#like….i refuse to believe me or you or any of us

[mumblingsage]

I also think it's worth being pedantic about important things...and in that spirit I've spent like an hour writing and deleting various responses to this one (I found myself over-policing my tone and stopped that, so I'll just say right off I have no ill-will toward you and appreciate the contributions, even as I disagree on interpretation in several ways):

First, your tags - "for example a book can really kick off a delusion and set something off that can be traumatic." As I've said in another reblog thread, but it deserves repeating, triggering delusions, compulsions, or PTSD or adjustment disorder symptoms is not the same as causing trauma. We should try to accommodate people with triggers, and much of this accommodation will need to be individualized because the range of potential triggers is vast and often does not include things conventionally recognized as upsetting. I had a loved one make an irreversible error because of a delusion he had that was fueled by the due date on his library card being coincidentally the same as the date of his dentist appointment. That's not a reason for us to have a cultural conversation about the format of due date stickers. Though it could call for a discussion of how we can best support people who are experiencing delusional thinking or psychosis (we are currently doing very badly).

Re: vicarious trauma. Reading the Wikipedia article, I see that the examples given are of real life events reported on in the media, primarily social media and news coverage in the wake of terrorist attacks. I'm not going to get too deep into personal experience here, but let's just say this is not my first time hearing of vicarious trauma, and the important thing is that it is a real response to real harm and disaster. I wouldn't refuse evidence, but have not seen any, that it's caused by 13 Reasons Why or The Bridge to Terebithia or Outlander. (Bellingcat has useful advice for safety and 'metal hygiene' when engaging with firsthand sources of violence. I might use similar techniques when watching clips from a horror movie, but the stakes are not the same. Also, heads up that anyone who clicks through that link will read some text about distressing real-life events.)

"Books can have a significant impact on someone’s mind and outlook and that’s why they want them to be banned." < I agree and I think when people talk about how they don't want kids (or others) to read books about death, violence, sex, etc, they are participating in this. Authoritarians want us to have very particular ideas about these topics and resist any alternative information or thinking about them. When people go around saying "Learning or thinking about something upsetting is the same as being traumatized" they are doing the work of Christofascist Censorship Attempts, and I don't care if it's accidental. We don't need to compromise with them. (I don't have room to open this can of worms fully, but I also think too many people go around saying--for example--"13 Reasons Why traumatized me, I can't believe any library would let a kid read it" and thus send a message to the people around them with real-life experience with suicide, suicidal ideation, etc. that their experiences are unspeakable, untouchable. This social stigma is incredibly harmful.)

"I think it’s more productive to challenge the idea that a book that can potentially cause harm should be banned instead of the idea that books can potentially cause harm." < This is an interesting idea. I love its uncompromising stance. It's one I would adopt if I was convinced books can cause something that deserves to be called "harm" (the two of us may just have different definitions). I definitely believe we all have the God-given right to give ourselves nightmares and anyone trying to 'protect' us from that should be kicked in the fork of the legs.

I'm wondering if, as a society who cares about vulnerable people, we could stop saying "traumatize" when we truly mean "upset"?

I am sick of hearing sad books or movies "traumatize" their readers. I simply do not believe that happens. A traumatic experience might be adjacent to books (I have vivid memories of books I was reading around certain experiences and even how the contents of those books affected my processing of the experiences). But it's not caused by the book. And, y'know. The weather is Christofascist Censorship Attempts outside.

Meanwhile from the other side I continue to be surprised at just how badly people fail to understand trauma and traumatic experiences in general. Watering down the term isn't helping. Find other hyperbole to express that The Bridge to Terebithia gutted you, chewed on your heartstrings, and made you cry your first pair of contact lenses right out of your preteen eyes.

[alexanderwales]

I finished rewatching Death Note. I always forget how short anime is, with episodes that aren't much more than 20 minutes when you skip the intro/outro.

I hadn't remembered how much of a sniveling wreck LIght was at the end of the show. There's something about the ending that makes it feel like it was written and directed by a different person, not that Light wasn't always a little weird and pathetic, and not that the show didn't consistently go out of its way to let us know what a piece of shit he was (particularly his absolute lack of loyalty or empathy to anyone, even aside from the megalomania). But he takes the loss like a loser, snot dripping from his nose, voice cracking, begging, and it's so pathetic that I almost felt a little sorry for him.

I've always found the Death Note to be a very interesting prompt, one of those hooks that's so good I'd want to watch it even if it was bad. But in writing something like Death Note, the author has to make decisions about what to show and what not to show, and also make decisions about how they're going to portray the public at large.

There are two big things that stand out for me.

One is that we never get someone arguing against Kira. We get people who are actively trying to hunt him down, but they're mostly not stopping to say "this is why what he's doing is wrong" except a few lines about how he has a childish sense of justice, which is never expounded upon. Kira, on the other hand, we hear a lot from, not just the megalomaniac stuff, but the notion that criminals must be punished, that this is what people desire in their hearts. I get the strong sense that L does not actually care and just views this as an interesting puzzle for him to solve, but for everyone else it's largely left as an exercise to the viewer, and even then, there are moments when some of our task force members come dangerously close to endorsement.

To the extent the show has an answer, it's that (to quote Kanye West) no one man should have all that power, or that Kira has crossed a lot of lines, but no one argues in favor of rehabilitation or clemency or just fundamental humanity. Kira seems to largely be killing prisoners, who have already been sentenced, and are wards of the state, and he says "this is what people want deep down, they will give you the politically correct answer but they actually want the criminal class to be obliterate", which ... there's no character who actually voices any opposition to through the whole series. And I find that weird, because yes, the show has its own answers in terms of how it plays out, but in a show filled with people possessed of immense conviction, most of the people in opposition to Kira are just intellectuals who don't actually give a shit about the ideological question.

(The one big moment when it comes to a head, IMO, is when Soichiro Yagami refuses to write Mello's name entirely because of his principled objection to killing someone. I thought this was great, and I wish the show had more of it.)

The other big thing is that we don't really get a viewpoint of the criminals, with a few exceptions. One is the is Yotsuba group, who are killing people with the Death Note, and the second is the (somehow still functional) mafia that Mello hangs out with. There's also one other scene somewhere after L's death where we see a criminal begging with the police not to have his name written down, and that's about it.

The naive view here is that the show really does believe in Criminals as being a part The Other, a different sort of human being who walk among us. The criminal class are described as rotten and evil, they're shown as grotesque and with exaggerated features or bestial characteristics, and they're generally leering and impulsive. There is no consideration of their humanity.

There's a more nuanced take here, which is that we have a criminal as one of our main cast, Light Yagami, along with everyone else who takes on the Kira mantle. So what is the show saying about criminality through how it portrays them? And here ... I don't know. I kind of don't think that it views them as criminals in the same way? When we look at the ways that Light kills, I genuinely do think that the show thinks that this is different from the way that a capital-C Criminals kill. It's reactionary rather than criminal in and of itself, a response to the injustices of the world rather than being in the same class as those injustices. Light is narratively exempted, and Misa is to. Which isn't to say that I think the show thinks highly of Light, it clearly doesn't, especially in its ending, but I almost think that in the end it Others him too (and also has Teru Mikami drawn in particularly 'evil' style, like a creepy deviant gremlin).

So I enjoyed the rewatch, but there are things that sit a little oddly with me as far as the central themes go. There's probably some discourse I should read that's come out since I first watched it in ... 2010 or whenever, but I think I'll give that a skip.

[thedream14]

As an historian, I love that Logan is always the History teacher.

That's why I like to think that sometimes when he's working with Hank or Charles on a particular topic, he likes to do a History research.

Logan finds it easy to spend hours and hours in an archive. He loves checking primary sources, as he is the type who likes to get his hands dirty. And because he has been around for so long, he knows the “weird” words and the possible implicit meanings behind any source.

Sometimes, Logan likes to take Wade to the archive with him, as the place tends to be very hermetic and quiet. He will never admit it, but Wade's voice gives him more comfort than the continuous sound of the Microfilm Scanner.

There is one day in particular that Logan remembers very fondly and with a little bit of humor.

At the time, he was working on an urban investigation in another country, and he had to go to the local archive to read some notarial files and folders.

The day before, he calmly reviewed all the search indexes and prepared his notes. Wade insisted on accompanying him, since he didn’t want to be left alone as a tourist. Without thinking much, Logan accepted.

When they arrived at the Archive, Logan was prepared with all his safety equipment. A nice coat, gloves, mask, hat, safety goggles, etc.

On the other hand, Wade refused to wear gloves saying, “I promise I won’t touch anything, Peanut.” But as usual, that wasn’t the case.

Logan was VERY emphatic about the safety equipment, especially the use of gloves, as some folders tend to have a controlled pH. While others are simply affected by fungus….

“You better put on your gloves, Wade, believe me the last thing you want is an 80s fungus on your hands.”

Sure enough, three days later they were in a dermatologist's waiting room.

“I swear, Peanut, I didn't touch a thing in there… Besides, aren't we supposed to never get sick? Fuck this man…”

From that day on, Logan won't let Wade get close to his documents, even with a magnifying glass.

——

PD: This actually happened to a friend of mine hahahaha but it was worst cause the fungus that she got on her hands was due to a colonial document from 1736. Plz… Always use your glovessssss 😆

[oceandolores]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫'𝐬 𝐝𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐫 | chapter 21

dbf!joel miller x female reader

"If we died tonight, I'd die yours,"

summary: joel found you

warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI, AU, No outbreak. (TW) mentions of substance abuse/alcohol use disorder, adult content, religion abuse, violence, blood gore, mentions of death, sexual abuse, sexual content, domestic violences, pedophilia, cannibalism, human trafficking, dad's best friend!Joel, HUGE age gap (i will not specify her exact age, but she's legal and Joel is 49), daddy issues, mentions of toxic family dynamic, Joel is widowed, Ellie is 16, angst, smut A LOT, forbidden relationship, soft and protective Joel, innocent and pure reader. your last name is Gibson. any other details will be explain throughout the story. inspired by the album Preacher's daughter by Ethel Cain and also mix with lana del rey vibes.

CHAPTER 21

masterlist!

previous | chapter 20

The cold seeped into your bones, icy and unyielding against the concrete floor, and you could feel every bruise, every cut, every ache in your body.

The pain was an unrelenting, throbbing reminder of everything you’d endured, but that wasn’t the worst part. What tore at you now was the horror of seeing Emma, your best friend, taken from this world in a way you wouldn’t have believed possible had you not witnessed it with your own eyes.

Her life, her laughter, her warmth—gone. Because of you.

A sob caught in your throat as the weight of it crushed you. Emma hadn’t deserved this; she had a whole life stretched out before her, full of hope and love.

She had just started it, a new chapter, a new promise. And now, because she’d tried to save you, it had ended in unimaginable horror. The images wouldn’t leave you, wouldn’t stop replaying in your mind.

Jim—God, he was probably gone too. Gone, because of you.

Desperation clawed at your chest, leaving you empty and hollow. You could feel yourself slipping, hope draining out of you like a slow bleed, and something bitter was taking its place.

A deep, aching question clawed at the edges of your mind, one you’d never dared ask before, but one that refused to stay silent any longer: 

Why would God let this happen to you?

You’d loved Him, stayed faithful, tried to be everything you were taught you should be. And yet, here you were, in the darkest pit, left to rot. 

Why?

Tears blurred your vision, and somewhere between the sobs and the silence, you felt something break inside you.

You stopped praying, stopped hoping for anything good. The words, the comfort, the promises—all of it felt hollow.

You were empty now, just a shell of everything you once believed.

The door creaked open, and in he came—Negan, his footsteps echoing like the toll of a death knell. He looked at you, pity mingling with something else in his gaze, a twisted satisfaction.

A smirk tugged at his lips, and he shook his head, his voice dripping with mocking sympathy.

“Aw, look at you,” he cooed.

“See, doll, I didn’t want it to come to this. But you had to go and make things difficult. If you’d just listened to me—if you’d been my good girl—none of this would’ve happened.”

The rage bubbled up, scalding and raw. You looked at him, every ounce of hatred burning in your eyes. “What did you do to her?” The words barely made it past the tightness in your throat, but they were laced with venom.

You could feel it, the sickening truth—whatever he’d done, it was something worse than you could imagine.

Negan chuckled, an unholy sound that made your skin crawl. “Don’t you worry about her,” he said, a dark glint in his eye.

“I took real good care of her.” The words lingered, taunting, but before you could say anything more, he pulled a medical kit from his bag, the glint of a syringe catching your eye.

Panic shot through you, and you scrambled backward, heart pounding. “Don’t… don’t touch me!"

Negan’s eyes softened, his tone suddenly too gentle, too calm. “Relax, princess,” he murmured, reaching for your arm. “I just need you to play along for a bit.”

But you jerked back, thrashing against his grip. “Don’t fucking touch me!” Your voice cracked, fueled by the horror churning in your chest, the feeling of his hand on your skin like a brand.

The gentle smile on his face vanished, replaced by a cold, dangerous stare. His grip tightened, bruising, and in one swift motion, he struck you across the face, the impact leaving stars in your vision.

“Listen to me, you stupid little bitch,” he hissed, his voice low and deadly. “I’m done asking nicely. You’re going to be a good girl and do as I say, or you’re going to wish you had.”

You barely registered the sting of the needle as he plunged it into your arm. The world began to blur, darkness creeping in from the edges, and you fought it, clawing for consciousness, desperate not to give him the satisfaction of seeing you crumble.

But the drug took hold fast, dragging you down, down, until the world was nothing but darkness.

***

The address Negan gave led Joel to an unassuming neighborhood, quiet and tucked away, where homes lined the street like silent sentries.

Everything here was normal, almost obscenely so, and the ordinariness of it all set his nerves on edge. How could something so terrible be hiding behind these closed doors?

How could neighbors go about their days, clueless to the horror lurking so close? He took a long, deep breath, steeling himself, fingers grazing over the cold metal of his pistol holstered by his side.

He wasn’t a fool; he knew this was a trap. But nothing—nothing—would stop him from stepping into it if it meant the chance to see you alive again.

Before he entered, Joel slipped his phone from his pocket, sending his location to Tommy, leaving the device outside on a rock by the front gate.

He couldn’t afford distractions; whatever came next would be a fight to the end.

As he made his way up the steps, he felt it in his bones, that tether connecting him to you, stretched thin but unbroken. He knew you were here, somewhere behind these walls, waiting, needing him.

