, detective, I’m merely following you through it,” Barba said plainly, catching Melanie’s partially flustered eye roll as he took a step back and gave her a quick once over. 

Aside from the cut on her forehead and the yellowing bruise on her chin, there was nothing about her that inherently stood out as alarming. Her t-shirt was appropriate — barely, it was actually covered in flames with what looked like Satan sat right in the middle, but luckily for him it was so washed out you could hardly make out the pattern unless you were up close. At least it was dark, though, which meant it was easily able to hide the small drop of blood that resided at the hem and made his own fists want to curl out of fury. 

As for the rest of her, everything looked as good as they could get. She must have picked up the subtle hint he’d dropped last night as he was quick to notice that her eye make-up was a little heavier and a lot more pronounced than it usually was. Even her jeans appeared to have more rips littering the full length of her legs, and he didn’t miss the extra thick and pointed chain that she’d added to her belt hoop. 

All in all, she was utterly perfect. Not just to Barba in general, or to the point where he suddenly wanted to take her to dinner rather than into the courtroom, but she was completely perfect for the point in which he was clearly wishing to get across by using her to represent this case. 

“What are you doing?” Melanie asked curiously, suddenly feeling self-conscious the longer she had to watch Barba’s eyes trail slowly down the length of her body, making her wonder if they were about to report to court. Or report to the bedroom. 

“I’m just checking,” He said simply, swallowing a tad thickly as he stepped forward and reached out to tuck her hair behind her ears, where it was just his luck that she had all of her piercings sitting prettily in. “Do you have a hair tie?” 

“Yeah,” Melanie drew out, her brow furrowing as she now found herself utterly baffled. 

“Use it,” Barba said, pulling back his hands as he retreated to his original spot. “Let the jury see you… The real you.” 

“I don’t under…” 

“Just do it,” Barba cut her off, gazing across at her all doe-eyed. “For me?” 

With a deep exhale and lazy nod of her head, Melanie gave into that puppy dog look of his far quicker, and a hell of a lot easier than she ever would have admitted to. Or liked to. She always hated how tightly he seemed to have her wrapped around his finger, yet she failed to realise that she wasn’t exactly trying her hardest to unravel herself. 

“You’re lucky I like you,” she mumbled, completely unaware of the somersaults she’d made Barba’s entire insides do as she fumbled into her pocket for the hair tie. She then pulled it out, gathering her thick curls into her hands and lazily tying them back before dropping her arms dramatically back down to her sides. “There, good enough for you now?” 

Too good, actually. Too perfect. Too beautiful. Too utterly breathtaking in every single way that I would never truly deserve you, was what Barba really wanted to say to her. But in this moment — in this reality that was far away from the dreamscape world inside his mind, all he could appropriately do was nod his head, smile, and hope to God that his face hadn’t turned as red as the heat in which he currently felt wash over it. 

“Good,” Melanie said, satisfied, tugging absently at the hem of her t-shirt as she ignored the intense flutter that rippled across her body beneath it. She then cocked her head towards the courtroom, adding breathlessly, “Now can we get this over with please?” 

“Gladly,” Barba replied, with equal breathlessness as he spun on his heels and led the way to the courtroom doors, pushing them open and stepping aside to let Melanie in first before following closely behind her. 

Watching intently as the doors swung shut Barba wouldn’t lie, the uncertain looks Melanie gained from some of the jury members as she sauntered in where exactly what he’d been hoping for. The way she had her hands shoved carelessly into her back pockets; the way her ponytail swung in sync with her steps and drew attention to her heavily pierced ears; even the simple way she had her badge sitting around her neck, knocking lightly against her chest as she crossed the room towards the table had all kinds of doubt and misjudgment fill the eyes of the jury. 

It had been exactly what he’d been hoping for: that they would judge her solely based on her appearance before they even had a chance to hear what she had to say to them. It was his plan all along since the moment he stepped foot into her home, to lead them astray and now all that was left for him to do was pray that once he executed it… Once Melanie started answering his questions with the honesty and sincerity that he knew she never once failed to showcase, that it would be enough to get him the indictment that he himself, and this city desperately needed. 

“Detective Dodds,” Barba soon began, having to constantly remind himself not to call her Melanie now that they were here. “Over the course of your career within the NYPD, how many suspects have you shot?” 

Wow, Melanie thought to herself. Skipping the foreplay and going straight to getting down and dirty? That had better not be an indication as to what Barba was like in bed, otherwise she might have to rethink her attempts at getting him there. 

“I’ve shot five,” Melanie replied honestly, clearing her throat and shifting a little uncomfortably in her seat when she caught the disgusted looks that flashed across the jury members faces. She always hated admitting that without people knowing the true story, therefore, to Barba’s relief, she was quick to elaborate, “However, only one of those suspects was fatally wounded.” 

And just like that, the jury members' opinions of the rough and tumble detective that sat in front of them soon began to change for the better. 

“Only one?” Barba mused. He already knew most of this from his time spent with Melanie, but alas he still had to ask. He had a point to prove, of course, and he could already tell that it was going swimmingly. “Now why is that? I thought police officers were trained to shoot to kill.” 

“We are,” Melanie nodded, keeping her eyes fixated solely to those in front of her. “But unless I can see clearly that there’s a gun in their hands. Or that there’s a significant threat to myself, my fellow officers, or to those around me, then I simply don’t feel comfortable with killing that person.”  

“I see,” Barba muttered, and Melanie didn’t miss the partial smile that flashed across his face at the wide eyes of the jury. “Of those five suspects you shot, the one who died… What threat did he pose to make you feel comfortable enough to kill him?” 

“He was outside of a school, holding a gun to the head of his eight year old daughter that he’d been molesting for years,” Melanie explained, “I could tell that he was serious. That he was going to snap and kill her, maybe even others. So, I got myself into a position where I could get a clear shot and when I assessed that the time was right, I pulled the trigger.”

“Only once?” 

“Yes. It was a headshot, so he was dead before he hit the ground.”  

“And the others,” Barba carried on, continually glancing towards the jury to get a read on their opinion towards Melanie. And by the looks of it, she was easily winning them over. “The four suspects you only wounded… Can you tell us about those?” 

“Uh, sure,” Melanie cleared her throat, shuffling again in her seat as for some reason she felt incredibly nervous. Maybe because Barba was holding her on such a high pedestal that she didn’t want to accidentally say anything that would make the jury push her off it. “Most of them were just low level drug dealers from my narcotics days. They didn't take too kindly to being told what to do by a woman so they’d often come at me with a knife or a piece of glass or whatever, so I’d shoot them in the leg in order to subdue them.” 

“And those that weren’t low-level drug dealers? What did they do?” 

“There was only one,” Melanie confirmed, running her hand over the back of her neck as the memory of that day came hauntingly back to plague her. “Back when I was still a rookie patrol cop, I ended up in pursuit of a young man whom I believed matched the description of a murder suspect…” 

“I’m sorry to interrupt you, Detective,” No he wasn’t, Melanie thought to herself. Barba loved interrupting people. “But can you please tell the grand jury. This suspect… Was he black? Or was he white?”

“He was black,” Melanie told him, and a few jury members seemed to sit up straighter in their seats as they listened intently. “I was told by some other officers that he was armed, and when I eventually cornered him in a alley he reached into his pocket.” 

“And did he pull out that weapon?” 

“No,” Melanie confessed, shaking her head, “He was going for his ID, but in the moment… When all I saw was a flash of black, I felt in fear for my life as I assumed that he was pulling out a gun. Therefore, I shot him.”

“How many times did you shoot him?” 

“Once. But only in the shoulder, which gave me ample time and opportunity to see that he was actually unarmed.” 