His heart ached at the thought of what you’d endured. It wasn’t right—none of this was right. 

Inside, the air was thick with rot and rust, the scent of decay seeping into Joel’s lungs as he moved through the shadowed house.

Every step felt like a descent deeper into hell, each room echoing with the silent horror Negan had constructed within these walls.

The quiet was suffocating, pressing against his senses as he advanced with tense, deliberate steps, the weight of his weapon a cold comfort against his side.

The metallic smell of blood seemed to seep through the walls, thickening the air like rot as Joel moved down the dim corridor, his gaze fixed on the heavy big metal door at the end.

Blood was smeared across its surface, a dark, cruel stain, like the mark of some unholy ritual. He forced himself to breathe through the nausea rising in his throat, steadying himself with a muttered plea.

Please, God, let her be alive.

With a rough, trembling hand, he pushed open the door, entering a space so silent and hollow it felt like stepping into a tomb. The walls were metallic and gray, shimmering faintly under the dim, flickering light.

A hulking freezer stood in the corner, and around it lay instruments of terror—chainsaws, rusted wrenches, and knives coated in dried blood.

This was no ordinary room; it was a pit of nightmares.

He barely took three steps before his gaze froze on the horror ahead—a headless body hung from a butcher’s hook.

With a dress dangling from her shoulders, hair matted against blood-smeared fabric. For a sickening moment, his heart stopped, every nerve screaming as he tried to push down the dread that it was you.

But it wasn’t.

He knew you. The shape of your body, the softness of your shoulders, the line of your arms. Relief coursed through him, but only for a split second.

Desperately, he moved toward the freezer, steeling himself for whatever horror he might find. Inside, jars lined the shelves—heads frozen in twisted, agonized expressions.

Women. Girls to be exact. They don't look older than 20.

His stomach churned violently, but he couldn’t look away. And there, in a fresh jar, he saw Emma’s familiar face, her eyes closed forever in a peaceful, sickening slumber.

His chest tightened as the desperate, icy panic surged within him. He’s taken them all.

As he backed away, his gaze landed on a large object draped in thick canvas, its edges sagging like a dark secret. Swallowing, he approached, slowly pulling back the cover, revealing a small dog cage, lined with soiled fabric and stained in red.

It's you.

He could barely breathe as he took in the sight, disbelief warring with hope. Inside, you lay motionless, your body crumpled and cold, pale in the dim light, bruises shadowing your face and arms.

Every inch of you looked fragile, lifeless. Joel’s heart shattered, the pain so raw it made him stagger.

"No... no," he whispered, stumbling forward. "No.” His voice cracked, shattering the silence.

He dropped to his knees, frantically reaching through the bars, hands trembling as he fumbled with the lock.

It wouldn’t budge, metal biting into his hands as he yanked, pulled, and beat at it in fury until finally, with a final, desperate heave, it gave way.

He pulled your body in his arms, a wave of coldness seeping through his skin as he held you close, brushing a shaking hand against your cheek, as if he could will the warmth back into you.

“Baby…I’m here.” His voice was barely a whisper, as fragile as he’d ever been, a man torn open.

He pressed his ear to your chest, desperate for any sign of life, but your skin was cold, your pulse faint to nonexistent, the quiet threatening to consume him.

"I'm here now… open your eyes, babygirl," he whispered, voice raw and trembling, searching for any flicker, any faint sign of life.

He leaned close, brushing his thumb over your bruised skin, trying to will you back to him. "Doll… please… open your eyes. I'm here."

His own heartbeat thundered in his ears, his body trembling with the weight of the moment, and yet—somewhere, deep in his bones—he felt you.

You couldn’t be gone. Not you. This couldn’t be happening.

Desperation clawed at him as he murmured again, “I’m here… please, please… doll…” The sound of his voice, broken and laced with grief, shattered in the silence.

He clutched you tighter, pressing you to his chest, a hollow ache blooming in the very marrow of him. "Please… don't do this to me, baby…"

"Don't do this to me..."

For the first time in years, Joel prayed.

He’d long forgotten how to ask for mercy, how to whisper words into the void and hope something beyond him might listen.

But here, in this moment, he found himself clinging to the last, fragile remnants of belief, calling out to a God he’d long turned away from, begging—pleading—that you be spared.

His lips moved in a silent prayer, the words barely more than a broken murmur, all his hope wrapped into each fractured plea. Please… don’t take her. Don’t let her go.

His world collapsed into this single, unbearable moment. Everything—the pain, the emptiness, the years he’d spent buried in his own grief—shrank down to this: holding you, willing you to stay.

A part of him whispered that you were gone, that he’d come too late. It sliced through him, the pain cold and merciless, tearing at him from the inside.

But he couldn’t accept it. He wouldn’t. He held you tighter, as if he could pull you back to life with sheer, desperate force.

"Come on, babygirl," he whispered, his voice a soft plea, thick with tears. "You promised me… remember? You promised."

His tears fell onto your skin, mingling with the blood that marred your face, his grief seeping into every inch of you. He bent his head, pressing his lips against your forehead, his tears hot and relentless.

Every memory, every moment with you flashed through his mind, a lifetime of love condensed into seconds. The laughter you’d shared, the softness in your eyes when you’d look at him—all of it now hung in the balance, slipping through his fingers like smoke.

Joel's grip tightened, his arms wrapped around you like he could shield you, even now, from everything dark and vile in this world. "Please, come back to me," he choked out, his voice barely more than a breath, the words pulled from the deepest part of him. 

Come back.

His chest ached, his heart beating against a wall of sorrow so thick it was suffocating. And still, he held you, as though love alone could tether your soul back to him, could fill the silence that had swallowed you whole.

Suddenly, the silence between you shattered as you gasped awake, air flooding into your lungs in a desperate, rattling breath.

Joel’s heart jolted with such force he almost pulled back, but instead, he held you tighter, his relief an overwhelming wave crashing over him.

You thrashed weakly in his arms, vision blurred, disoriented and terrified, your voice breaking in panicked cries. "No! No! Don’t touch me!"

"Hey, hey… it’s me. It’s me," he murmured softly, his hands gentle on your shoulders as he tried to calm you.

His voice was thick, a rough whisper, barely holding back the tears of relief as he drew you closer, feeling the steady warmth of your breath against his chest.

"Joel?" He felt you relax, and slowly, as if afraid you’d disappear if he let go, Joel wrapped his arms tighter around you, silently thanking whatever force was left in this world for bringing you back to him.

"Thank you...Thank you God," he whispered to God, to bring you back.

Your blurred vision cleared, and as your gaze fell on his face, the tears came, spilling over in a torrent of relief, of exhaustion, of love.

You clung to him, like a child, letting out every fear, every longing, until the weight of his presence seemed to ground you, to make you feel safe again.

“I thought… I thought I’d never see you again,” you whispered, your voice trembling, breaking.

He pulled you close, pressing his lips to the side of your head, his words soft and steady. "I got you. You’re safe now… I’m here now." His heart clenched as he felt you collapse against him, trusting him to carry the weight of this moment.

The horror of everything he’d witnessed, everything he’d feared, lingered on the edges of his mind, but with you here in his arms, he could finally breathe.

He then kissed you, you kissed him back.

The warmth of Joel's embrace, that kiss—long, desperate, everything unspoken between you poured into it—all of it felt like salvation, like drowning in relief only to be pulled into air and held there, safe.

Your lips pressed together in a fierce, shared need to feel every ache, every moment of fear, longing, and love—the kiss deepening as if it could carry every bit of pain you’d endured and let it dissolve in his arms.

For a moment, it was just the two of you against the horror, the emptiness that had swallowed you whole.

Here, with him, you are finally feel alive again.

But then, the moment split open. A shadow loomed behind him, and a chill ran down your spine, the dread slithering into your heart before you even turned.

You pulled back, eyes wide, breath catching as you saw Negan standing there, his mouth twisted in a cruel, dark smirk.

In his hands was that familiar bat, glinting under the dim light, raised with lethal intent.

"NO, JOEL—" you managed, your voice breaking as terror surged through you, but it was already too late.

The bat crashed down with a sickening, brutal force, and Joel’s body crumpled beneath the blow.

“Joel!” Your scream tore through the silence, raw and desperate. His form lay motionless, blood slowly trickling from the wound on his head, staining his face as his eyes fell shut.

The sight shattered you.

Negan grabbed you, yanking you away with unyielding strength. You kicked, you clawed, but it was no use. “NO! Don’t do anything to him! Please, don’t hurt him, don’t—” But your pleas fell on deaf ears.

He threw you back into the cold, unforgiving cage, the door slamming shut with a merciless clang.

"NEGAN, NO!" You pounded against the bars, fists slamming as you screamed. He only watched, amused, as though your desperation was an orchestra he enjoyed conducting.

Across the room, Negan dragged Joel’s limp body to a chair, binding his hands and legs with thick, rough ropes. He worked meticulously, each knot tight, his gaze never leaving Joel's battered face.

Blood dripped from the wound on Joel’s head, trailing slowly down his neck, and you felt a crushing helplessness as you watched him, your voice cracking as you screamed.

“Joel! Joel, please… wake up…”

You clawed at the bars until your nails split, your hands bloody, but the steel held fast.

The reality of the moment sank into your bones like ice, each second stretching with dread. "NEGAN, PLEASE!" you begged, your voice breaking, but he only turned toward you with a mocking, cold look.

"That’s the last time he’ll get to touch you," Negan sneered, disgust twisting in his voice as he gestured back at the spot where you’d kissed Joel, where you’d clung to him like he was your last hope. “Disgusting.”

***

Joel’s world flickered back to life in fragments, his mind swimming as he fought the waves of blackness pressing against him.

His head throbbed with a searing pain, and his vision blurred as he forced his eyes open, seeing only flashes of movement and shapes at first.

Then, bit by bit, his sight cleared, and he could see you through the haze, slumped against the bars of a cage, tears streaming down your face as you called his name, desperate and broken.

His heart twisted at the sight, fear tearing through him as he tried to reach for you, only to feel the bite of ropes cutting into his wrists and ankles.

He was bound to the chair, unable to move. Panic settled into his chest, sharp and unforgiving. “Doll…” he managed, his voice hoarse and shaky as he struggled against the restraints, the blood from his wound still warm, trickling down his neck.

Negan’s voice cut through the tension, sharp and cruel, like the edge of a blade scraping against bone. "Well, look who’s finally awake,"he jeered, stepping into Joel’s view, his eyes gleaming with a sick, twisted pleasure.

Every word that left Negan’s lips felt like an assault, each syllable laced with venom.

The sight of him, standing there so casually, was enough to stir something inside Joel that was deeper than fury—it was primal, raw, a burning hatred that ignited within him.

Every muscle in his body screamed to break free, to get to you, to tear Negan apart. He pulled at the ropes, feeling them bite into his skin, but they held fast, as immovable as the horror that had unfolded.

"I'm going to kill you," Joel growled, the words thick with rage and the promise of retribution. The air around him seemed to crackle with violence, his every word a threat, his every breath heavy with hatred.

Negan’s laugh was low and cruel, a sound that made the hairs on the back of your neck rise. Without warning, he drove his fist into Joel's stomach, and the sound of it—the sickening thud—echoed in the room, a sharp crack of pain that sent a wave of terror through you.

“No!” you screamed, your heart pounding in your chest, your hands reaching helplessly through the bars, as if you could stop the onslaught with your mere presence.

Negan wiped the blood from his knuckles and smiled. "You think you can save her, huh? Think you can play hero, Miller?" he mocked, his voice dripping with scorn.

"C’mon, you can’t be that stupid. You really think I’d kill her? Please… she’s way too much fun to kill." He sneered, another brutal punch landing on Joel’s face, snapping his head to the side with a sickening crack.

Joel’s eyes were darkened with pain, his mouth now filled with blood, but the fire in him didn’t waver. "I’m gonna fucking kill you," Joel spat, the blood dribbling from his lips, his voice hoarse with fury.

Negan tilted his head, studying Joel with a twisted grin. "Tough guy, huh?" he said, mocking the very idea of Joel’s strength. "Well, let’s see how tough you are when you can’t do a damn thing about it."

Joel’s heart was thundering in his chest, the pulse of his veins matching the brutal rhythm of the punches he endured.

But his spirit didn’t falter; it only burned brighter with every insult, with every blow that landed on his battered body.

Negan circled him, like a predator sizing up its prey, leaning in close, his voice thick with venom as he whispered into Joel’s ear. "What were you thinking, huh? That you could just walk in here and stop me?" He chuckled, shaking his head, his voice dripping with mocking pity.

"We were fine without you. Hell, we were thriving without you." His eyes flicked over to you in the cage, a dark glimmer in them. "She was happy, you know. Didn’t need you to be in her head. But here you are, playing the white knight, trying to save the girl you don’t even fucking deserve."

Negan's voice was like poison, dripping from his lips with a slow, deliberate cruelty, each word laced with venom meant to tear Joel down, to twist the knife deeper.

He knew the weight of Joel's guilt, the shadows of his past, and now, he was going to use it against him.

"You think you deserve her?" Negan’s tone was mocking, cruel, his eyes glinting with a sadistic pleasure. "You? You think you can be her hero, Miller? You’ve known her since she was a little girl, right? Since she was three? And now you’re fucking her?" His voice rose with each word, the venom thickening, as if he could make Joel choke on the very idea.

"Disgusting."

Joel’s stomach twisted, bile rising in his throat. He couldn’t respond—not yet. Not when Negan was playing with fire, fanning the flames of his mind, trying to ignite a spark of doubt in his heart.

Joel remained silent, his jaw clenched so tight it hurt, his gaze burning holes into the floor beneath him.

Negan was trying to gaslight him, make him feel like the monster, make him believe the lies about his relationship with you.

Negan leaned in, his breath hot against Joel's ear, like a shadow whispering sweet poison into his soul. "You really think you’re a hero, huh?" He chuckled darkly.

"You think you’re saving her? You’re just like them, Miller. Just like Ben. Just like that goddamn pedophile you killed. And don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it—taking matters into your own hands, playing God, playing judge, jury, and executioner. You’re the same fucking monster they were. You’re just too stupid to see it."

The words sent a cold shiver through Joel’s veins, like ice water splashing against his skin.

The ghosts of his past clawed at him, the blood-stained memories that had been haunting him for years now bubbling up to the surface. He had killed Ben and Jamie. Killed them to protect her. 

"You killed them because you want her to be all yours. Not because you want to protect her,"

Joel’s jaw clenched, but his mind started to churn with the doubt Negan planted, each word a tiny crack in the wall Joel had built around himself.

He had been justifying everything, hadn’t he? His actions… the things he did for you. It was all for you, wasn’t it? To protect you.

But Negan was playing with fire, and his words were like gasoline—burning through the edges of Joel’s sanity, forcing him to look at the truth through a new, ugly lens.

“God,” Negan’s voice dropped to a low murmur, almost conversational, “I watched her for a long time. Long before you even fucking noticed her.”

He stepped closer, his breath sour, smelling of something rotten, something foul. “The first time I met her father… I was going to repent. I was going to change. Hell, Naomi told me to visit Reverend Gibson, to clean up my act, to find some peace. I was gonna find salvation. All those other girls—bored me. But then… I saw her."

"She was in that white sundress, innocent, pure. I thought—" He let out a dark laugh, shaking his head. “I thought God wanted me to have her, Miller. Maybe she was my redemption. To have a pure, sweet, innocent soul to redeem my sins."

"But then you showed up. Like a fucking rat you have to showed up for God's sake!"

Joel felt his breath catch, like he was drowning in the weight of Negan’s words, each one pressing down on him, pushing him deeper into a pit of guilt and self-loathing.

Negan’s laughter was sickening. It clawed at Joel’s chest, and the air felt thick, choking. “You… you played the fucking hero, huh? You couldn’t leave well enough alone."

Negan walking circled him, "You thought you could save her from her misery just because her father disciplined her. So what, Joel? Girls need to be fucking taught!"

"I agree with her father on that one. She was a brat! and oh she still is!"

The silence was deafening after those words. They hung in the air like smoke, choking the life out of Joel, filling him with a slow, creeping dread.

His mind spun, the thought of you, so innocent, so pure, now tangled in his web. Negan was poisoning everything, every memory of you, twisting it into something ugly, something perverse.

Negan didn’t stop, his words like chains tightening around Joel’s neck, dragging him deeper into the muck. "You led her to you, Joel. Don’t even try to pretend you didn’t."

"You acted like you could protect her. But you can’t even protect yourself from your own past, can you? You’re so goddamn broken, so messed up. And now you’re just taking advantage of her. 

Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, a storm of guilt crashing over him like a tidal wave. Was he—had he really led you here? Was he really just as bad as Negan said?

Negan’s voice dropped to a mocking whisper, dragging the words through Joel's mind like claws on glass. “She was your daughter’s friend, Joel. Ellie’s friend.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against Joel’s ear.

“Don’t you feel disgusted? You’ve fucked your daughter’s friend. That’s how far you’ve fallen.”

Joel’s head swam, the weight of the words crashing over him, drowning him in a sea of doubt and self-loathing.

His grip tightened on the ropes, his knuckles white, but there was something else now—a spark of something dark, something cold in his chest.

"What do you think Jane would say, huh?" with the mention of his late wife, Joel's body tighten up.

"You think she’d be proud of you, molesting Evelyn’s daughter? Evelyn, Jane’s best friend. You’re disgusting, Joel. All of this? It’s on you."

Negan continued, his voice a low, mocking growl, pushing Joel to the edge. “You’re no better than any of us. Look at you, Miller."

"You took advantage of her. She was just a little girl who needed someone to teach her. And you? You saw an opportunity, didn’t you?”

"You are pathetic," Negan's word hit like a snake's fangs, stung through Joel's heart.

Joel clenched his fists harder, his body trembling with rage, fear, and a deep sense of self-loathing. His throat burned as he fought to keep the tears back, to keep from choking on the agony of his own thoughts. The floodgates were closing, but they were trembling, about to burst.

What has he done?

Joel’s thoughts were a maelstrom now. He couldn’t focus. His mind was torn between the images of you—so sweet, so innocent—and the cruel words that Negan kept throwing at him, one after another.

But then, through the haze of doubt, through the suffocating weight of Negan’s venom, Joel heard your voice.

“No!” You screamed, your voice breaking through the madness, a raw, desperate plea.

“Joel, don’t listen to him!” The words trembled on your lips, an echo of everything you needed to say, everything you wanted Joel to hear.

"Don't listen to him!" you screamed again, your breath ragged, your throat burning from the effort. The sound of Negan’s poison lingered in the air like smoke, heavy and thick, but you couldn’t let it smother the truth.

You needed him to hear you. He needed to hear you.

"Joel, look at me!" you pleaded, your hands gripping the bars of the cage so tightly your fingers turned white.

Every word Negan had said felt like a bullet to your heart, but you couldn’t—you wouldn’t—let Joel fall into the same trap. He was better than this. 

He is better than them.

"You’re not like them, Joel. You never were!" The words spilled from your mouth, raw and desperate, desperate to break through the fog that was clouding his mind.

You needed him to see the truth—the truth that was you and him, the life you shared, the love you both fought for in the darkest corners.

"You love me. In your own way, but you love me, Joel! You saved me! You gave me a life I never thought I deserved." Your voice cracked with the weight of everything you were feeling, the deep well of emotion that surged between you both.

"Joel, I love you."

"I love you, Joel. and you love me, you are my savior, you saved me."

"Look at me! Look at me, Joel! Don't let him under your skin, please,"

Negan, on the other side of this fragile moment, stood grinning, eyes glinting with amusement, as if watching a puppet fight its strings.

He saw Joel waver, saw the flicker of doubt and fear, and he thrived on it. His smile was nothing short of wicked, enjoying the chaos he had stirred.

He had set his trap, and now he watched, savoring the confusion that was slowly chipping away at Joel’s resolve.

You could see Joel, fighting against the chaos in his own mind, the weight of Negan’s twisted words pulling at him like a chain.

His eyes flickered, lost, haunted, caught between his past and the present, between the lies and the truth. But then—then—he looked at you.

For a moment, it was like time stopped. The world held its breath, and all that existed was you and him.

His gaze locked on yours, and in that instant, you saw everything—the raw, unspoken love, the pain, the guilt, the shame, but also the fight.

The fight to break free, the fight to protect you, the fight to keep you safe.

"Joel," you whispered, your voice soft but steady now, as if you were trying to calm the storm that raged inside him.

"You are so much better than this. You’re not like them, Joel. You’re not a monster. You are the best father Ellie and Sarah could ever want, Joel. They will be proud of you, she would have. The best man I have ever wanted, you're my protecter, the love of my life, you are my soul, Joel."

But as you cried out to him, Negan’s smile twisted into a sneer, his patience running thin. "Enough with your fucking mouth!" he growled, turning to you with fury, his hands reaching for the cage, yanking the door open with a violence that made you flinch.

"Shut up already."

Before you could react, Negan was on you, his hand slapping across your face with a sickening force, sending your head whipping to the side.

The sound of the slap echoed in the room, louder than your scream. The sting spread like fire across your cheek, your eyes filling with tears that blurred your vision.

For a moment, the world spun—his presence, his cruelty, all of it was too much to bear.

With that, Joel—Joel is awake.

In that instant, the haze lifted from his eyes. The fury, the protectiveness, everything that made Joel Joel came rushing back.

His muscles strained against the ropes, his eyes flashing with an intensity that would have burned holes in the walls if he could.

He was no longer the broken man Negan had manipulated, no longer the victim of his words.

He was the man who had fought for you, the man who had saved you.

"You son of a bitch!" Joel roared, the raw anger in his voice like a clap of thunder. His body surged forward, every instinct screaming to protect you, to break free from his restraints.

"Don't you fucking touch her!" He screamed, his hands were shaking with rage, but that was the only thing that kept him grounded—the unrelenting need to destroy the man who had dared to lay a finger on you.

The rope binding Joel's wrists strained as he twisted, trying to force the knot loose, his mind ablaze with fury. Every word Negan spoke chipped away at his restraint, his heart hammering with hatred.

The sight of you in Negan's hold—his arm around your neck, the gleaming knife pressed to your throat—made Joel’s blood boil.

But he knew he had to keep his wits; one wrong move, and you’d be lost.

Negan grinned, tightening his grip around your neck. His voice was dripping with mockery as he taunted, "What’s the matter, honey? Scared now?" He leaned closer, his sneer twisted with sadistic pleasure.

"Oh, Joel, why’d you have to ruin everything? If it wasn’t for you, she and I—" he paused, savoring each word, "we’d have lived happily ever after."

Joel’s hands shook as he worked against the restraints, his heart pounding. Negan’s twisted words were knives slicing into him, each one crueler than the last.

"She’s delicious, Joel," Negan sneered, his voice sickly sweet as he ran his tongue along his teeth. "The way she tastes... can’t get enough of her." He licked his lips exaggeratedly, taunting Joel, mocking him with every vile syllable.

"You should’ve known," Negan laughed, pressing the blade closer to your skin, just enough to draw a thin trickle of blood.

"Stop it, Negan, please," you whimpered, tears spilling from your eyes, the despair twisting in your voice.

Negan only tightened his hold, his voice low and cruel. "What’s the matter, honey? You were enjoying it too, right?" The words crushed you, and you turned your face away, unable to look at Joel, a sense of shame sinking into your soul.

Joel's fingers scraped against the ropes with renewed desperation, his fury almost blinding.

Negan’s voice slithered through the silence, every word laced with cruelty. "You know," he continued, "I thought of sharing her around with the others. She made me good money, after all. She knows how to entertain… they paid well. Maybe you’d want a turn, too, Joel. She’s… profitable." He laughed, a dark, rasping sound that reverberated in the room, tightening the coil of hatred in Joel’s chest.

"I’m gonna kill you," Joel growled through gritted teeth, his voice a low, venomous promise.

"Ah, ah," Negan teased, pressing the blade harder against your skin, making you wince. "I’m not finished yet."

Negan’s voice softened, a calculated cruelty in every word as he continued. "But I started thinking... she can’t stay young forever. Thought maybe… it’d be a shame not to pass on those… charming qualities of hers."

"And wouldn’t you know it, Joel, she was carrying a piece of me inside her. That's right, My child!"

"She didn’t agree, of course… but a little force never hurt, right?"

Joel’s heart froze at Negan’s taunts, every word tearing open old wounds he’d buried deep.

Each sentence was a twisted knife, slashing at the walls Joel had built to keep the pain, guilt, and memories at bay. Negan’s voice was venomous, slithering around the broken dreams Joel had long since given up on.

He felt the darkness creeping back—the part of him that, years ago, had once loved fiercely, only to lose everything in one brutal instant.

But pregnant? His mind reeled, the word pounding in his skull like a drum. The image of you, scared and vulnerable, carrying his child—his child—pierced through the numbness in his heart.

He could barely breathe, the thought of you enduring such horror while he was oblivious igniting a fury so primal, so fierce, it nearly drowned him.

Rage tangled with a crushing sense of failure. He wanted to rip Negan apart with his bare hands, make him pay for every ounce of pain he’d inflicted.

Negan’s twisted laughter cut through his thoughts. “Yeah, she wanted a family, Joel,” he sneered, lips curling in a malicious grin.

“She had this fucking unrealistic idea, delusional bitch. You. Her. Playing house. Kids. The whole perfect life fantasy. But she knew, didn’t she?” Negan’s gaze pierced Joel, mocking him with each word.

“You were scared of it, scared of screwing it up like you did the last time. I mean, how could she not know? You’ve got ‘haunted’ written all over you. Lost control, didn't you? When you killed your own family,” Negan laughed, as if savoring each jab.

Inside, Joel’s heart twisted. He remembered the night like yesterday. Now he was left with nothing but ashes and guilt that hollowed him out from the inside.

Every part of him was screaming to shut Negan up, to wipe that smug look off his face. But it was true, wasn’t it? Deep down, he was scared—scared of losing again, scared of failing you the way he’d failed before.

But you, you were different. Despite everything, you stayed.

Despite the darkness he carried, the broken parts he tried to hide, you’d somehow found something worth holding onto.

That fierce loyalty of yours was like a light in the pitch-black cave of his heart, something so pure it almost hurt to look at.

You were stupid, he told himself, but the truth was you were braver than he ever could be.

You had this impossible, relentless hope—the dream of a life together, a family, even though he’d told himself it could never be.

You had loved him, flaws and all, even when he couldn’t love himself. And now, the thought of what Negan had done, the way he’d shattered that hope, drove him to the edge.

"But this stupid bitch killed my baby before they could feel their daddy's voice,"

Negan's words echoed in the dim room, each one twisting deeper into Joel's heart. The pain surged through him like wildfire. You'd done the unimaginable for him, sacrificing more than he could comprehend, and now here you were, your hope and loyalty used against you like weapons.

It was more than he could take—Negan was tearing away the last pieces of himself, bit by bit. Joel's fists clenched tight, knuckles white, straining against the binds holding him back, desperate to shut Negan up, to take back what had been lost.

Negan’s voice grew sharper, each taunt slicing like a blade. "You see, Joel? this bitch is loyal and fucking crazy, she killed her own child for you! just to make a new baby for you!"

"She killed her own kid—for you. All that love, all that loyalty, wasted on you."

"But it’s over, you hear me? You and her? Done. I’ll make sure she forgets you. And when I’m finished with you, there’ll be nothing left."

The world narrowed to this single moment. Negan, too consumed with his taunts to notice, didn’t see you move.

In a swift, silent motion, you grabbed a jagged tool from the ground behind him, the weight of it heavy in your hand. You swung it, heart pounding, and plunged it into Negan's chest with everything you had.

Negan gasped, staggering back, his eyes flashing with fury and shock. In an instant, he retaliated, plunging his knife into your side.

The pain ripped through you, a white-hot flash as you felt the blade sink in, stealing the air from your lungs.

"Joel..."

Time slowed, the world narrowing to the throbbing ache and the look on Joel's face—his eyes wide, pure horror carved into every line, as he screamed for you, voice raw and desperate. 

"NO!"

Your name fell from his lips, a broken prayer, just as you stumbled back, collapsing onto the cold ground. Negan kicked you aside with brutal force, your body sliding across the floor as you fought to keep your vision steady.

You could barely hear Joel’s cries over the rushing in your ears, his desperate shout, the anguish that filled every word, but you felt his presence as if he were right there, holding you.