“So what you’re saying is that… as a rookie patrol officer, you were in a sole pursuit of a man who you assumed was a murderer and yet when you cornered him…” Barba reiterated, “When you thought that he was going to pull out his weapon and quite possibly kill you, that you only shot him once? And in the shoulder, not in the chest or in the head?” 

“Yes, that’s correct,” Melanie confirmed, noticing the sudden way in which the grand jury members had started scribbling on their notepads like their lives depended on it. 

“So in your opinion, did Sergeant Donlan, Detective Dumas and Detective Campesi… Did they have any other options other than to fire at Terrance Reynolds not just once, but thirty five times?”

At that question, it was as though Melanie was a fish flopping on the deck and the grand jury were the seagulls from Finding Nemo. All eyes were fixated on her. The clear distaste that coated the last three words that left Barba’s lips practically dripped from his tongue and had spread out among the entire room, which only made Melanie that much more certain of what she had to say. They did have options. They knew that. The department knew that. Yet the only ones who were actually brave enough to admit it aloud seemed to be sitting or standing in this room, and regardless of whatever professional obligations she thought she might have had, Melanie knew that it was solely up to her to tell the jury the truth.

“Yes,” Melanie said with the utmost certainty, feeling a small weight for her own mishap in her rookie days be lifted from her shoulders. “Yes, I believe they had options. And had I been there myself… I can wholeheartedly say that I would not have fired my weapon without visually confirming the presence of a gun first.” 

“Thank you, Detective Dodds. That’s all the questions I have for you. You may step down,” Barba said, nodding his head appreciatively. He kept his eyes subtly trained on Melanie as she scooted back on her chair and stood up, rounding the table where she flashed him a quick look that screamed I’ll be waiting for you outside, before disappearing through the doors. 

Silence then began to fill the room as the jury finished going over their notes and Barba continued to fight against the smile that so desperately wanted to rise in his face. He’d been right in saying that Melanie was exactly what he’d needed to win over the jury. He saw their faces, when she told them of her own endeavours and at the end… When she’d explicitly told them she would have not, under any circumstances, fired her weapon at Terrance without confirming the presence of a gun, he knew he’d got them. 

Now all he needed was the winning show of hands to prove it.

“You have in front of you the charges of reckless endangerment in the first degree or criminally negligent homicide.” 

A jury member then raised his hand, “Before we vote, is it possible for us to indict on more serious charges?” 

“Excuse me?” Barba questioned, blinking rapidly as he had trouble believing what he was hearing. 

“Well, based on what Detective Dodds just said, I don’t… I don’t think we’re looking at simple recklessness or negligence. I think we’re looking at murder here,” The jury member explained, and quite a few of his fellow peers nodded in agreement. “Can we bring a charge like that?” 

Well… this was new, Barba thought to himself. Perhaps Melanie did too well of a job than he had originally been hoping for, which honestly, wasn’t all that surprising. But he wasn’t about to go telling her that though, as he really didn’t need her riding the high of it and acting all smug for days on end. 

“That is well with your preview,” Barba replied, stepping out from behind the podium, “But I would like the grand jury to understand that in order to prove manslaughter one or above, you have to prove intent. That’s a much higher legal standard requiring an increased level of mens rea. Intent versus negligence.” 

“Well, I’d like you to explain that standard,” The jury member told him, “You know, for manslaughter. Murder. Whatever… Walk us through everything.” 

“I can, but before I do, I’d like to see a show of hands. How many of you would like to hear the definition of those charges?” Barba asked, glancing down at his paperwork for no more than a second before looking back up, only to find that more than half the grand jury had their hands raised in response to his question.

Okay… This was going to take a lot longer than he thought, and he could only hope that Melanie would choose to stick around and wait for him as he talked the jury through those charges as quickly, yet informatively as he could. Surely she would, right? After all, she’d had him waiting almost an hour for her to show up earlier, so really, she owed it to him to wait. Besides, it wouldn’t take that long… Thirty to forty minutes max, and what was that if not nothing? 

That’s what he thought anyway, but actually it appeared to be everything as by the time Barba managed to escape the courtroom with a manslaughter charge for two of the officers and a reckless endangerment charge for the other nestled securely in his back pocket, Melanie was nowhere to be seen. In all honesty though, it had been a long shot as to whether or not she truly would have waited for him, and he couldn’t exactly hold it against her when he knew well that she always needed to be somewhat occupied. She never could sit down and just wait for however long she needed to without growing antsy, and given the lack of people in the hallway for her to bug and use to pass the time, it was no surprise to him to see her gone from it so soon afterwards.

Because of that awareness, Barba simply chose to accept the outcome with a faint cloud of disappointment cascading over him, rather than go off aimlessly in search of her. She could be anywhere, and he was too tired to wander the halls in hopes of coming across her, so instead he just headed back upstairs to his office. He sent Carmen home the second he arrived then broke out the scotch, unbuttoning his jacket and slumping roughly into one of the chairs in front of his desk before flicking on the TV. 

“We are extremely gratified that the grand jury has decided to indict Sergeant Donlan and Detective Campesi on manslaughter one, and Detective Dumas on reckless endangerment. This is just the first step toward justice for Terrence…”  

“If I’d have stayed out there a few minutes more, you might have gotten to see me trip up those steps behind them,” came Melanie’s humour filled tone as she appeared in his doorway, leaning her arm against the frame and watching as Barba’s eyes drifted tiredly towards her. 

The mere sight of her alone made him perk up a little. He sat up straighter and turned off the TV, tilting his head to get a better look at her as she stood there, happily nibbling away at a donut and not caring at all if she was getting sugar all over his carpet. Not that Barba cared either. He was just glad she was still here, with her pretty smile and those luscious locks of hers that were flying freely again, splaying messily over her shoulders and only making him that much more desperate to finally know the feeling of running his fingers through them. 

“Sorry I was gone,” Melanie said, her chest feeling like it had been taken over by butterflies with the mere way in which Barba gazed at her. “You were taking too long in there so I went to get a pretzel.” 

Just like that Barba snapped instantly out of his daydream and tilted his head, his eyes falling to her hands as a smile tugged at his lips, “ Mi cariño, that’s a donut.” 

“I know it’s a donut, you… donut,” Melanie retorted, her brow a little furrowed, “But I didn’t say I only got a pretzel, now did I?” 

Barba just shook his head and chuckled quietly as he glanced away, seemingly outwardly amused by her tale yet at the same time Melanie couldn’t help but notice the genuine lack of humour in his tone. It almost sounded empty… Not at all like the Barba she would have expected to see so quickly after his winning indictment and that made her forehead soon crease with worry as she delved deeper into his office, settling herself on the arm of the chair next to him.

“Hey, why are you all sulky all of a sudden?” She asked softly, nudging his foot with her own in order to get him to look at her , rather than down at his drink. “You got your indictment, didn’t you? You should be happy.” 

“They indicted them for manslaughter,” Barba replied, taking a long sip of his drink as Melanie finished the last bite of her donut and dusted off her hands. “I knew this case was gonna be tough from the get go, but now?” 

A harsh pfft left Barba’s lips soon after and he downed the rest of his drink in one swift mouthful. 

“You’ll manage,” Melanie said supportively, reaching out a hand to place it gently on the back of his neck. “You’re Rafael Barba… You're the DA who won a case where two boys raped a pornstar. If you can handle that, then you can handle this.”  

“You’re forgetting that the judge overturned that verdict,” Barba said bitterly, looking away from her in shame and instead down at his empty glass, wishing he could refill it with his mind at the reminder of that day. 