The sound of wood splintering filled the room as Joel threw his weight against the chair, shattering the binds that held him. In one furious motion, he was on his feet, lunging at Negan with a force that seemed to shake the air.

They collided in a storm of fists and fury, each punch landing like thunder. Blood smeared the floor, echoing the carnage that seethed within Joel’s heart, his fists fueled by a rage that seemed boundless.

Every blow was a release, a reckoning for the agony and fear Negan had unleashed.

Through your blurred vision, you saw them—Joel, relentless and unyielding, his fists raining down on Negan, every punch charged with a love he’d never put into words, a love you could feel, pulsing through every beat of your wounded heart.

The scene before you felt like a twisted nightmare, each moment a struggle to stay present, to push through the pain as blood seeped from your wounds.

You clutched your side, feeling the warmth slip between your fingers as you pressed down, refusing to give in. You had to stay awake. You had to stay with him.

Joel was still fighting, his fists relentless, fueled by desperation and a love that spoke louder than words. But Negan’s laugh rang out, mocking, dark.

“Tough guy, Miller? Is that all you got?” Negan’s face was bruised, bloodied, but he still smirked through it, as if even this pain was just another game to him.

"Bring it on!" Negan said. Joel didn’t let up, his fists a storm of anger, of love, of every unspoken promise he’d made. He was protecting you with everything he had.

But in a flash, Negan’s hand found his bat, and with a brutal swing, he sent Joel flying backward, his head colliding with the floor.

As Joel’s head slammed against the cold ground, a sickening thud reverberated through the room, a sound that echoed in the hollow of your chest.

But Negan loomed over him now, his eyes alight with a sadistic joy. “My turn,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again and again, each blow ringing out, a sickening thud that filled the room.

"NO!"

Joel tried to stand, tried to fight, but he was slowing, his strength waning. Blood pooled around him, and when he looked up at you, his eyes were glazed, his face pale.

Blood ran from his temple in a dark, winding river, and you could see the light beginning to fade in his eyes, the haze of consciousness slipping further with each ragged breath.

His gaze found yours, as he tried to smile, to offer you one last reassurance. You felt a surge of panic rise in you, raw and consuming, as you screamed, “NO! STOP IT!" you saw Negan bash his bat to Joel over and over again.

But Negan laughed, a deep, sinister sound that filled every corner of the room. “Look at you, Miller,” he sneered, swinging the bat down again, the force of it making Joel’s body jerk, each strike ripping pieces from your soul.

“You really thought you could win?”

Your vision blurred as hot tears slipped down your cheeks. The pain in your side was blinding, your own blood pooling beneath you, but nothing compared to the sight of Joel—your Joel—bruised, broken, and bleeding, his life slipping away with each heartbeat.

“Wake up, Joel,” you whispered, a plea laced with desperation, but your voice cracked as you saw him begin to fade.

"WAKE UP!" you screamed, “Please, Joel. Wake up!” You tried to rise, but agony shot through you, your body weakening under the weight of your injuries.

All you could do was lie there, helpless, watching as the man you loved was torn apart before your eyes.

Negan paused, his cruel smile widening as he noticed Joel’s lips moving, a faint whisper escaping.

“What’s that, tough guy? what did you say? oh my God! tough son of a bitch! look! he tried to speak to you!” He laughed looking at you as Negan point to Joel laying in the ground blood all over him, mocking, stepping back just enough to give Joel room to speak.

Joel’s head lifted, his bloodied face turned to you, his voice broken but determined.

“C-close… your eyes, doll…” His words were barely audible, each syllable a struggle, blood trickling from his mouth as he tried to form the words.

He lifted a hand, reaching out to you, trembling, his fingers stretching to bridge the aching space between you.

You shake your head crying, "No...Joel...", The world closed in around you, the weight of your love for him too heavy, too fierce, to bear the thought of letting go.

Tears blurred your vision, and you choked back a sob, heart shattering as you whispered back, “You can’t… I can’t lose you.”

"J-just, c-close your eyes, you're gonna be okay," he said again, blood now coming out from his mouth again.

Your chest heaved, your vision blurred with tears. No, you thought, this can’t be it.

The man who’d become everything to you—the man who’d fought against his own darkness just to hold onto yours—was fading. You couldn’t lose him. You wouldn’t lose him.

Then, as if by divine intervention, your gaze fell to the floor.

It's your gun. Your bible and your gun you hadn't see in a long time.

The gun and the Bible Frank had given you, lying just within reach beneath the table. A fire rekindled within you.

A fury as deep and fierce as your love for Joel, you need to save him. This man would fight to his last breath for you, and you'd do the same for him.

Then you began to crawl, inch by painful inch, toward the weapon. Negan, too caught up in his victory, hadn’t noticed, his laughter grating on your raw nerves.

“Oh, don’t worry, Joel,” Negan sneered, leaning over him with twisted delight. “I’m gonna take real good care of your girl here. Good night.”

But before he could swing, before he could deliver that final, sickening blow, you rose to your knees, aimed the gun, and pulled the trigger.

BANG.

The sound shattered the silence. Negan froze, the shock evident in his wide, stunned eyes as he stumbled, blood blooming across his chest. You fired again.

You didn’t stop. Y

He looked at you, eyes narrowing, but you held your ground, staring into him with a steady, unyielding gaze.

Again and again and again, you pressed the trigger, feeling your breath hitch with each pull, each impact sinking deeper, as if each shot was tearing away the chains he had wrapped around you.

You are screaming as the fury poured from you, pouring all the agony into each pull of the trigger, trying to emptying every last round into him, watching him fall, watching his face twist in horror as his strength faded.

Finally, the gun clicked, empty, but you weren’t finished. Dropping the weapon, you stepped forward, picking up his bat.

The weight felt righteous in your hands. Standing over him, you paused, staring down into his eyes, watching the realization settle—he knew he’d lost.

Negan’s bloodied mouth twisted into a smile, his laughter hoarse and fading. “Look at you,” he rasped, his voice broken, taunting to the very end. “All grown up now.”

Those were his last words.

You raised it high and swung the bat with everything you had, unleashing everything he’d taken from you, every wound he had caused, every hope he’d tried to crush.

The sound of cracking bone echoing in the room, a raw, primal scream tearing from your throat as you brought it down again and again and the bone shattered beneath you.

The world faded, reduced to the rhythmic, furious release of pain, until nothing was left but silence, his broken body beneath you.

You dropped the bat, chest heaving, the weight of it all crashing down on you.

And then you heard it—Joel’s voice, barely a whisper, calling your name, grounding you, reminding you of who you were beyond the fury.

You turned toward him, your body swaying with the weight of pain and exhaustion. Every step you took felt heavier than the last, as if the ground itself wanted to hold you back, to stop you from reaching him.

But you pushed forward, collapsing beside him, your trembling hands finding his blood-streaked face, brushing against his stubbled cheek with a gentleness that defied the violence you’d just endured.

"Joel… hang on," you whispered, but the words barely escaped your lips, thick with tears.

His head lolled against you, his brown eyes finding yours, and the blood pooled in his hair shimmered like some tragic halo.

You could feel the strength slipping from his body, a slow ebbing tide that pulled him further away with every heartbeat.

"Look at me, doll," he murmured, his voice a threadbare whisper, his hand lifting with a tremor to brush your cheek, his thumb sweeping away the tears that blurred your vision.

"You’re… you’re gonna be okay."

You shook your head, gathering him closer, your blood mingling with his as you pressed his head to your lap, cradling him as though you could shelter him from the world that had dealt you both such cruelty.

"No, we’re gonna be okay," you insisted, your voice breaking under the weight of it, a plea wrapped in promise.

"Don’t leave me… please, Joel. I can’t do this without you."

You could see the struggle in his eyes, the quiet resignation in his bruised face as he tried to smile, each line etched into his skin telling stories of a life spent fighting—and now, his final fight slipping through his grasp.

He lifted a hand, pressing against the wound on your side even as his own blood stained your fingers. Every breath was shallow, every word a strain.

He leaned his forehead to yours, his breath warm against your skin, his eyes barely focusing but still on you, clinging to this moment, to you.

"I’m sorry, babygirl," he whispered, as if the words themselves could bind you together just a little longer.

“No. Don’t… don’t do this to me, Joel,” you begged, pressing your hand harder to his wound too, as if the pressure alone could stop the flow of time, of everything that was slipping away.

You cupped his face, tears falling onto his skin, mingling with the blood that soaked you both. "We’re gonna be okay. We have to be."

But even as you spoke, darkness edged into your vision too, the room narrowing to the beat of your shared breaths, slow and unsteady.

His fingers held yours, entwined in a desperate grip that softened as his strength faded, his pulse a faint echo in your hand. “I love you,” he whispered.

The words raw and cracked, filling the hollow spaces between you, the ache and loss that could never be spoken. “I’ll always be with you.”

The world blurred, the pain and fear blending into a strange calm as you traced your fingers over his face, memorizing every line, every scar.

"I love you so much, Joel," you whispered, voice barely a breath, pressing your lips to his forehead, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, the man who had become your salvation, your strength.

He looked at you, his gaze softening, his hand falling to rest against your cheek one last time. "I found you,” he murmured, a faint smile tugging at his lips as the darkness began to claim him.

In the distance, a sound broke the silence—a wail of sirens, voices muffled and faint, calling yours and Joel's name.

You heard your own name echoed, felt the vibration of the world rushing toward you, but it felt so far away, unreachable.

“Joel?” you whispered, weak and fading, your vision blurring as exhaustion pulled you under. Joel didn’t respond, his head resting still against your lap, his breathing shallow, slipping away from you.

Your name rang out again, closer now, a voice that you knew—a voice that felt like home.

"Tommy," you managed, a faint smile softening your lips as your gaze lifted, catching sight of his familiar face before the darkness claimed you.

“He found us.”

And then, like the soft closing of a book, everything faded into black.

HANG ON PEOPLE, WE STILL GOT ONE MORE FINAL CHAPTER!

[bisexualchaosdemon]

Bro, you don't understand, I had no intention of writting this, I had shit to do today, but it has possessed me. Send help!!

When Stuart rescues Nathaniel from certain death, he doesn't hand him over to the feds — He hands Nathaniel over to Ichirou Moriyama.

Ichirou wants a shiny new guard dog to match his shiny new throne. Nathaniel has never had any interest in using his skills like that, but he had forgotten all of his mother's advice. He stayed too long and he grew attached. All Ichirou had to do was threaten the Foxes safety and claim to have already taken one out as a warning to get Nathaniel to fall in line. Hearing that he had gotten Andrew killed was enough to convince Nathaniel to bury the final dregs of his humanity.

The Butcher lived to kill, enjoyed it, took his time, and he became a monster with his own urban legends. But Nathaniel was the opposite. He was quick and clean, because he hated killing. He was not a cautionary tale, he was a ghost. They turn Nathaniel into a personal driver and pilot for Ichirou. The body guard is too obvious, but no one really looks twice at the driver. The only person to ever utter the nickname 'the surgeon' was Ichirou.

Nathaniel had been forced to use knives like a Wesninski was meant to and it took time for him to spill enough blood to earn the trust of the Moriyamas. But when he did, he started to dismantle their empire. He adopted his mother's weapons of choice when carrying out his vengeance, so that Ichirou would not know it was him gunning them down until Nathaniel wanted him to know.

By the time he put a bullet between Ichirou's eyes, over two years had passed. But Neil Josten was dead, and Nathaniel didn't know what to do with himself now that the family he left behind were safe from their largest threat. It's months before he works up the courage to check on his old life, and he starts small. He starts with Jean, because he doesn't think he could survive reading anything about Andrew. But slowly he starts to look in on the Foxes that have already graduated. It's not until he gets to Kevin that he finds Andrew's name mentioned.

He closes the article immediately. He had been avoiding that pain for two years, he didn't know how to address it now. It takes three articles for Nathaniel to realise that Andrew is still being referred to in the present tense. When he finds the same in articles four and five, he finally searches Andrew's name.

There is nothing about his death to be found. It's not possible, but he's still listed on the line-up, right alongside his twin and cousin; Andrew Minyard, number three, starting goalkeeper for the Palmetto State Foxes.

And Nathaniel is on a plane to South Carolina without a second thought, cluching desperately to the torn and bloodied black fabric that Ichirou Moriyama had tossed at his feet when he had refused to pick up their blades all those months ago. He had never intended on letting the Foxes see the monster he had become, but he had to know the truth. He had to see Andrew with his own eyes to believe it.

I want "Neil died in Baltimore" Andrew and "The Moriyamas killed Andrew as a warning" Neil to meet

[severinageto]

A terrible idea (or just things without context) — ONE SHOT

Satoru had a long, exhausting day. Boring meetings with the higher-ups, endless administrative work, and Panda, Maki, and Toge somehow more unbearable than usual. So when he got back to his apartment, he didn’t bother picking up a book or turning on any of his consoles. He just dropped himself onto one of his expensive sofas and, without even taking off his blindfold, closed his eyes.

His hair fell in shining waves, his skin smooth and pale like fine porcelain, his cheeks flushed, his sleepy cat-like eyes, and his slightly parted lips—all coming together in that same exquisite way Suguru always did. To top it off, with one finger resting on his lips and lying on his side on the bed, his eyes sparkled with that same look he used to give Satoru years ago, full of unspoken desires.

“Why don’t you lie down next to me, Satoru?”

Satoru knocked himself on the head a couple of times. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you. You’ve taken so long. Weeks, months, years. I think it’s finally time, Satoru.”

Satoru looked out the window. None of this made any sense. He searched for something out of place, some sign of where he was, but his room looked exactly the same as always. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t remember how he’d ended up here.

“Time for what?”

Suguru sat up in bed, motioning for Satoru to come closer. Naturally, he did. Suguru cupped his face, kissed him softly on the lips, and, very slowly, whispered:

“To kill me.”

Suddenly, the room filled with a black haze, surrounding them both. Suguru began to laugh and rubbed his right arm as if it hurt.

“This is a dream,” Satoru murmured.

“Took you long enough to figure it out. Well…” Suguru started combing his hair with his fingers, and Satoru noticed them beginning to stain with blood. “…that’s my point. You’re always late.”

Satoru grunted. He knew what was coming, but, as always, he wanted to try probing his subconscious just a little further.

“Suguru, do you…do you want me to kill you?” he asked softly, in the gentlest way he could, given the nature of the question.