“You still won though, didn’t you?” Melanie asked, drawing her thumb over the back of his head until he drew his purposely blank gaze back up to face her. “Not only on that case, but on countless other cases that any other ADA would have declined to prosecute. Look, I know you lack faith in yourself sometimes, but you’re good at what you do, Rafael, and I have no doubt in my mind that you’ll be able to win this case too.”   

At those genuine sounding words, Barba’s heart clenched tightly in his chest as he found himself at odds over what to do next. He’d always known Melanie admired the way he presented himself in court. He’d seen her there himself, countless times just sitting in the gallery when she wasn’t even involved in the case in question and pretty much every single time that seemed to give him the courage he needed in order to hit a slam dunk and take the victory home. 

She’d even told him, when he was feeling down, that when it came to being in that courtroom that he was formidable. That he was relentless. That he was a goddamn weapon — her own words — yet half the time he didn’t know whether or not she was serious or if she was simply messing with me. But now, with the way she was looking at him? Hearing that sweet sounding tone… Hearing that same truth he’d just heard downstairs leave her very own lips as she stood tall before him? It was overwhelming to say the least, and he couldn’t seem to find the words he needed to respond properly. 

“Your faith in me is astounding,” Barba replied breathlessly and with forcible sarcasm. 

“I know. And you’re lucky to have it,” Melanie said humorously, sensing that Barba wasn’t feeling quite up to getting all touchy feely right now. ”Now, what do you say to calling it a night and letting me take you home?” 

“You don’t have to do that,” Barba protested, watching as Melanie’s posture suddenly stiffened when she pushed herself off the arm of the chair and straightened.

“Rafael, you just indicted two cops for murder,” She said seriously, leaning forward to place her hands on the arm of his chair as her eyes slowly widened with every next word, “I’m taking you home.” 

Knowing it was useless to argue, Barba gave in, a deep, overzealous sigh leaving his lips as he stood up, “Fine, you can take me home but I’m not getting on the back of your bike.” 

“How’d you know it was mine?” Melanie asked, arching her eyebrow and maintaining her position. 

“Because I’m good at what I do,” Barba replied wittly, with Melanie’s very own words that only made her draw her tongue slowly over her back teeth as he chuckled oh so pleased with himself. 

“For your information, I don’t ride my bike to work, but if I did…” She drew her eyes slowly up and down the length of his body, then couldn’t help but let out a short laugh, “That would be an amusing sight.” 

Pushing herself off his chair and finding great pleasure in the way he glared, Melanie did nothing but watch as Barba buttoned his blazer and bit his tongue from spilling any quips he may have had with that statement. She then folded her arms across her chest and leaned back against his desk, waiting patiently for him as he shuffled around the place and began to gather his things in order for her to get him home safely. 

Once he was done they got there in record time, during which Barba had prayed to all the Gods that existed that he would live to even see the trial, and by the end of it he’d made a silent vow with himself never to get in a car with Melanie again. Her road rage was… intense, to say the least, and he was pretty sure she committed at least three misdemeanours on the short drive it took to get to his place. Not to mention she’d verbally accosted a pedestrian for jaywalking… Twice. But those he was actually rather proud of her for as if there was one thing he hated when it came to travelling, it was jaywalkers. 

“I see why Carisi doesn’t let you drive,” Barba mumbled as he got out of the car, feeling like his legs were made of jelly because they’d literally driven at the speed of sound. 

“What do you mean? I’m an excellent driver,” Melanie said innocently, yet she kept having to roll her lips to stop herself from grinning so something told Barba she knew all too well that that was a lie. “Got you here in one piece, didn’t I?” 

“Barely,” Barba muttered, choosing not to say anything about the fact that she was following him into his apartment building as though she lived there herself. He went to sign in with the doorman as Melanie lingered beside him, her pale fingers wrapped around the shiny gold bar of the desk as she leaned back, gazing up at the extravagant chandelier that hung in the foyer with wide eyes.  

And she thought her place was fancy.  

Letting out a slow, impressed whistle, Melanie dropped her eyes to meet him, “My tax dollars at work, eh?” 

“As if you even pay your taxes,” Barba retorted sarcastically, ignoring the subtle smile of the doorman — who’d never seen Barba come home with anyone, let alone a woman like Melanie. 

“True… But I get shot at on a regular basis, so I feel like I shouldn’t need to pay taxes.”

As usual, Barba just chuckled and shook his head at her response as he scribbled Melanie’s name alongside his then made his move for the elevator. He didn’t even feel the need to ask if she was going to escort him the entire way up to his floor and into his apartment, as the way she trailed behind him like a lost little puppy pretty much answered that question for him. 

“Where are the stairs?” Melanie asked, glancing briefly around before Barba cocked his chin in the vague direction of their location. She then nodded, pressing the elevator button for him as she passed it whilst slowly backing away from him. “What floor?” 

“Seven,” Barba replied, his lips twitching at the way Melanie’s face dropped slightly at just how many flights of stairs she’d have to climb and perhaps that’s the reason as to why she opted to live in a brownstone. The elevator then pinged and he glanced at it, watching the doors slide open before his eyes drew back towards her, his eyebrow raised knowingly, “See you up there.” 

“Not if I see you first,” Melanie said with a grin, spinning on her heels and literally bolting for the stairwell door. She disappeared beyond it, the door swinging furiously in place before Barba even had the chance to step into the elevator. 

Once he did, however, he hit the button for his floor before he’d even turned around. Then, he began to repeatedly push the close door button as a sudden need to beat her up there came washing over him. It was strange. He wasn’t usually this competitive over silly things such as this, and honestly, nor would he have allowed himself to be, but there was just something about Melanie that seemed to coax out his inner child. The one he thought was long gone after years of seeing such heinous crimes brought before him, yet the very same one that was now solely responsible for the way he rocked back and forth on his heels, his eyes following the small dial at the top of the elevator as he waited (im)patiently for it to reach his floor. 

He knew for a fact, he was going to beat her there. Seven flights of stairs was a lot for her to climb against the speed of an elevator, regardless of how many she stepped up at once, and when it finally pinged in his favour, the doors sliding loudly open, Barba’s features turned smug and he stepped out, with the fullest intention of rubbing it victoriously in Melanie’s face brewing deep in his chest. 

“Took you long enough,” Melanie said calmly, already leaning against the wall next to the window opposite him with her arms folded. 

Confused, Barba’s brow fell the minute he spotted her, his finger continuously waving between her and the stairwell that she still should have been climbing, “How did you…?”

“There’s still a lot you don’t know about me, counsellor,” Melanie replied, pushing off the wall and dropping her arms back down to her sides. She stalked up to him, his mouth still partially gaped in wonderment as she gently patted his chest, “So for both our sakes… I suggest you get yourself up to speed. And quickly. 

At that, she flashed him a rather flirtatious smile before she slid across the floor away from him, leaving him to do nothing but stand with his heart racing in his chest as she made her own way down the hall. It took Barba a few seconds longer than he would have liked to compose himself but eventually he cleared his throat in a fluster and shook his head, turning on his heels to follow her should she grow bored and end up breaking into his neighbours homes just for something to do.

Luckily though, he managed to catch up to her just as she went to walk past his door. He then reached out, grabbing her by a loose part of her sleeve and gently dragging her back towards him, hearing the gentle shuffling sound her feet made as she barely lifted them from the ground. As he let go, Melanie turned slowly around to face him as he dug into his briefcase for his keys, before a sudden, and rather loud, smash came from beyond the door and stopped him. 

“Do you have a roommate?” Melanie asked curiously, watching as Barba slowly shook his head, a small amount of fear flashing over his eyes as they darted worriedly between her and his unopened front door. She then reached for her hip and unbuttoned her holster, carefully drawing her gun and motioning for Barba to hand her his keys. “What rooms are near the door?” 