Suguru stopped laughing.

“I’m already dead, Satoru.”

Satoru shot up, his heart pounding intensely as the memory of the nightmare still lingered. His breathing was rapid, almost gasping, and he felt a few cold drops of sweat trickle down his forehead. For a few moments, he stared at the ceiling, as if that could somehow erase Suguru’s words from his mind. He could feel the weight of the anguish in his chest, the emptiness that vision left behind, but little by little, his breathing steadied. With a deep sigh, he got up from the sofa and walked to the kitchen. As he calmed down, he opened the fridge, grabbed a tub of ice cream and a can of Coke, then sat down again and started eating in silence.

Suddenly, an idea struck him like lightning. He picked up his phone and opened Instagram.

“Every time I dream about you, it’s because…” he murmured to himself, typing Suguru’s username. “…aha.”

A genuine smile spread across his face when he saw that, once again, Suguru had unblocked him.

What a terrible idea.

A moment earlier

Suguru was rubbing lotion onto his hands, taking his time, reflecting on his day.

Three exorcisms, two meetings with investors, and one interview. A pretty busy day, but they were all like that. The life of a leader wasn't easy-there were countless things that needed his attention, which kept him running around constantly. He didn't complain, but he was tired. Really tired.

Miguel and Larue noticed how his busy life was taking a toll on him, so they offered to take the twins on a weekend trip. At first, Suguru refused, saying he wasn't tired, that they were imagining things, that it wasn't necessary. But after the sorcerers listed some things he could do in peace-like taking a bubble bath, having a few glasses of wine, or watching a movie-he decided to go along with it.

Maybe it was exactly what he needed.

He looked at his reflection in the mirror, smiled, and began combing his hair. It felt strange to have time for himself; he'd forgotten how much he enjoyed it.

"What can I do now?" he wondered aloud, inspecting his eyes up close. He grunted slightly, noticing his skin looked a bit dry.

"Right. Good idea, Suguru."

He went to the bathroom, applied a face mask, and set a twenty-minute timer on his phone. Then, he lay down on his bed.

"Just while it sets," he murmured, yawning loudly before closing his eyes.

Suddenly, he found himself in a store he hadn't visited in years-since his teenage days, to be exact. He felt thirsty, craving one of those sodas he used to get there all the time. He started looking for it in the coolers, but they weren't there. Instead, he found four doors, each in a different color: yellow, red, and blue. He clicked his tongue. He didn't want to go through any of them. He turned around to leave the store, but the place had turned into an ethereal force field.

"I hate these dreams!" he exclaimed as he turned back to face the doors. He examined them and, after a minute, figured out the obvious. He let out a deep sigh.

"It's not fair that you get two colors," he muttered, opening the blue door.

"It's not my fault," said Satoru, appearing through it. "You know that."

"What are you doing here?"

Satoru shrugged.

"It's your subconscious, bangs."

Suguru looked at him for a moment. The Satoru in his dream looked exactly as he had almost ten years ago. Slightly longer, fluffier hair, the school uniform, and his ever-present glasses. He laughed. He'd been thinking about his teenage years a lot lately, so this made sense.

"Why do you look like a kid?"

"'Like a kid?!"

Suguru burst out laughing.

"You know what I mean."

Satoru pulled a piece of candy from his pocket and began chewing it.

"I think it's because of the door color."

Suguru glanced at the doors again, then raised an eyebrow.

"Who's behind the yellow one?"

"You, if you hadn't killed all those people. Wanna see?"

Suguru scoffed, then shook his head.

"Not interested."

"You scared, bangs?"

Geto moved away from Satoru and stood beside the red door. He put his hand on the doorknob and smiled flirtatiously.

"I assume behind this one is you in that annoying mummy getup."

Satoru laughed and offered him another candy.

"You love it. Admit it."

"Uh-huh."

Gojo got close, their noses almost touching. Suguru swallowed. He knew this was a dream, but even so, he couldn't shake the guilt he felt getting aroused by a fifteen-year-old kid.

"You love all my versions," Satoru whispered, bringing his hand down toward Suguru's crotch.

"Okay, okay, if this is gonna be one of those dreams, I'll take the mummy!" Suguru blurted, moving away and cracking open the red door.

"Too late to change your mind," Satoru replied, looking over his glasses.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean if you open it, you get neither. Know why?"

Suguru sighed. He already knew the answer.

"Because blue and red make purple."

"Bingo! And what's behind the purple door?"

As soon as he said this, a fourth door appeared. Suguru's heart began to pound, a nearly paralyzing fear creeping over him.

"I don't know..."

"Nah, you know, Suguru."

Geto didn't answer. He backed away from Satoru, desperately searching for an escape.

"I want to wake up."

Satoru walked over, grabbed him by the neck, and pulled him toward the door.

"Open it first," he ordered.

"Let go of me, jerk!"

Gojo tightened his grip, and Suguru started to feel short of breath.

"We're in this fucking mess because of you, Suguru, so open it!"

Suguru shook his head, repeating over and over that he wanted to wake up. Satoru released him, only to grab him by the hair.

"WANT TO WAKE UP? OPEN IT!" He threw him against the door, and Suguru had no choice.

As he opened it, Satoru walked through, and the teenage version vanished.

Suguru, catching his breath, looked at this version of the albino with curiosity. It was the same Satoru he'd seen less than six months ago, but instead of his blindfold, he wore a black headband over his eyes.

"Suguru! Are you alright?" Gojo knelt down and hugged him, thin tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, Suguru. Please, forgive me. I had no choice. You...you didn't leave me a choice."

Suguru didn't reply. He just clung to him, fear freezing him in place. He hated being there, hated how real it felt, and hated finding comfort in this Satoru-his executioner. Gojo stroked his hair, continuing to beg for forgiveness.

Fed up with being trapped in his own mind, Suguru broke free from Satoru's arms. He looked at him closely and saw, even under the thick headband, that Satoru's eyes were full of pleading.

"How... how can I ever escape you, Satoru?" he asked, his voice breaking.

Satoru slid the headband down to his neck, his tear-filled eyes locked on Suguru's.

"You can't."

Suguru woke up suddenly to the sound of his alarm, his heart pounding like he’d run a marathon. Quickly, he rushed to the bathroom, ripped off his mask, and his body doubled over, tense, as he vomited. Panting, he sat beside the toilet, waiting for his breathing to steady. His mind was blank, and all he knew was that he wanted to feel better and forget what he had dreamed. At that moment, he wasn’t asking life for anything more.

Suddenly, without knowing why, he reached for his phone. He opened Instagram, went to Satoru’s profile, and unblocked him.

“If I can’t beat you, then…” he murmured, pulling out another mask.

What a terrible idea.

A moment later

Satoru didn't wait even a second to message Suguru. He knew Suguru had unblocked him so he'd see his photos and stories, but more than anything, so he'd talk to him. This game was a familiar one for both of them.

You unblocked me, Geto-sama.

Suguru noticed his phone light up six minutes after unblocking him. Seeing Satoru's name and photo, the weight of that dream lifted, if only for a moment. He opened the chat and set a nine-minute timer. It seemed like a reasonable amount of time to leave him on read.

When Satoru saw his message had been read, he scoffed but felt his heart speed up. Even though he knew Suguru was doing it on purpose, a part of him feared he'd get blocked again before he even got a reply.

Once the timer went off, Suguru grinned.

Mischievously, he began typing nonsense in the message kithout sending it, just so Satoru would see the "typing" bubble for a few minutes. Occasionally, he'd stop, letting the bubble disappear, then start again-an orchestrated symphony to get on the albino's nerves.

Satoru, on the other end, had an unprecedented urge to wring his neck.

Suguru finally stopped typing. He waited a minute, sighed, and then picked up the phone again.

I suppose I did, Gojo Satoru.

—————-continues in https://archiveofourown.org/works/60470752

[tessa-liam]

The One Who Got Away 

Thank you @kyra75 for your ask --  Prompt #4, ‘This is all my fault’ for @choicesprompts – Angstgiving Event 

Choices Book: The Royal Romance, Book 2 

Pairing: Liam Rys x Riley Brooks (F!MC) 

Rating: mature 

Category: angst/fluff, one-shot, ask/prompt 

Words 3.5k, with sprinkles of Canon 

A/N1: not Beta’d, please excuse all errors 

Premise: Liam and Riley are in love, but due to circumstances, they are pulled apart. Riley leaves Cordonia to go back home to New York, heartbroken. Liam marries Madeleine, reluctantly, to fulfill his duty as King. A year later, while visiting New York, Liam runs into Riley.... 

ONE YEAR AGO ...

New York. The place where dreams come true. The Statue of Liberty. The Empire State Building. Central Park. 

As the limousine pulled up in front of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, a sea of reporters and cameras flooded the sidewalk, all desperate to catch a glimpse of the young King of Cordonia. 

He'd arrived in New York earlier that day to spend the next two weeks on a goodwill tour, courtesy of his PR team. He'd already spent several days in Washington, DC, before stopping by a few other major US cities. New York City was the grand finale. 

King Liam stepped out of the limousine, his personal security flanking him, and walked into the throng of reporters. He was met with a barrage of flashing cameras, blinding him. His bodyguards tried their best to hold the crowd back. 

"Your Majesty! Over here! Look over here, please!" 

Liam put on his most dazzling smile and waved, walking towards the doors, surrounded by the press. 

"What are you hoping to accomplish during your stay in New York?" 

"Who will be accompanying you?" 

"Do you have a message for the people of Cordonia?" 

"King Liam! What is the state of the relationship between your country and the US?" 

"Will you be making any important announcements soon?" 

Liam smiled politely at the reporters, but refused to comment on their questions. He reached the top of the steps leading into the museum, and stopped for a moment, taking in the view. It was a gorgeous, but chilly,  November day in New York. The trees had long since lost their leaves and were now a dark brown, contrasting with the gray skies above. The weather had forced most New Yorkers to stay indoors. 

Liam glanced at his watch. It was 10:45 am. 

"Your Majesty? The exhibit is waiting for you." One of the museum staff motioned him inside. 

Liam walked through the massive, imposing entrance doors and made his way through the crowd of museum visitors, down the marble-floored hallway, towards the room where the exhibit was waiting for him. 

The museum staff, dressed in black-and-white, were all huddled near the door, whispering excitedly amongst themselves. 

"This is going to be a huge draw for our museum." 

"I can't believe they let us borrow these artifacts." 

"We're lucky the King agreed to open the exhibit." 

Liam cleared his throat and the museum staff immediately stood at attention. 

"Welcome, Your Majesty. We're honored you're here," the museum director bowed in respect.

"Thank you, but there's no need for all the formality," Liam smiled warmly. "Please, please call me Liam." 

The museum staff beamed as the director held out his arm to escort Liam into the gallery.

"If you'll please follow me, Your Ma—, uh, Liam. We've prepared the exhibit for your inspection. Please take as much time as you'd like." 

Liam followed into the spacious, exhibition room, his personal security standing outside. The staff were bustling around, checking the artifacts and displays. Liam took a few steps further into the room, and his breath hitched in his throat. 

At the end of the room, on a plinth, was a large display case, with a crown encased inside. It was a golden circlet, embellished with rubies, sapphires, and emeralds. 

The Queen's Crown of Cordonia. 

He recognized it immediately. It had belonged to his mother, Queen Eleanor, before she had died. She had never had a chance to wear it. 

Liam's hands were trembling, and his knees were weak. He slowly approached the crown, his eyes fixed on it. The last time he'd seen this crown was at his mother's funeral. After that, it had been kept locked away in the Royal Treasury. He'd thought it would stay there forever. 

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" came a familiar voice. 

Liam's head snapped up and his heart skipped a beat. 

There, standing in front of him, was the love of his life. 

Riley. 

He couldn't believe his eyes. What was she doing here? 

"Riley," Liam gasped, taking a few shaky steps towards her. 

They stood inches from each other, but neither could make a move. There were a million thoughts running through each of their minds, but they couldn't utter a single word. 

"You look stunning," Liam finally said, breaking the silence. 

Riley blushed. "I didn't realize you'd personally be here." 

"My PR team set up this visit."  Liam softly spoke.

"I'm glad they did." Riley nervously responded.

They both stood in silence, staring at each other. 

Liam took a step closer and reached for her hand. 

"I've missed you," he whispered. 

"Me too," Riley replied, squeezing his hand. 

They gazed into each other's eyes, their hearts filled with longing and desire; even after all the time apart.

"Liam, I..." Riley started to say. 

"What is it, Riley?" 

"Nothing. It's just...I'm happy to see you." 

"I'm happy to see you, too," Liam said. "And I'm sorry, about everything." 

"It wasn't your fault." Looking down, Riley shook her head.

"Yes, it was. I should've done more. I should've fought harder. This is all my fault" 

"No. Liam, don't blame yourself." 

"But I do." 

Moving their conversation to a secluded alcove, Riley placed her hands on his cheeks. "None of this was your fault. You did the right thing. And you're an amazing King. You're the best King Cordonia has ever had. You made the right decision." 

"But I lost you." 

"It was my choice, Liam. I chose to walk away. I chose to leave." 

"Why?" Liam searched Riley's eyes for an answer.

"Because I knew you would never choose me over your duty. And I would've never forgiven myself if I forced you to make that choice. That would've been too selfish of me. You were always going to make the right decision for your country. And that's what made me fall in love with you." 

"Riley, I—" 

"Wait, Liam, before you say anything... there's something I need to tell you. It's important." 

Liam frowned. "What is it?" 

Riley hesitated for a moment, then looked up into his eyes. Closing her eyes, her heart was pounding inside her chest. "I was pregnant." 

The color drained from Liam's face. He stared at her in shock. "What did you just say?"  Liam didn't trust his hearing.

"I was pregnant, with our baby. I found out right after the coronation." 

Liam couldn't believe what he was hearing, shaking his head, no. He was completely stunned. He couldn't speak. 

"I didn't know how to tell you," Riley continued. "So I didn't. I was afraid of what you'd say. Of how you'd react. I didn't want to ruin your life. So I kept it a secret." 

"Riley, why didn't you tell me?" Liam asked, his voice hoarse. 

"I don't know. I guess I was scared. Scared of what you'd think. Scared that you'd hate me. I'm sorry, Liam. I should've told you. But I didn't want to put you in a difficult position. I didn't want to force you to make a choice. That's why I left. I knew that if I told you, you'd try to figure something out, and I couldn't let that happen. Not when the future of your kingdom was at stake." 

Liam was speechless. His heart was pounding. 

"I didn't want to ruin your life," Riley said again, her voice breaking. "It was all my fault." 

"How could you say that? Riley?" Liam was heartbroken.

"What do you mean? It was my fault. I was the one who got pregnant. I was the one who kept it a secret. I was the one who left."  Riley covered her face with her shaking hands.

"No. Riley, it's not your fault. It was my mine. I should've protected you. I should've done more. But instead, I failed you. I'm so sorry, Riley." 

Riley shook her head. "No. Liam, don't. Please don't. It's not your fault." 

Liam wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close. "It's okay, Riley. It's okay. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere. I'm not leaving you. Not ever." 

[present day] 

Liam's eyes slowly opened and he was greeted with the sight of his sleeping wife. He was lying on his side, facing her, his arm draped over her waist. She looked peaceful. Her hair was splayed across the pillow and her lips were slightly parted. 

Liam gently brushed a strand of hair from her face. She stirred a little, but didn't wake up. 

He smiled to himself. 

They were together. They had another baby on the way. He'd done the right thing. 

His kingdom would be safe. His people would be safe. His family would be safe.

Everything was going to be all right. 

And yet, he couldn't help but wonder what might have been. If he had known Riley was pregnant; when she had left after the coronation... would things have turned out differently? Would they have chosen a different path? Would he have married Riley instead of Madeleine? Scandal be damned.

Or would the same thing have happened? Would he have still made the same decision, to choose his kingdom over his heart? 

It was too late to find out. 

He couldn't go back. 

He didn't have to.

***

🌹Thank you for reading.

📌 @choicesficwriterscreations @choicescommunityevents @choicesprompts @choicesmonthlychallenge

📌 @bascmve01 @busywoman @kristinamae093 @differenttyphoonwerewolf @kingliam2019 @ao719 @alj4890 @emkay512 @karahalloway @twinkleallnight @malblk21 @tinkie1973 @queenmiarys @emersyn-in-cordonia @dutifullynuttywitch @charlotteg234 @lovingchoices14 @selina012 @kyra75 @imjusthereforliam @703cowbarn @irisk12 @imashybish @walkerdrakewalker @jared2612 @fadingreveries @mockingjay19 @queenwalton @thosehallowedhalls @umccall71 @rafasgirl23415 @mainstreetreader @shanzay44 @custaroonie @guineveresgarden @ownworldresident @amandablink @choicesfrog @mysticalfangirl @iluaaa @belencha77

[yellowocaballero]

i see you reblogging aa, is this a sign an ace attorney fic is on the horizon 👀

I resign myself to the fact that any reblogging spree of one work inevitably results in people in my inbox asking if I'm currently writing fanfic about it. I can't complain, because the answer is usually yes absolutely of course I am.

I will say that the Great Phoenix Wright Trilogy Playthrough Of 2024 was this summer! It was very much a tether to sanity and I'm very grateful towards @lazuliquetzal for letting me watch her play and for making the experience so much fun. A very intricate bedrock of lore/in-jokes developed. Edgeworth thinks he discovered homosexuality and younger sister figures are mandatory in a court of law. We found it extremely well-written, very funny, and really interesting in character dynamics. I also got her to play Ghost Trick, which was awesome as usual. We're currently both obsessing about different things - and my fanfic to-do list is already VERY long - so no fanfic is actually in the works right now.

Of course I've already written some, who do you take me for. I wrote this just for us, so it's unfinished and rife with our in-jokes, but somewhat shockingly it probably has the densest joke-to-word ratio that I've ever written. Sometimes I want to continue writing something, but I look at it and I'm like, 'This is too good. I can't keep up this level of good. I can't reach this high again'. The short fanfic - sourced from our recurring jokes/efforts to figure out [SPOILERS FOR ACEATT3] how blind Godot is exactly, and what I would have found the most interesting - is, believe it or not, too good to keep writing.

Zany fanfic and spoilers for Ace Attorney 3 under the cut.

           As it turned out, there was a prosecutor’s lounge.

           Like a lot of Phoenix’s least favorite facts, it was both obvious in retrospect and deeply disturbing. The defendant’s lounge had an obvious purpose: confer with your client, beg them to tell you simple facts that would determine if they were sentenced to death via electric chair, let your coworkers blow off steam by making fun of you. Gumshoe is useful at the least useful second. None of these banal and extraordinarily stressful events had anything to do with a prosecutor.

           That was why Edgeworth had always wandered into the defendant’s lounge and made vague yet affectionate threats at Phoenix. If he had his own sterile room to stand around awkwardly, he surely would have done so. This felt so obvious it ought to have gone without saying. There couldn’t, like, actually be a real lounge. That would imply a lot of things about Edgeworth’s choices. 

As a result, when Gumshoe tossed Phoenix the updated coroner’s report and asked him to run it to the prosecutor’s lounge, Phoenix’s first instinct was to contemplate suicide. His only remaining link to sanity was the knowledge that running Gumshoe’s errands to an imaginary room was better than the alternative of staying here.

           Much better. Gumshoe was looking at Maggey, Maggey was refusing to look at Gumshoe, Phoenix wanted to be nowhere near any of this, and he was taking the out. Gumshoe might as well have asked him to go check if his refrigerator was running. Call him a mechanic, because he grabbed both Maya and Pearl and high-tailed it out of there.

           He had to ask for directions three different times before he even found the place. It was a place that could be found. In real life. Phoenix better go catch his fucking refrigerator!

It was also right next door to the defendant’s lounge. Had this really been here the entire time? Could Phoenix have been wandering into Edgeworth’s lobby and making vague yet affectionate threats at him? He could have even stood in front of the door and blocked Edgeworth’s ritualistic escape from his feelings. His was a life of missed opportunities.

           “I bet they have free coffee,” Maya said grimly. “I bet they have tacos.”

           “With free avocados,” Phoenix intoned. “As much as they want. Maybe caviar.”

           Pearl blasted her large and doleful eyes up at Nick. “Why don’t you put avocados on the tacos you make for us? I love them…”

           Poverty, but he couldn’t tell her that. Nick settled for patting her on the head. “Avocados are as immoral as the prosecutors themselves, Pearly. It’s a matter of ethics.”

           “Ethics are so overrated,” Maya said mournfully, kicking the doors open. “Let’s go evil, Nick. For the sake of the children.”

           The cops inside did not appreciate Maya’s dynamic entry, but nobody ever did. Disappointingly, the prosecutor’s lounge was identical to the defendant’s one – down to the cops, cheap sofa, and ugly-ass art. The only difference was – son of a bitch, they did have coffee!

           Entirely possible that Godot refused to step foot inside the courthouse unless they installed a coffee machine. But it was the principle of the thing, goddamn it! Nobody ever cared about Phoenix’s hunger strikes!

           Potentially entirely due to coffee, Godot was sitting on the scratchy sofa with his head tilted back and one earbud in his ear. Its cord snaked onto the cushions of the couch, attacked to some small black media player. Was he awake? Was he asleep? Was he dead? If they were really quiet, would he sleep through the trial and leave Phoenix to win by default –

           “They have a chartreuse board!” Maya screeched. “Those rat bastards!”

           Pearl gasped, hands flying to her mouth. “Is that sushi? Free sushi!? I love sushi!”

           “Get my purse, Pearl-chan! Grab much as you can!”

           “So it’s hereditary,” Godot growled. Phoenix winced, instinctively checking for coffee cups in his vicinity. The familiar cheap coffee table seemingly only had one, but on closer look Nick could tell that they were carefully stacked into each other. How tidy! “How did you even know this place existed, Trite?”

           One of these days Phoenix was going to start pronouncing his name “guh-dot”. That would show him. He hadn’t mustered the courage yet, but one of these days! “How could I not know it existed?” Poker face, Phoenix. Look condescending. Evoke Edgeworth. Show him what’s what. Literally nobody else you know is scared of him, therefore you are not scared of him, we are manifesting absolute zen in the face of the tallest man Phoenix had ever met in his life. He was sitting down. This shouldn’t be hard. “It’s right next to the defendant’s lounge, how could we miss it?”

           “Is that so?” Godot slowly leaned forward, like a great beast awakening from a mighty slumber. His movements were stiff and disjointed, like a fat bear waking from hibernation. “The spotlight of truth must be like a floodlight to the most enlightened defense lawyers. Illuminating all. Hiding nothing. But shadows cling to the undersides of society, and true darkness lurking underneath the charcuterie board –“

           “I have the updated coroner’s report,” Phoenix said, flapping the envelope loosely. “Gumshoe wanted you to have the other copy.”

           “Yeah, give it here.”

           “If the charcuterie board is evil don’t tell me.” Maya was plowing through a hunk of goat cheese like a rabid coyote. “I don’t wanna know. None of my business. Put the wasabi in my coin purse, Pearl-chan.”

           There was something inherently evil about having a cheeseboard at the workplace, but the legal system couldn’t get much worse. Godot didn’t stand up from the couch – he just thrust out a hand, making shockingly childish little grabby hands, forcing Phoenix to cross the entire room and put it in his hands. Pearl ran up to Phoenix and helpfully smeared wasabi on his hand.

           Godot took the coroner’s report and dropped it on the table. He leaned back, reaffixing his earbud in his ear. “Charmed. Clean us out of the nori, girls, it’s Payne’s favorite and I want him to experience suffering.”

           Pearl helpfully tugged at Phoenix’s sleeve, dying it a light green. If he lost this case because the judge thought he smelled bad… “Can you pour me the last of the coffee, Mr. Nick? I wanna be a big girl and do it for me but the big jug is too heavy.”

           “Are you kidding? You’re way too young for coffee.” The last thing they needed was a nine year old bouncing off the walls. In a courtroom. During a murder case. Phoenix turned to Godot, who was biting his tongue and barely restraining himself from cursing out a nine year old. Was that blood? “You’ll want to take a look at that, Mr. Godot. There’s a new piece of evidence that could change everything.”

           “Save the dramatics for the courtroom.” Godot leaned back again, waving his hand absently. Yeah, that was definitely blood on his yellowed teeth. Phoenix had to admire the restraint. “What’s this new tidbit that’s so important, then?”

           Was he everyone’s errand boy? “The report’s right there, read it yourself.”

           “Seems like I was correct in pegging you as the lazy type, Trite. Look at you refusing to do a simple task.”

           Pearl made an ‘ooo’ing noise behind her hands. Maya broke a cracker in half, giving her the smaller piece. “Don’t say that world, Pearl-chan.”

           “What wo –“

           “You can’t insult me into doing the most basic aspect of your job. You read it.”

           “I’m a busy man. I’m hard at work actually making justice.” But he was sleeping?! “Defense attorneys clearly have nothing better to do than eat our precious cheeses. Show me that you can do the most basic element of the job.”

           Talk about a turnabout! This man had cranked the hostility meter up towards eleven and broke the knob off. Francizka had spent most of a year almost gnawing his face off, but she had never made Phoenix feel so specially hated. “Sorry, Godot, I’m not falling for it. But you’ll definitely want to read the report yourself. It has essential information for the trial in literally five minutes.”

           “If it’s so important than why did we give it to him at all?” Maya garbled, spewing pita chips everywhere. “We could have hid it and won this case!”

           “Because that’s unethical –“

           “You never let anything go! You and your silly ethics –“

           “Silly?!”

           Godot leaned forward and swept his hand over the table with incredibly unnecessary drama. He swept the folder into his hands, yanking the crumpled police report out. He ostentatiously snapped the paper and held it up to his visor, reading it closely. He nodded several times. He even hummed once.

           Finally, Godot straightened and tossed the report on the table. “Boring! So much for crucial evidence. You’re looking at the shadows in the cave and calling them innocent of heinous crimes, Mr. Trite. Turn away from illusions and overcome your cowardice by entering the deepest depths of Plato’s cave, facing your inner demons and reckoning with the truth of –“

           “Boring?” Phoenix cried. “The window for the potential time of the murder is completely different than we thought? And I’m the one living in a fantasy land?”

           Godot stared at him. “Really?” Phoenix made a garbled noise of outrage. Godot ignored him. “What’s the new window, then?”

           “Read it yourself!”

           “Hm.” Godot angled his head to the side, facing away from Phoenix. “Hey, little girl. I bet you can’t read.”

           Going for the throat?! Pearl clearly didn’t know whether or not to puff herself up in indignation or start crying. “I am such a good reader!!!!”

           “Really? Prove it.” Godot picked up the crumpled page and wave it at her. “Or are you a liar?”

           “Being a liar is for bad girls! I am a very good girl!” Pearl reached up on her tip-toes and nabbed the paper out of Godot’s hands. She scanned the page seriously, eyebrows furrowed. “Here! Right here! The new time of death is –“

           “Are you making a nine year old read a coroner’s report?!”

           Maya slurped slivers of ginger with pitying eyes. “She channels the dead, Nick.”

           “And that’s the time,” Pearl finished smugly. Phoenix hadn’t even heard her say it. She held out the papers to Godot again, who ignored her. “Now you know the time, because I am such a good reader.”

           “You’re a diamond in the rough, kid,” Godot told her seriously. “Never let these dullards dull your shine.”

           “My name’s not Diamond,” Pearl informed him, equally seriously. “It is Pearl Fey. Don’t feel bad. It’s a very common mistake.”

           “I don’t make mistakes, kid. I’m just one step ahead of reality. Count on it.”

           “You don’t have to be prideful, Mr. Godot.” Pearl smiled brightly and encouragingly at him, as if she was trying to connive a pit bull into a doing a trick. “It’s okay if you aren’t a good reader. Or if you aren’t a good speller. I’m a bad speller but that doesn’t make me a bad reader. Being a bad speller has nothing to do with being a good reader. I am a piece of decisive evidence about that.”

           Maya looked grimly at Phoenix, who was contemplating suicide again. “We’re ruined her vocabulary.”

           “We let her sit in during murder cases, Maya.”

           “And it’s ruined her vocabulary.”

           “What’s ruined your brain?”

           “Do you need me to read more things for you?” Pearl asked sweetly. “I like practicing my reading. I’m always practicing with Mr. Nick’s court records. They’re lots of fun and very educational. I can read ‘five counts of manslaughter’ very well. Do you want to see me spell it?”