“Just a closet,” Barba replied, swallowing harshly when Melanie turned the key in the lock and raised her gun up in front of her before she quietly pulled down the handle. He then added in a whisper, “Right side.” 

Readjusting her grip on her gun to both hands, Melanie gave the door a gentle push with the tip and it opened, a relieved breath leaving her lips when it did so silently. She stepped carefully in, her shoulder opening the door further as she spun quickly on her heels to her right. The closet door was already open, her heartbeat increasing rapidly as she peered around the frame and flicked on the light. She let out a slow breath. It was empty, thank God, and so she retreated a few steps back and ushered Barba swiftly into the apartment, as she didn’t feel at all comfortable with leaving him in the hallway as God knows who could be lurking around waiting to hurt him. 

“You really shouldn’t go in there alone,” Barba said worriedly as he allowed Melanie to push him into the closet. 

“I can take care of myself,” Melanie said defensively, “But I need you to stay in here and be quiet.” 

“Melanie…”

“I mean it, Rafael,” Melanie hissed sternly, “I’ll be able to focus better if I know you’re safe so… And this is the only time you’ll ever hear me say this to someone… Please, stay in the closet.” 

“Fine,” Barba reluctantly agreed, as it was useless to argue with her. “But if, God forbid, there is someone inside, please… No heroics. I really don’t need you dying inside my apartment, I’ll never get the blood out.” 

Squinting at him, Melanie muttered, “Just for that tone, I’m dying extra bloody.” 

Barba stayed quiet and instead simply stared at her, his lips pressed together in clear unamusement at her retort as he watched Melanie give her gun a quick once over then back away. She slipped out through the door, closing it quietly behind her and leaving him to stew in the confines of his stuffy closet whilst she went out in search of a possible intruder. His heart was in his mouth, beating so profusely he felt like spitting it out onto the floor and abandoning it there whilst he ran after her. He didn’t like waiting. He didn’t like being benched on the sidelines whilst she went out there and quite possibly put her life in danger for him. 

It was his apartment. He was a fully grown man, it should have been him that was out there checking things out whilst Melanie took safety in this tiny closet. But he knew better than to ever argue that with her. She’d only pull the this is the 21st century and woman aren’t damsels in distress anymore card she used often and whilst that’s not at all what he was implying, he just wanted her out of harm's way because he loved her, he didn’t have it in him to go through that again. 

Therefore, he did nothing but stand there silently.

That was, until he heard a faint scream coming from the direction of his bedroom and like a bat of hell, he found himself running in the very same direction before he could form a single coherent thought.

“Melanie!” Barba called out, his chest heaving with worry as he burst through the door. The first thing he saw was Melanie, just standing there, in the middle of his bedroom with her hair a little messier, her gun hanging loose by her side and all the colour now gone from her face. “Melanie?” 

The sound of his worried voice dragged her back to reality, and she turned to him, placing her hands on her hips as she frowned, “What did I tell you about staying in the closet?” 

“You screamed, what was I supposed to do? Let you die in my bedroom?” Barba sniped, his eyes shifting from Melanie’s still startled looking face to the vase that lay in pieces on the floor. His brow creased and his gaze lifted, landing directly on the open window just next to where the vase used to sit. “What happened in here?”  

“Nothing,” Melanie said quickly. Too quickly that Barba couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow unconvincingly towards her. She then sighed, holstering her weapon and refusing to look at him as she shyly began to mutter, “It was a… pigeon.” 

Blinking, Barba questioned, “A what?” 

“A pigeon,” Melaine said louder, her cheeks flushing red as her slowly pronounced words stunned Barba. For a split second anyway , before his face easily loosened up and he slowly but surely began to roll his lips. She pointed at him, her features tightening, “Don’t you dare laugh.” 

Unable to open his mouth from fear of laughing, all Barba did was raise his hands in surrender, his eyes trained on the dark painted fingertip Melanie kept suspended in front of him. However his lips kept twitching. Even his stomach began to tremble out of desperate need to let it out, and eventually he couldn’t hold back anymore. A deep laugh was rattling up his chest and he threw his hand to his mouth, covering it as he tried his hardest to stifle his amusement as Melanie did nothing but glare at him. 

“I’m leaving,” She said flatly, spinning so fast on her heels her hair created a gentle draught that swept over him in a cloud of the fresh apple scent he was becoming far too addicted to, “And I really hope that pigeon comes back and pecks you to death.” 

“Melanie,” Barba called, his tone breathy as he was still laughing quietly to himself as he darted after her, hooking his hand around her elbow and halting her in place in his living room. He cleared his throat and rolled his lips in an attempt at composing himself before she turned around to him, nothing but pure embarrassment written all over her face. “Are you alright?” 

“No,” Melanie grumbled, “I was just attacked by a pigeon.” 

Picturing exactly… that, Barba’s lips twitched again and this time he had to fight a lot harder to stop them. 

“Rafael, so help me,” Melanie warned, a soft sigh escaping her nose as she closed her eyes. Her almost motherly tone was all Barba needed to snap out of it, and when she opened them again, his body had relaxed and he’d stepped even closer to her, placing his hands comfortingly on the sides of her neck.

“Would you like a drink?” Barba asked, and all Melanie did was nod her head almost furiously in response. A smile rose on his face as he drew slow circles against her rapidly beating pulse, hoping to help calm her down before she did die in his apartment. Only instead of an intruder being the cause, it would have been a heart attack. “Go sit down, make yourself comfortable and I’ll get you something strong.”  

“Thank you,” Melanie exhaled, an appreciative smile twitching at her lips as Barba’s hands left her neck and he stepped back, allowing her to make her way almost absently towards the light grey couch as she mumbled, “I really hate pigeons.” 

A soft chuckle that only he could hear left Barba’s lips as he unbuttoned his blazer and slipped his arms out, setting it neatly over the back of one of his chairs as he made his way across the room and towards the kitchen. He loosened his tie and tossed it on the breakfast bar as he passed it, opening his cupboard and lifting out two clean glasses before grabbing a bottle of scotch he’d yet to open and taking it in its entirety back to the living room with him. 

By the time he got there, Melanie was already curled up on the farthest couch away from him — no doubt due to its position up against the wall which allowed her ample view of the entirety of his apartment. He rarely ever sat on that couch himself. In fact, he sometimes didn’t know why he’d bothered to get another couch as it wasn’t like he used his first one often enough to even warrant him needing another. 

But at that moment he was incredibly glad to have it. That couch was the only place in his apartment, bar his bed, that they would have been able to sit with a wall behind them, and more than anything, did he want Melanie to feel comfortable enough to want to stay. And by the looks of it she was. Her badge and gun were sitting on the coffee table. She already had her boots off and her feet tucked safely under her legs, nothing but the tip of her toes poking out from beneath and Barba didn’t miss the small details of her shark patterned socks. It was just like her to wear bright, colourful socks under her dark exterior and they made him smile as he shuffled past the other couch to join her, taking a seat at the opposite end and leaning towards the coffee table in order to set the contents of hands down. 

Sparing no time, Barba then unscrewed the lid of the bottle and poured Melanie a rather generous serving of the amber liquid within. He passed her the glass and watched as she brought it shakily to her lips and downed the entirety in one swift mouthful, placing it back on the coffee table where he refilled it without so much as a second thought. 

“You shouldn’t leave your bedroom window open when you’re not home,” Melanie said seriously, taking a slower sip of her scotch this time and resisting the urge to scrunch her face up at the taste. She’d always hated scotch, but she’d happily take what she could get in order to help settle her nerves. “Someone could break in.” 