           Godot looked at Maya. He looked at the coffee table, where the papers were not. He looked contemplative, maybe. Finally, he said, “How are you at serving coffee?”

           “If the jug is medium sized I can be very good at it!”

           “You’re hired.”

           Alright, that was enough. Phoenix had a lot of responsibilities, but his responsibility to Maya and Pearl came before every single one. That conviction had been put to test during that awful Engarde case. Phoenix almost sacrificed his integrity as a lawyer for Maya’s sake - he was not going to lose it now!

           “Absolutely not,” Phoenix said. It didn’t matter how insanely tall this guy was. Phoenix was taking a stand - right here, right now. Granted, the stand would go to his shoulder, but it was the conviction that counted! “Child labor is against the law, and her legal guardian does not give consent for this.” Phoenix made dangerous eyes at a cowed Maya, just to reaffirm that her legal guardian was not giving consent. “Don’t you have your own co-counsel? Make them do your chores, and stop stealing mine!”

           “I wasn’t planning on paying her,” Godot said affably. “That’s a violation of child labor laws, you know.”

           Maya appeared to be seriously considering his proposal. Which shouldn’t have been a big deal, but please refer back to the legal guardian wrinkle in this case. “I don’t know, Nick. Don’t you think it’s time Pearl flew out from underneath your shadow? It’s not exactly as if you pay me either.”

           “You’ll get paid when you do something helpful that gets me paid,” Phoenix said instantly. Maya glumly accepted this reality. “There’s no paycheck in moral support, Maya. Godot can use his own co-counsel –“

           “I don’t have a co-counsel,” Godot said. “Do I look like I’ve received an ounce of moral support in the last four years? Of kindness? Hell has no comradeship.”

           Phoenix flapped a hand. “Yeah, whatever. Your plucky imouto, co-counsel, whatever. Just get her to do it.”

           For the first time, Godot actually gave him a baffled look. Maybe. It was insanely hard to tell. “What would I do with a – younger sister, is it?”

           Everybody froze. You could have heard a penny drop. Maya and Pearl’s eyes practically goggled out of their heads.

           Godot just stood there, ignoring Pearl and Maya but clearly unsettled by the silence. “Cream and sugar undercuts the delectable bitterness of the black coffee. A life without siblings is a satisfyingly dark roast.”

           Slowly, Phoenix said, “I’m sorry. You’re a lawyer with no plucky female sidekick?”

           “I’ve had kouhai,” Godot said defensively. “I have a certain talent for mentorship –“

           “Mentorship? What makes you think you’re qualified to give any sort of mentorship? You’re a rookie!” Phoenix said the word ‘rookie’ like how Edgeworth said ‘polyester’, which was deeply satisfying. “And haven’t you lost every case you’ve ever taken?”

           Maya looked close to tears. “No wonder he’s such an awful lawyer…he doesn’t have a single imouto.”

           “Is that the ‘hell’ Mr. Godot talks about?” Pearl asked, voice wavering. “A world with no women?”

           “You’re projecting,” Godot snapped. “Just because you’re surrounded by teenage girls all day doesn’t mean any other lawyer is obligated to do the same.”

           “Any good lawyer. Why do you think Edgeworth has an imouto.” The thought of Edgeworth with no Franciska to hone his…edge…how sad. “And Franciska has Edgeworth as an imouto. This is law one-oh-one, Godot.” Phoenix propped his hands on his hips, grinning. “Hah! No wonder you can’t beat me! You don’t know the first thing about law, do you?”

           “And he can’t read,” Maya said sadly. “Maybe Mr. Godot isn’t exaggerating when he tells us how sad and pathetic he is…”

           “You thought he was exaggerating?”

           The tragic sight of the thoroughly baffled man clearly tugged at Pearl’s heartstrings, but she quickly found her resolve too. She rolled up her sleeves, as if they were at the office and she was ready to attack Phoenix’s toilet with a scrub brush. Once she had almost fallen in. “That does it! If Mr. Godot doesn’t have an imouto, then I’ll - ”

           “Nope. His problem, not ours.” Frankly, Phoenix was just trash talking a little. If you pretended Edgeworth and Franciska didn’t exist – impossible for Phoenix, but he could stretch his imagination – then Godot was a pretty good lawyer. To be a pretty good lawyer without the massive handicap of no young girl…Phoenix better stop giving the competition a hand like this. “Come on, the security guard’s started glaring at us again. It’s definitely time to start the trial.”

           “Your face will freeze like that, you know,” Pearl seriously told the security guard. He didn’t visibly react to her words at all. Maybe Pearl was onto something… “Mr. Nick, I have a duty to my fellow man -”

           “You can practice your reading with picture books, like a normal kid.” Pearl indignantly opened her mouth, doubtlessly about to launch into a meandering and breathless rant about her favorite Newberry Award winning children’s book author. “In English, not Japanese. Reading in English is your problem. At this rate you’re going to know how to read legalese and nothing else.” Phoenix yanked open the door, shepherding both girls out. Maya quickly stuffed more California rolls in her sleeve. “Bad enough Maya’s neglecting – Jesus Christ!”

           “You can’t give me a hard time about that,” Maya said reproachfully. “I’m Shinto.”

           Obviously, goddamn Gumshoe was at the door, one fist raised and clearly about to knock. His fist fell at the exact moment that Phoenix opened the door, and Phoenix only barely avoided a royal smack on the head by via Gumshoe’s meaty fist. He really couldn’t afford another concussion at this rate! CTE was a very serious brain disorder!

           “Mr. Wright! Hey, I thought I’d find you here! Right underneath my fist too! How’s that for some detective work, huh!” Gumshoe laughed uproariously, as if his crush wasn’t about to board her kayak and start doing the death row. And as if he hadn’t told Phoenix to go here. “Well, enough playing around! It’s time to get back to it! There’s no excuse for slacking off when Maggey’s life is on the line, you know!”

           “You’re the one who sent me on an errand!” Phoenix snapped. He shut the door tightly behind him. The last thing he needed was Godot adding his two cents. Or, knowing his wordiness, his two dollars. And change. “Did you forget telling me to give Godot the coroner’s report? It was five minutes ago!”

           “What? Why would I do that?” Gumshoe paused a second, creaky and rusty gears churning in his brain. Maya made demonstrative kissy noises. “Oh, yeah! Did you read it out to him?”

           Phoenix was going to have a fucking aneurysm. “Is there some reason why Prosecutor Godot is incapable of doing his own work? I’m already doing half the prosecutor’s job in the courtroom anyway!”

           “Some reason? Uh, yeah.” Gumshoe scratched the back of his neck, quirking an eyebrow. “It’s not exactly as if he can read the thing, you know.”

           “Oh my god,” Maya whispered, “he really can’t read.”

           Pearl’s eyes were brimming with tears. “A lawyer who can’t read…he’s so brave!”

           “Brave is one word for it,” Phoenix said flatly. How could he have ever been scared of this guy? No imouto, no literacy…the only thing impressive about him was how he’d even gotten this far. “It’s not my problem if Godot dropped out of fourth grade. He’s giving me enough problems, tell him to solve his own.”

           For some reason, Gumshoe outright glared at Phoenix. Phoenix was getting used to his misplaced ire over Xirneohp, but what did Maggey have to do with this? If anything, he should be thanking Phoenix for refusing to help the competition. “That’s out of line, pal! Haven’t you heard of basic human decency?”

           “In a courtroom? No.”

           “He’s got you there,” Maya said wisely. “When Nick’s putting the ‘Nick’ in ‘panicked’, then he can do some pretty sketchy stuff –“

           “And you call me the narc?!”

           “The courtroom doesn’t matter.” Gumshoe was still scowling at Phoenix. Of course it’s only Phoenix who gets treated like this. Edgeworth insults Gumshoe all day and he’s still his biggest fan. “I told you specifically to read out the autopsy report so Prosecutor Godot could record it into his PDA. Then he always labels it with that funny little label maker of his. You gotta get your ears cleaned out, pal.”

           Phoenix turned to Maya and Pearl, silently pleading for backup. Gumshoe was making Phoenix doubt his own sanity. Normally he just made Phoenix think he was losing it.

           But Maya just looked tragically disappointed in him. “Nick…you didn’t even let Godot label it with his funny little label maker?”

           Desperately, Phoenix rounded on Pearl. He was ready to fake tears. But Pearl just looked ready to whale on him with her little fists. “How could you, Mr. Nick? I didn’t get to see Mr. Godot’s cassette recorder! I’ve always wanted to touch one!”

           “Ah, Prosecutor Godot’s things are always super fun to touch!” At least Gumshoe looked sufficiently cheered up. “His bumpy labels make no sense to me, but I think they’re super cool. Like a secret code or something. But Prosecutor Godot always dumps coffee on my head when I mess around with them…makes me put ‘em back in order, then he says I’m doing it wrong, and…I won’t say I miss the whip, but prosecutors can be so rough sometimes.”

           Wait. Hold on a minute. Several different small pieces clicked into place, and Phoenix’s familiar trusty intuition began to churn its gears. Phoenix raised one finger, and Gumshoe instinctively ducked. “Detective…that label maker wouldn’t happen to be a Braille label maker, would it?”

           Gumshoe brightened, nodding voraciously. Then he apparently remembered he was angry at Phoenix, and started scowling instead. “Yeah, that’s what he called it! And I’ve just caught ya in a contradiction, pal! You said I didn’t tell you about the bumpy label maker. But you obviously knew what it was, didn’t you? You really were lacking human decency on purpose, weren’t you!”

           Cool. Phoenix wished he was dead.

  Both girls looked at Phoenix immediately, correctly deducing the return of his consistent suicidality but uncertain of the cause. Phoenix pinched the bridge of his nose, hard. “Braille is an alphabet for the blind. You read it by feeling little bumps with your fingers. Apparently Prosecutor Godot is some level of blind. And apparently nobody saw fit to tell us this.”

“Did we gotta?” Gumshoe asked blankly. “Mr. Godot doesn’t like talking about it.”

“Yes, you gotta! Now I look like some kind of - you know!”

Sure enough, Maya was giving him the most judgmental look he’d ever seen. Her face when full-ass adult Maximillian admitted that he had asked a sixteen year old to marry him was nothing in comparison. “You were bullying the blind, Nick? I can’t believe you!”

What was it, bully Phoenix for something that was not his fault week? “It’s his fault for not saying anything -”

“Victim blaming?!”

“I thought he was just being an as - jerk again! It’s not exactly out of character!”

“Ableism,” Maya denounced. Phoenix drooped. “I can’t believe it. I expected better from you, Nick.”

“I’m literally ADHD, don’t give me this -”

“Who isn’t autistic?” Maya said frankly. “That doesn’t count.”

“Plenty of people in this world are neurotypical, Maya.” 

He’d had to explain this multiple times. Sometimes she even made him doubt himself. It wasn’t as if he knew neurotypical people. The people in Phoenix’s life either knew they were neurodivergent or thought that normal people were the freak. Most fell into the later category. Unfortunately. Lana wasn’t winning sister of the year, but Ema’s diagnosis and Ritalin prescription was probably his sole link to sanity during that case. Phoenix had a conspiracy theory that Gumshoe plus Ritalin would produce a shockingly competent person. Like everybody else on the prosecutor’s side, he had no idea.

There was no way Edgeworth knew he was autistic, but Phoenix was softening him up for the revelation. He had to take it slow. Couldn’t afford for him to run off to the Philippines to find himself and then come home acting as if he invented autism. Again. Like he did with homosexuality. Shut up about the German discotheques, Edgeworth!

“Mr. Godot is blind?” Pearl gasped. Horrifically, Phoenix was relieved that she knew what blind people were. “Is that why he couldn’t read? And you made fun of him! That’s bullying, Mr. Nick!”

This was a thousand times worse coming from Pearl. “I wouldn’t say I made fun of him,” Phoenix said evasively. “If anything, I really think he’s been bullying me.” This did not impress Maya and Pearl, who somehow only looked more disappointed in him. Phoenix began to sweat. “I got nothing against the disabled, guys. They’re - like, they’re fine! Some of my best friends are -”

“Autism doesn’t count,” Maya said frostily. “You’ll never get your Disability Awareness and Inclusion Girl Scout badge at this rate, Nick.”

“I - am I a nine year old girl now? Seriously?”

Pearl straightened, eyes widening. “I’m a nine year old girl!” Phoenix gestured towards her, emphasizing the handful of differences between them. Gumshoe nodded vigorously. “Can I get a disability aware badge? I’m aware of disabled people!” Left unsaid: unlike Phoenix, apparently. Yet another difference between him and nine year old girls.

“You aren’t a Girl Scout,” Phoenix said, exhausted. “If that’s something you’re interested in, we can sign you up -”

“Girl Scouts! That’s a great idea. I was a Girl Scout way back when. It was awfully rewarding.” Gumshoe gave Pearl a big thumbs up, as if he hadn’t casually dropped the most insane bomb of all time and promptly moved on. “You’re probably overqualified for the Legal Expert and Fortune Teller badges. You could really make it!”

That was it. They had lost her. Pearl rolled her sleeves up, puffing out her chest with pride, and before Phoenix could react she had already turned around and pushed the lobby doors open. They swung open with a theatrical flair, revealing -

Godot, just on the other side of the doors. Judging by his somewhat harried look and unbalanced stance, he had also just barely managed to avoid door-to-face impact. Or, more likely, door-to-visor impact. 

Pearl either didn’t notice or didn’t care. She jabbed a finger at Godot, who still seemed dazed from the unintentional assault. “I’m taking your case, Mr. Godot! I’ll be your co-counsel! I’ll find you innocent of all charges - um, not that!”

“I lost all innocence a long time ago,” Godot said darkly. He pushed past them, flagrantly brushing off everybody. “If you wish to scout for something, scout for that. It ought to distract you from standing around and wasting time with meaningless gossip.”

Phoenix winced. He didn’t seem very happy. But he never really did - cheerful and amused, frequently, but almost never actually happy. “Uh, hey, man. I’m really sorry about - in my defense, you were actively hiding it -”

“Classic defense attorney,” Maya announced. “Always defending himself!”

“Mr. Edgeworth says that the attorney who represents himself has a fool for a client,” Pearl said helpfully, blissfully unaware of that one time Phoenix had to defend himself against a murder charge. Edgeworth had known. Obviously. 