“Besides a pigeon?” Barba said humorously, his eyebrow raising playfully towards her as Melanie did nothing but glare at him over the rim of her glass. He chuckled and reached out to gently pat her hand, “ Mi cariño , I live in a seventh floor apartment with no fire escape. No one bar… Spider-man has the ability to climb in my window.” 

“You didn’t hear about that guy in Chicago?”  

“What guy?”

“Apparently he was free climbing up the front of this building with nothing but suction cups attached to his hands and feet,” Melanie replied, and Barba’s eyes slowly widened. Maybe he should start closing his window after all. “Erin was telling me about it, they had to call the fire department to come and get him down.” 

“Erin? That’s detective… Lindsay, right?” Barba asked as he took a sip, watching as Melanie nodded her head around one of her own. “How is she doing? After Nadia?” 

“She’s doing okay,” Melaine told him, shifting in her seat a little and leaning her glass on her knee. “It’s hard, dealing with the guilt I know she feels. But at the same time, I think it’s a whole lot easier for her knowing Yates is behind bars where he belongs.”

Uncurling one finger from around his glass, Barba pointed at her, “That’s all on you.”  

“I wasn’t the one who convinced the jury he was guilty,” Melanie deflected, feeling a great wave of pride for Barba over the memory of that conviction. 

“That’s true,” he nodded, taking a drink, “But you are the one who suggested I use the crime scene photos to get him all riled up.” 

“I did do that, didn’t I?” Melanie said in a smug tone that had Barba sigh. Perhaps he shouldn’t have brought that up, as something told him she wouldn’t be letting him forget it. “Hm, maybe I should be the one to take the bar exam next.” 

Barba couldn’t help the gentle laugh that left his lip, “Now there’s an amusing thought.” 

“Oh shut up,” Melanie uncrossed her legs and nudged him playfully with her foot. “You would love having me as your shadow.” 

“Would I though?” Barba said in retort, causing Melanie to glare at him as she began digging around her pocket for her phone. She’d felt it vibrate against her back from where it sat, over the arm of the couch behind her, which made it that much easier for her to pull out, a soft scoff leaving her lips as she glanced down at the screen. “Everything okay?”  

“Mhm,” Melanie nodded, typing a quick response before locking it and putting it away again. “It’s just Sonny.” 

Oh, you shouldn’t have said that Melanie, now Barba’s going to get jealous again.

“Says he's with the others at some bar in support of Dumas, Donlan and Campesi if I want to join.”  

“Do you want to?” Barba questioned curiously, casually, all whilst trying his hardest not to get jealous as something told him Melanie probably wouldn’t like that.  

“No,” Melanie scoffed, finishing off her drink then pointing briefly to her forehead. “In case you’ve forgotten, I’m not exactly a fan of detective — Sorry, ex-detective Campesi.”  

“About that cut,” Barba began, finding that he couldn’t seem to draw his eyes away from the darkness of it. “Did you see a doctor?” 

“No.”  

“Melanie,” Barba exhaled, about to carry on scolding her before she swiftly interrupted him.  

“What? I was already running late, okay, I didn’t want to keep you waiting hours whilst I waited for a doctor to do the same thing I can do myself.” 

“Oh, so you can give yourself CT scans now, can you?” Barba said with minor sarcasm, his eyebrow raised. 

“I don’t need a CT scan, I’m perfectly fine.” Melanie protested, “All it really needs is a proper clean and I can do that myself.” 

Barba narrowed his eyes doubtfully towards her as she refilled her drink and began sipping on it. He knew, in one hundred percent certainty, that Melanie’s definition of a proper way of cleaning her cut would be in the middle of some bar after she’d splashed vodka on a napkin and dabbed half-assedly at it until she was satisfied enough that it wouldn’t kill it. Of course, he knew well enough that it more than likely wouldn’t kill her, but there was still the chance it could get infected if she left it any longer without giving it a proper clean, and infections could only go and lead to all kinds of more serious issues — ones Melanie would excuse away until it was too late for her to do anything.

And so, with that lingering worry now etched deep in his mind, Barba leaned forward and placed his glass on the coffee table before standing up. 

“Wait here,” he said, not even giving Melanie a chance to respond with her face, let alone words, before he shuffled towards the bathroom, returning a few seconds later with a first aid kit that made Melanie roll her eyes. She said nothing though, instead she just took a drink as she let him soak some gauze with peroxide before taking a seat closer to her. “Lean forward.”

Melanie didn’t move.

“Lean forward,” Barba said again, this time with a little more firmness.

Sighing exasperatedly, Melanie rolled her eyes and gave in as she knew it was useless to fight with him on it. She shifted forward a little and adjusted her head so that he could reach her, a quiet wince escaping past her lips at the first touch of the peroxide against her cut, along with a gentle shiver rippling down her spine at the first brush of his fingers against her skin, which made her want to hold her breath as he was so dangerously close to her lips.

“How did this really happen?” Barba asked softly, dabbing carefully at her forehead and watching as the white gauze turned a faint pink-ish colour between his fingers. 

“I told you,” Melanie replied plainly, her heart warming at the delicate touch Barba seemed to have with her, and it almost made her wonder if first aid was all that he was gentle at. “Campesi rammed my head into the wall when I walked away from her.” 

“She just rammed your head into the wall?” Barba repeated questionably, and Melanie hummed in agreement. Somehow, he doubted that. “Unprovoked? Seriously?” 

“Well…” Melanie drew out, chewing at her lips. “Maybe not entirely unprovoked.”

There it was, Barba thought to himself. There’s what she wasn’t telling him. 

Continuing to dab at her head, he sighed, “What did you do?” 

“Nothing… much,” Melanie confessed, watching as Barba swapped out his bloody piece of gauze for a fresh one and encouraged her to elaborate. “But she started it, okay, she got all up in my face when she saw me talking to my dad.” 

“Your dad? Why would that provoke her?” 

“Because she overheard him telling me that no matter what, he trusted me to do the right thing,” Melanie said with a sigh, absently raising her hand to hold back her hair in order to allow Barba better access to her forehead — which at this point was as clean as could be but neither of them seemed to want the brief contact to stop just yet. “She thought he was talking to me about my testimony against her.” 

“But I’m guessing he wasn’t?” 

Melanie shook her head, forcing Barba’s touch away from it, “He was talking about Mikey. But before I could explain that to Campesi, she was already all up in my face about being a daddy’s girl.” 

Barba raised his eyebrow, “And that’s when you hit her?” 

He wouldn’t have put it past her if that was the sole reason as to why she did. 

“Not exactly,” Melanie said, falling back against the couch and running her fingers through her hair as Barba stayed where he was, which was close enough to her that she could feel her knees brush over his outer thigh. “When she was done she told me I better watch my back…” 

Watch her back? That wasn’t what you’d call a comforting thought to have pop into your head and without realising, Barba shuffled closer to her.  

“Now, of course I wasn’t going to let that slide so in response I said: or what, are you gonna shoot me in it too? And when she didn’t say anything I went to walk away… That's when she slammed my head into the wall and that’s when I punched her.” 

“She threatened you?” Barba fixated on, as it had been the only part of her tale that had actually gotten into his mind. Mainly because the idea, alone, terrified him. 

“She tried,” Melanie replied, trying her best to reassure him. “She talks a big game but she doesn’t have the balls to go after me. Not with who my dad is.”  

“Still, you should watch yourself…” Barba said, reaching out to place his hand atop her open palm and feeling his heart leap when she dropped her eyes and immediately laced her fingers with his. “With the city and the department the way it is right now, you don’t know who you can trust.” 

“I know I can trust you,” Melanie whispered, glancing back up at him with a whole new softness. She tightened her hold on his hand and placed her other one atop it, drawing her thumb lightly over the softness of his skin. “And I know that I’m safe here.” 

“Unless anymore pigeons get in through the window,” Barba smiled jokingly, as he simply couldn’t trust that any of the emotion filled words that wanted to pass over his lips wouldn’t send her running right out of his apartment. 

Melanie’s face easily fell at that remark, and she frowned, “On second thoughts, have I ever told you that I hate you?” 

“Frequently,” Barba responded, yet he was still smiling wide as even in her playful grievance with him she’d yet to let go of his hand. 

Because of that, Barba took a brave step forward and lifted his free one, lightly drawing the back of his knuckles over the darkening bruise on her chin before he uncurled his fingers, splaying them across her cheek to cup it gently and feeling as she tilted her head to better fit into the warmth of his touch. He slowly started to drift closer to her, his heart hammering in his chest with every inch he closed between them as his gaze never once shifted, the two of them staring so intimately into each other's eyes that a whole flock of pigeons could fly in and Melanie wouldn’t even have blinked. 

Like opposing magnets, their lips continued to draw closer and closer together. It was slow, they’d both admit that. Slower than either of them would have necessarily liked after all the times they’d been left wondering what the other tastes and feels like, but at the same time… Just being able to feel one another's breath escape past their lips, puffing out hot over their skin and sending waves upon waves of goosebumps cascading over their bodies was almost enough for them not to want to let their lips touch because what if it was nothing like what they were both hyping it up to be? 

It was possible. That it wouldn’t fulfil the expectations they’d both been expecting but regardless of that worry, as deep down they both knew it would be as heated and breathtaking as they pictured it, they continued to close the gap between them. Barba’s hand had made its way through Melanie’s hair and to the back of her neck, subtly helping to bring her closer to him as her stomach flipped and just as his lips were about to finally meet hers after the relentless torture he’d been through the past few months, Melanie’s phone buzzed in her pocket and out of instinct she turned towards it. 

Kissing her cheek instead, which she seemed to not feel at all, Barba’s eyes closed exhaustively and he drew back his head and dropped his hand, his jaw clenching so hard he thought it might have ground to dust beneath his skin at the sight of Melanie checking her phone. 

She was checking her phone. During this… desirable and quite frankly overdue moment that was just about to happen, she was actually checking her phone and Barba couldn’t help but feel an unfathomable amount of rage course through his veins at just who she was most likely texting.  

“Let me guess, Carisi again?” He muttered bitterly, venom practically dripping from his tongue as he shuffled across the couch and back to his original spot, resting his chin on his closed fist as he all but huffed. 

Melanie didn’t answer him. She didn’t even hear him, and as all the colour ran from her face she brought her hand up to her mouth, parting her lips with a single finger as she let out a slow, shaky breath. That caught Barba’s attention easily and his mood soon shifted, his body moving back towards her on its own accord at the thought of something bad having happened and yet all he was worried about was not being able to kiss her.

“Melanie, what is it?” He asked, placing his hand on her arm and drawing her distant gaze towards him. “What happened?” 

“During a traffic stop, a rookie patrol officer was shot…” She told him, swallowing thickly as she lightly shook her head. “He was only 24 and uh… He didn’t make it.” 

“God,” Barba exhaled, running his hand roughly over his chin as Melanie set her phone down on the coffee table with a rough clack and leaned her elbows on her knees, running her hands down her face and up into her hair. 

Both of them had always known there’d be retaliation coming for what happened to Terrance. Protesting. Rioting. Unprovoked attacks on police and other New York citizens, but neither of them thought it would ever get so bad so quickly and with a deep sigh at what the world was apparently coming to, both Melanie and Barba glanced over at each other. It was as though their brains were running on the same wavelength, as barely seconds after they did, the exact same words lips slipped past their lips and out into the air, 

“I need another drink.” 

And it was safe to say that where one bottle of scotch soon ended, another one after had quickly begun. 

<- Chapter 4 | Chapter 6 ->

[rockofeye]

the hell is going on with these folks (and the cat accusation is downright insane): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rvZTr3F_YZI

This is purposefully targeted hate speech and propaganda, and it is not new to the US political field. This is part of the racist Great Replacement conspiracy theory, and the same statements have historically been said about folks immigrating for Asian countries, from the Middle East, and even folks coming from Central and South America. I hope it's no longer a common thing said, but there were racist 'jokes' when I was young that if you went to a Chinese restaurant, you were getting cat for dinner.

These are tactics attempting to demonize an extremely vulnerable and marginalized community in the same manner that Jews and other 'undesirable' groups were demonized at the end of the Weimar Republic as the Third Reich rose in Germany. This is a tool of a political party that is trying to seize power by fearmongering, which requires a scapegoat to be successful. Recently arrived Haitians are that scapegoat, and it's dangerous.

That video is really sad, and it's a masterclass in how racism is both a class issue and is used as a tool to divide. The statements about how recently arrived folks supposedly get so much money for the government, but we can't...this is manipulating working class, blue collar workers, and folks living at or under the poverty line, and it is exactly the tactics used in the building of race and racism that the United States was founded on. Instead of white folks who fall into working class, blue collar, or poverty categories realizing that the government is the problem in that basic needs of every day persons are absolutely ignored under our so-called democracy, they are being told that it is the people who are leaving a literal war zone to try and stay alive who are the problem. At base, racism is capitalist divide-and-conquer; if working class/blue collar/poverty level white folks united with Black folks, immigrants, and those seeking asylum, this country would be on it's knees...but instead, capitalism has manipulated vulnerable citizens to believe that outsiders are the problem with claims that are absolutely out of hand

Some of this is lack of education and critical thinking skills; basic research can show people that what people claim as fact is not at all true. People who are arriving from the border or arriving via the Biden parole program are in the United States legally but honestly...who fucking cares? It is a factual inaccuracy to believe that individuals who are not citizens and/or have not passed the 5 year mark if they are legal permanent residents have access to federal benefits earmarked for citizens or folks with sufficient residency. They do not qualify for SNAP, most Medicaid, social security, federal financial aid, and on and on. When they work, they pay taxes but they do not reap the benefits--there are no tax refunds and they do not benefit from social security, which means even if they work for 30 years in the US on a work permit, they can never access social security retirement benefits.

The rest is political strategy, wag-the-dog style. This bluster distracts from the fact that the Republican candidate is a fucking lunatic who cannot string together a single coherent thought and who is able to be provoked to anger with a single side eye. This is a distraction to remove pressure and attention.

Moreover, if it was true that recently arrived Haitians were left to steal domestic pets or wild living birds to survive, the shame is on our hands, as US citizens, for allowing people to starve when there is so much food available. How would a country with one of the highest GDPs allow people fleeing terror to be reduced to stealing pets to eat? That would be disgusting and a terrible indictment of who we are as a country, not that many of us don't already see it.

The other statements about Haitians being filthy etc are just poorly informed or purposefully aimed to be harmful. Anyone who has lived with or around Haitians in any significant way knows how a Haitian home is kept. Anyone who has spent any significant time with Haitians understands how, even if someone is living in poverty with nothing, there is still pride in themselves and how they live...and that is a huge reason, all other things aside, why folks are not out stealing Fluffy to have dinner. Those things are without pride, and folks would rather starve.

There is also the purposeful misunderstanding of how immigrants acclimate to a new place. Folks coming here from the border or via the Biden program are on pins and needles because they know their situation is wobbly, and they are smart. No one is going to be knowingly acting in a way that is going to upset where they live or who they live around, and Haitian culture contains nothing that would be super out of the ordinary in the US.

I am glad the reporter spoke to local Haitians and made the effort to get accurate translations of what folks were saying. How some questions were answered gives a clear picture to folks who know that they know they are under a microscope, both in the US and with the situation in Haiti; did you catch how, when questioned about gangs and violence, the one guy knew nothing about nobody? That's not accidental.

This will also target Vodou and Haitian vodouizan as well. I have already seen commentary on social media about how Haitians who are eating all these animals--dogs, cats, ducks, rats, etc--and doing 'rituals' with the remains. This is a dangerous and slippery slope, particularly if the party supporting these statements retakes the White House.

So...pay attention. This is a masterclass in the deployment of classism and racism to create distractions ahead of an election that feels very important to many people. Don't let them control your attention.

[abcthv9597]

It is said that Yoongi's case is finally over! Apparently on the 27th of September the judge has signed off his summary indictment and he only has to pay a fine (I'm not mentioning the amount of money because no one really knows the actual amount but K-A.R.M.Ys said that since he is a famous and influential person with lots of money they are going to make him pay much more money than it is actually needed or such fine ever costs)! The case is finally closed unless Yoongi decides to protest the fine in the next 7 days which means that in that case the case will go to trial. A lot of news outlets are reporting on it however we should be cautious and wait for an official statement by Big Hit or Yoongi to really know if this is real!

Can't believe it took them almost 2 months for something that should have never been treated as a big deal! My question though is: what is he getting fined for since they said that what he was driving was not a vehicle?! If it isn't a vehicle then they can't actually fine him for drunk driving (this is also the reason why his driving license was not revoked too)! Like what do they mean DUI violation of the Road Traffic Act when it was confirmed he was not driving a vehicle, he was wearing a helmet, going super slow, he was on the pavement NOT on the road (it is legal to drive a scooter on the pavement in South Korea) and they never did a breathelyzer test on him?! Who are these people kidding?! It was never confirmed by anyone that he was drunk, it is a rumour all those K-media bullies kept on mentioning just because on his letter he said he went out for a drink! Having a drink doesn't necessarily mean you are drunk and Yoongi in his first letter on Weverse said he just went home after being stopped by the police. He didn't have any breathalyzer test done on him! We all know that Yoongi never lied in any of his letters!

As you can see there are still loopholes in this case by the police's side that we will never learn the truth about, the police and the K-media are still trying to cover others' messes, crimes and scandals with Yoongi's case! We all know Yoongi was a scapegoat for big crimes and scandals! If it's really over now I hope Big Hit starts immediately suing all those K-media, antis, akgaes and bullies! They deserve hell, jail time and the worst for what they did to him😡

[thelindenpapers]

It's really wild to me that, when I point to our economic system and hierarchies and condemn the damage that they've done to me and to my life, there are people who would scoff and say, "Yeah well, it COULD have been so much worse though! You got off easy, considering!"

Is that…supposed to make it better? Should I really be grateful for that?

DOESN'T THAT MAKE IT WORSE??

Look, if I'm on a train, and there's a horrific crash, and I stumble out of the train car bloodied and "only" missing an arm and one foot…should I go up to the conductor and shake his hand and thank him for a job well done?

Am I not IGNORING the literal bloodbath -- the piles of human bodies and lives still unmoving on the train cars that I left behind?

The mangled pieces of my friends and family, their cries and frustrations and struggles -- hell, the bodies of STRANGERS, who are human beings just like me -- suffering and crying in needless pain…

And I'm supposed to smile about that, because my pain was and is lesser than theirs??

I don't understand the kind of ghoul you want me to be.

No, it is NOT a good system, just because others got hurt worse than me.

The fact that others get hurt worse than me, and are struggling more than me, is an INDICTMENT of immense proportions. Not a redemption of the systems causing it.

[unforgivenn]

Can ya do framed pleaseeee? From the badthingshappenbingo??

X is done, Circle is requested

TWISTED - #1: Victim Blaming

Story Sypnosis: What if everyone you trusted turned against you? Edison is framed for a crime he didn’t commit, with evidence so airtight it’s like someone’s been watching his every move. No one believes his innocence, and he has no clue how to prove it. But the worst part? It all happened in the home of someone who’s been obsessing over him for longer than he could ever guess.

CW: False accusations, Public judgement, Violence mention, murder mention, hopelessness, Gaslighting, manipulation, Desperation and isolation

The room was suffocating, like the walls were closing in on him, crushing his lungs. He could barely hear the voices around him over the pounding in his ears, a relentless drumbeat that drowned out everything else. They were staring at him—eyes filled with a mix of pity and accusation, like he was some kind of monster.

"How could you?" The question wasn't even directed at him, not really. It was a judgment, an indictment. He felt it like a knife twisting in his gut, carving out pieces of him with every glance, every whisper.

He wanted to scream that it wasn't true, that they were wrong, but the words stuck in his throat, choking him. He didn’t know where to start, didn’t know how to explain something he didn’t even understand himself.

He could still see the scene flashing in his mind, over and over again—the blood, the shattered glass, the way everything had gone so horribly wrong. It played on a loop, like some sick movie that he couldn’t turn off. He hadn’t done it. He knew that much, at least. But that didn’t matter.

The evidence was everywhere, and it pointed right at him. They had found his fingerprints, his DNA, his goddamn fucking name carved into the table like a damn signature. It was a nightmare, and no matter how much he tried, he wasn't able to wake up from it.

“They found your shirt covered in blood. The same blood type as hers,” someone said. He wasn’t sure who—maybe it was the officer, or maybe it was one of those fake-sympathetic relatives who had been hovering around since it happened. “What were you doing there that night?”

He opened his mouth to answer, but nothing came out. He couldn’t remember. That night was a blur, hazy and distant, like something that had happened to someone else. He remembered being in his apartment, watching TV, maybe. But that couldn’t be right. His shirt had been found, stained red and crumpled in the corner of that house, and he had no idea how it had gotten there. He hadn’t been there. He hadn’t.

“I didn’t—” He finally managed to say, his voice hoarse and cracking, even he didn't believe it was his own. “I didn’t do it. You have to believe me.”

They didn’t. He could see it in their eyes, the way they looked at him like he was some kind of criminal trying to wriggle out of punishment. They had already made up their minds, and nothing he said would change that.

“Your prints were on the knife,” someone else said, a woman this time, her voice trembling with barely-contained anger. “Your prints, on the weapon that killed her. You were there, you did this, and now you’re trying to deny it?”

He shook his head, a violent, desperate motion, but it was like trying to push back a tidal wave with his bare hands. “No…no, I wasn’t there, I swear. I didn’t—someone must’ve planted it. I wasn’t there!”

The woman’s face twisted into something ugly, something filled with hate and revulsion. “Planted it? You think this is some kind of setup? Why the hell would someone go to all this trouble just to frame you?”

He didn’t know. He couldn’t wrap his head around it, couldn’t understand how any of this was happening. But the evidence was piling up, a mountain so high he couldn’t see the top, and he was buried underneath it, suffocating.

“I don’t know,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I don’t know how any of this happened. But I didn’t do it.”

"You're a monster. A fucking monster." The woman hissed at him, almost going as far as trying to tackle him, before she was dragged away by the officers.

But the word was already branded in his mind. He wasn't a monster. His life was going absolutely fine, even if he was struggling with paying his school fee and managing two jobs in a day. He was just a simple 21 year old so how the fuck did this happen?

"Please. I didn't- I didn't do it." His sobs were getting harder and louder, inches close to hyperventilating. "I was in my apartment, doing my work all night. I had a test the next day.. I swear.. I swear I didn't.. I swear I didn't do it."

He could see it on their faces—the cold, hard certainty that he was guilty, that he was lying through his teeth. He felt the walls closing in on him, tighter and tighter, until he couldn’t breathe.

“It’s all there,” the officer said, almost kindly, like he was speaking to a child who didn’t understand what they’d done wrong. “The evidence is all there, son. What I think really happened was that Freya came to your house for a date, she said something that angered you and then you murdered her. Now why don't you tell us the truth hm?”

The way the officer said it, was as if all of this was no big deal. He wanted to scream, to cry, to run, to tell them how wrong all of them were. And the truth? The truth was that he hadn’t done anything. He wasn’t a murderer. But for them the truth didn’t matter—not when the lies were so much more convincing.

“I didn’t,” he said again, weaker this time, his voice barely more than a whisper. “I didn’t do it.”

But even he could hear how hollow it sounded, how desperate. They were looking at him like he was already convicted, like they were just waiting for him to finally admit it. The pity in their eyes was gone, replaced by something colder.

“You need to stop lying,” the officer said, his voice firm now, no trace of kindness left. “This is your last chance. Tell us what really happened, or we’ll have no choice but to charge you. Is that what you want?”

He felt like he was falling, spiraling down into a pit of darkness with no bottom. He didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to make them see that this was all wrong. His head was spinning, his thoughts racing in a thousand different directions, but none of them made any sense. He could barely breathe, his chest tight with panic, with fear, with the knowledge that he was utterly, completely fucked.

“I… I can’t…” His voice cracked, trying to stop his constant sobbing. “Please, you have to believe me. I didn’t do it. I didn’t…”

The officers only sighed, and the people around him continued to whisper and glare at him. He could see it in them, the way they were already writing him off as guilty, as a murderer. He felt like he was drowning, the air thick and suffocating, his heart pounding so hard it hurt. He couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t fight against the tide that was pulling him under. And the worst part? He didn’t even know who had done this to him, who had destroyed his life so completely, so meticulously. He had always been so.. nice to everyone. He never had any enemies. So.. why..? Why this..?

He had no idea why. But as the officer’s voice droned on, talking about charges and evidence and court dates, all he could think was that it didn’t matter. None of it mattered. His life was over, and he hadn’t even seen it coming.

He felt sick, the bile rising in his throat, the taste of fear and despair bitter on his tongue. ]He wanted to run and run, maybe flee to another country. Just somewhere people would look at him with kindness again. But how could he fight against something this big, this overwhelming? He was just one person, and whoever had done this to him—they had all the power. He was nothing, no one. A victim. A scapegoat.

They were still talking, but he couldn’t hear them anymore. All he could hear was the sound of his own heart, beating faster and faster, like it was going to explode. He needed to get out. He needed to run. His hands went to his ears, covering them. But there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide from the truth that was suffocating him.

And as the realization settled in, as the cold, hard truth of it all slammed into him like a freight train, and he felt something inside him break.

He was alone. Completely, utterly alone. And no one, not a single soul, believed him.

His breath hitched in his throat, the room spinning around him as the panic tightened its grip. The walls felt like they were closing in faster, the air thickening with every passing second. He could see them, all of them, watching him, waiting for him to crack, to confess to something he didn’t do.

The officer's words became a distant hum, drowned out by the deafening roar of his thoughts. His vision blurred, the faces around him turning into a mess of shapes and colors. He felt the pressure building inside, a scream clawing its way up his throat, desperate to escape. But instead, a single thought cut through the chaos like a knife: Run.

The word echoed in his mind, clear and sharp, rising above the noise. His legs twitched, his muscles tensing, ready to bolt. He knew what he had to do. There was no other option, no other way out. Maybe this wasn't a good choice, but did it matter? He was only going to end up in a cell with no contact with the outside world and no love. He had to get away, had to find somewhere—anywhere—where he could breathe again. Where he could fucking think, where he could figure out who had done this to him. Just fucking run.

He swallowed hard, the taste of bile still bitter on his tongue. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the last remnants of the officer’s voice. He couldn’t stay here, couldn’t let them box him in any longer.

With one final glance at the faces around him, at the cold, accusing eyes that had already condemned him, he made up his mind. His body was moving before his mind could catch up, his muscles coiled like springs, ready to snap. A last thought consumed his mind, repeating again and again. Run.

He was going to run.

Taglist: @anutz1234 @nuriiz134 @miireux134 @noeul-whumpppssssss1234 (lmk if you wanna be added)

[tomorrowusa]

Donald Trump increasingly is acting like a James Bond villain – albeit a particularly mindless one. He spends a disproportionate amount of his time plotting revenge against his perceived enemies.

The really sad part is that the bulk of the Republican Party fully understands that he's a psychopath but refuses to call him out.

Even worse than those GOP sycophants, there are rightwing think tanks and attorneys plotting out the details of Trump's revenge.

Rosters full of MAGAfied lawyers are being assembled. Plans are being laid for an entire new office of the Justice Department dedicated to “election integrity.” An assembly line is being prepared of revenge-focused “special counsels” and “special prosecutors.” Gameplans for making Smith’s life hell, starting in Jan. 2025, have already been discussed with Trump himself. And a fresh wave of pardons is under consideration for Trump associates, election deniers, and — the former president boasts — for Jan. 6 rioters. The preparations have been underway since at least last year, with Trump being briefed on the designs by an array of attorneys, political and policy advisers, former administration officials, and other allies. The aim is to build a government-in-waiting with the hard-right infrastructure needed to turn the Justice Department into an instrument of Trump’s agenda, according to five sources familiar with these matters and another two people briefed on them.

Number one on Trump's list are Special Counsel Jack Smith and his team.

This year, close advisers to Trump have begun the process of assembling lists of the names of federal personnel who have investigated the former president and his circle for years, and are attempting to unmask the identities of all the DOJ attorneys and others connected to Smith’s office. The obvious purpose of this, according to one source close to Trump, is to “show them the door on Day 1 [if Trump’s reelected]” — and so “we know who should receive a subpoena” in the future. Such subpoenas would of course be instrumental in Trumpland’s vows to its voters that, should he return to power, Trump and his new attorney general will launch a raft of their own retaliatory “special counsel” and “special prosecutor” probes to investigate-the-investigator, and to go after their key enemies.

Stalin's NKVD and the Spanish Inquisition would be jealous.

Trump's second term special prosecutors whose job it would be to go after his targets would be based inside the White House rather than at the Justice Department.

Some far right grovelers have already begun to kiss up to Trump to get a place on his revenge squad.

Some lawyers and operatives close to Trump have pitched themselves for these kinds of roles, telling either Trump or some of his closest advisers that they’d be more than happy to take the gig in Trump’s possible return to power in 2025. And along with having dreams of sweeping retribution and purges, the upper ranks of Trumpworld have spent years putting together projects to vet and prepare a new generation of appointments — for “special prosecutor” posts, as well as much else — and administrative talent. In this informal vetting for Justice Department candidates, former senior Trump aides and well-connected activists have sought lawyers with a track record of loathing DOJ, particularly what they deem its supposedly “liberal,” “left-wing,” or “Marxist” elements. Between these different Trump allies, different private spreadsheets have been created in recent years, some laying out dozens of possible contenders, while some include upwards of a hundred names, sources with direct knowledge of the situation say. Former top Trump White House policy adviser Stephen Miller and other key Trump diehards have contributed names to several of these lists. 

Yep, if you smell fascism then there's a good chance Stephen Miller is nearby.

Trump got elected once and he could get elected again. People on the moderate to progressive part of the spectrum need to unite and make complacency a thing of the past.