“Save your pity, Trite. Save it for the courtroom. So you can pity yourself.” Godot held up one hand, not even bothering to aim it in Phoenix’s direction. “Out of all of your victims, of course you would pity yourself the most.”

“Dude,” Phoenix said, “did I, like, ghost you the morning after or something? I’m sorry about it, but becoming a lawyer because I didn’t text you back is a little weird.”

“A little weird?” Gumshoe said, baffled. “That’s a crazy accusation, Wright. Who would become a whole lawyer because of a guy?” Phoenix looked at the ceiling. Godot coughed. “I don’t like the sound of that cough, pal.”

“For whom does the bell toll, Detective?” Godot said. Maya looked actively distressed as she attempted and failed to decipher what the fuck he meant by that. “I’ll see you all in court. Prepare yourselves. I don’t intend on losing to the likes of you.”

He turned on his heel, striding down the hallway and escaping them all as quickly as possible. Pearl gasped, and she immediately let go of Maya’s hand so she could set off barrelling down the hallway. “Hold on! Wait for me, Mr. Godot!”

Godot didn’t look back. But he did slow until Pearl caught up, and when she shoved her little hand in his large one he didn’t pull away. 

Gumshoe scratched his chin. Maya squinted at the departing duo, obviously wondering how Godot knew where to take a left turn at the hallway. Phoenix made a mental note of it too. For a blind guy, he was really familiar with the courthouse…which meant that Phoenix’s mistake was perfectly reasonable! Anybody would make it! “Just double checkin’. You two are actually cool with sending off a little girl with the sketchiest grown man ever? Completely unsupervised and stuff?”

What, seriously? Phoenix and Maya glanced at each other before shrugging. “If you can’t trust your coworkers,” Maya intoned seriously, “you can’t trust anybody. Nobody’s more trustworthy than a real lawyer.”

“And Edgeworth recommended him,” Phoenix pointed out. “Good enough for me. The state of California would never have certified him as a defense attorney if he wasn’t trustworthy.”

“That doesn’t sound right, but I don’t know enough about the law to dispute it,” Gumshoe said cheerfully, displaying a chain of logic that had proven extremely convenient for Phoenix over the years. Maya had once tricked Gumshoe into letting them into a crime scene by pretending that there was a legal holiday once a year where every law and police procedure was inverted. “Don’t we got a trial to hit, anyway?”

“Shit!”

Pearl’s inaugural performance as the prosecution’s co-counsel/imouto went off without a hitch. Phoenix couldn’t be prouder of her efforts. She played her part perfectly: from the well-timed timed motivational encouragements to tension-relieving funny quips, she was a natural. Her only experience co-counseling with Phoenix had been very stressful for her, so Phoenix was happy to see her shine with confidence. Pearl Fey was truly suited for villainy.

She even went above and beyond into the role of personal assistant imouto. She carefully managed the presented evidence, holding up the right photograph or blood-stained object for the purview of the court. Pearl read out any written reports, described the evidence that Phoenix presented, and reported on any notable body language. Phoenix wasn’t sure if Godot knowing that ‘the Defense looks like you ate the last onigiri he was saving for lunch…’ was remotely helpful, but it was cute. Godot better realize how lucky he was to have such a top-quality imouto at his side today. It confused the judge, but what didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” the judge said, as Pearl carefully withdrew a generic white coffee mug from a large box underneath the table. Seemingly…filled with more mugs.  “Doesn’t that little girl belong to the Defense?”

“The Defense is loaning her out today,” Phoenix said seriously. Pearl began wrangling a coffee pot the size of her head. “Don’t worry, it’s not a conflict of interest.”

“I see!” Pearl carefully tipped the large pot into the white mug. It spilled everywhere, but coffee was poured. “And what is a ‘conflict of interest’?”

“Obscure old legal term. Don’t worry about it.” Pearl reached over the table and attempted to slide the mug towards Godot, as the unlucky draftee from the audience always did. He just pointed at a random pot in the crowd and told somebody that they were in charge of his coffee today. Terribly unorganized way to do things. 

“Watch it, you senile old man. The Defense is distracting you with outdated legal concepts. Focus on the most important aspect of this case!” Why was only the prosecution allowed to insult the judge! Why were they the only ones allowed to get away with that! Seriously unfair! As if Phoenix didn’t want to strangle the judge with his own two hands too?!

The mug scooted forward a little, but barely moved. Pearl scowled and tried again, sliding the mug forward a few inches and sloshing coffee over the side again. Pearl huffed in frustration before carefully cupping her hand around the mug and pushing it forward as she walked down the table. 

Godot cupped his hand on the table and let Pearl push the cup into his hand. Then he slammed the table, throwing his head back and chugging the entire mug of steaming hot coffee in one go. He slammed the mug back on the table. Pearl carefully retrieved it. 

“The fact that the old man and this fake Frenchman saw the accused put poison in the cup!” Godot announced. “That’s one fact that can’t be denied! Not by a reliable witness!”

Pearl clapped. Godot patted her on the head. Phoenix groaned.

Phoenix got his way - as usual - by the skin of his teeth - as usual. He was going to have a heart attack before he was thirty at this rate. Phoenix and Maya waited in the courtroom lobby for almost fifteen minutes before Pearl finally came running up to them. She was beaming, cheeks flushed red with pride. 

“Great job out there today, Pearl!” Maya cheered, clapping her hands. Yeah - a little too good. Godot’s performance in court was way smoother than last time. Maybe he was just getting his sea legs, but Phoenix never underestimated the power of young girls pursuing merit badges. “Are you ready to go home?”

“Nuh-uh! Mr. Godot said he’s gonna take me out for ice cream!” Pearl thrust her hand out, shining the biggest, wettest gaze directly into his eyes. “Can I have money for ice cream, Nick? Please?”

“Typically speaking, when you take people out for food, you’re the one paying,” Phoenix said flatly. “Mr. Godot’s on a prosecutor’s salary and I’m representing a waitress. He can pay.” 

“Mr. Godot doesn’t get paid,” Pearl said frankly. “He said he does it for the love of the game.”

This was somehow the most surprising thing he’d heard all day and completely predictable. 

Maya frowned, tilting her head. It was a gesture he’d seen in Mia a thousand times. Even after all this time, Maya still hurt him in those little ways. “Prosecutors get paid by the government. How do you legally work for the government and not get paid?”

“Maybe he’s a volunteer?” Phoenix suggested. “People volunteer at places, right? Like…in zoos?”

“That makes sense!” Maya said brightly, clapping her hands together. “Zoos, a court of law…what’s the difference, right?”

“After we’re done with it, not much.”

“I can’t believe I didn’t meet the parrot,” Pearl said, crushed by the immovable weight of the world’s injustices. “I wanted to make friends. We have so much in common.”

Maya sympathetically patted Pearl’s back. “You do! You’re both so good at imitating voices! Maybe one day Phoenix can cross-examine you too, huh?”

Nope. No. No way! “Not happening. I’ve accused every imouto I’ve ever had of murder on the stand. Pearl’s merciless enough, we can’t take that chance. She wouldn’t make it a day in prison.” 

“Sounds like a you problem,” Maya said, unimpressed. “Godot would never accuse an imouto of murder. He’s a bro like that.”

“He’s a prosecutor, it’s not his job -”

“Apparently being a prosecutor isn’t his job either.”

“You’d make an unemployed man pay for my ice cream?” Pearl demanded. “For shame, Mr. Phoenix Wright!”

Phoenix sighed and pulled out his wallet. He didn’t know why he wasted time pretending this wasn’t going to happen. Pity he wasn’t in the habit of accepting the inevitable. His life would be a lot easier.

[thedepressedjuggalette]

I'm a life long Pokemon fan. Hell I was a Team Rocket member for Halloween, and I thought every single one of Lily's points -- her ACTUAL POINTS not the made up bullshit op made because he has the reading comprehension and attention span of a baked potato -- were all accurate. I have not finished the entirety of Pokemon Scarlet because I got bored with it in the sense that it is a total grind fest to finish one of the quests (the one where you have to collect a certain type of herb for a teacher). I have been actively putting it off and haven't been playing the game.

Like seriously, I understand why May had to fuck up Team Magma and Team Aqua's plans. They kept fucking with her journey to the Elite Four and the adults around her were using her as an errand girl. But with Scarlet and Violet they have dialed back the story back to a more grounded level instead of being the "SAVE THA WORLD" plot every JRPG has for whatever reason.

Red, Crystal, and May just want to chill and go on their adventures but Team Rocket, Magma, and Aqua kept getting in the way so they unleashed the wrath of a couple of kids and their pets.

Scarlet and Violet is about a kid who is just trying to go to school, go on a journey, and happened to run into a giant lizard who becomes their bestie. (Plus going on errands.)

I've tried multiple times to get into Pokemon Pearl, but god... It is a slog. I've even finished Pokemon Black before I ever got Pearl, but that thing. My god. They have so much yapping. I'm an English Major and all, but when my RPGs become novels for no reason I am just frustrated.

Black and White pissed me off because they couldn't commit to the bit. They kept blue balling me with this idea that Pokemon Trainers could be abusive and this was even explored in the anime with the character Paul and his Chimchar that eventually gets taken in by Ash.

I would've LOVED to see N meet Paul and Infernape in the anime. I WAS BEGGING FOR IT. But no. We got Charzard. Like yes Charmader's story was bad. But CHIMCHARS WAS WORSE.

And in the games it doesn't even give you that! Like even in the OG Red Blue and Green we got Team Rocket with whips. Where was any of that in Black and White???

Why didn't we see the occasional trainer with a whip, and a Pokemon that uses moves like Frustration or just new moves that relies on the Pokemon to have a Friendship stat in the negatives? Hell we got Pokemonami in X and Y, why don't we use that in Black and White to really hammer home that there is a different between being abusive towards your Pokemon and being loving. What if the worse off your pokemon's affection/friendship stats are, you get a lower amount of money from your battles?

ANYTHING.

But that requires actual critical thinking and analysis of the actual story you're getting. The "behind the scenes lore" doesn't matter here. That is SUPPLEMENTARY. That is a GIFT from the devs for exploring and reading the Dex entries. They are not the actual story you're getting.

Pokemon Sapphire was about the environmental destruction caused by Team Aqua using best Kaiju only for a kid tell god on them.

Pokemon Red was about a kid taking down a Mafia that is going around mugging people and getting in the way of their journey.

Pokemon Pearl is about gods of time, space and gravity (I refuse to believe that Giratina is the god of antimatter, the entirety of the planet would've exploded if that was the case. It makes more sense for it to be the god of gravity considering the reverse world) somehow being used by a mortal who wanted to become a god for some reason. And you also become friends with Deer Jesus.

Pokemon Black and White is about Truth and Ideals without talking about Truth and Ideals but constantly saying "Aren't ideas cool?" while also beating up "Totally not PETA" who just wanted pokemon all to themselves so they could become god king of the world.

Pokemon X and Y is about you taking down a charity foundation that felt like it got taken advantage of and decided to literally cause the end of the world because of it.

Pokemon Moon is about a foundation that was initially meant to protect pokemon only for an obsessed mother to become obsessed with aliens and you have to get the help from a baby god to get it to become a god and start throwing hands instead of having her daughter and son doing it.

Pokemon Scarlet and Violet are about a couple being obsessed with the future and past only to end up orphaning their son and leaving him with their pet motorcycle lizards and destroying the environment. But you also destroy a gang of kids who existed to stop bullying because the school couldn't do its fucking job. And also meeting your new best friend.

Reading the Dex and random character dialogues that isn't for the main story are all SUPPLEMENTARY. Pokemon has always been a linear game.

Even the most open world games out there have linear stories. But having paragraphs of text in the main game isn't really useful and doesn't make the game deep.

N blabbering on about how Pokemon Trainers are the devil and that the pokemon should be free, means NOTHING if you have all your Pokemon in the negatives with your friendship and affection levels and he says the exact same thing he does when you have them maxed.

To give a fair comparison, Kingdom Hearts 368/2 Days has voice acting and decent character animation. All Pokemon had to do, was to add voice acting and animation or even just make the player character... An actual character with a voice and thoughts.

Lily even made the point that the entirety of Sun and Moon was the story of In Game Lily (the daughter of Lusamine) it would've been better if we played as her or even her brother instead of being some random kid. It was their story, we just happened to be in it.

Hell, we get this somewhat in Pokemon Mystery Dungeons Explorers of Time. The player character actively shows their thoughts, their thought process, and opinions and even has conversations with their friend. They even had their own starter that we don't get to choose but end up meeting.

Here is an imagined better version of Pokemon Black:

1.) have there be trainers that have whips and have a pokemon that has the move Frustration.

2.) have the player occasionally meet an Officer Jenny who voices frustration about Pokemon abuse, and also have a couple that is caught arresting trainers and confiscating their pokemon because of abuse charges.

3.) have one of the Gyms double as a Pokemon Sanctuary and Rehab center. And let it be Cilan, Chili and Cress' gym. They make custom Pokemon Food and even go as far as to heal your Pokemon at the end of the battle and give you a random factoid about your starter.

4.) Every time you go to the Pokemon Center Nurse Joy will mention your Pokemon's happiness stats. And if you're taking good care of them.

5.) we have Pokemonami.

6.) N's dialogue changes with your Pokemon's happiness stats.

7.) The player can respond to N via dialogue options.

8.) new trainer class "Volunteer" who are Sanctuary Volunteers. The typing they mainly use are Grass, Normal, and Psychic and have a lot of moves that are dependent on their happiness stats.

9.) When you beat N, your character just tells him to start volunteering at the Sanctuary.

Credits.

I can really go on all day here but I'm tired and have work in the morning. But if you're looking for a TLDR here it is:

The Dex entries and random dialogue from random non-stort characters are not part of the main campaign therefore Lily doesn't have to talk about it. Pokemon Sun and Moon should've been In Game Lily's (Daughter of Lusamine) story, and therefore we should've played as her the whole time. Pokemon Diamond, Pearl and Platinum doesn't need to have such long dialogue if we aren't going to be able to respond or if it even pertains to anything relevant. Black and White's writing sucks because it keeps talking about Truth and Ideals and Pokemon abuse but never does anything with it and never makes a point and N is a boring character because of it. And Pokemon Mystery Dungeon has better writing than Black and White.

so one thing someone pointed out on reddit is that lily is a massive fan of world of Warcraft, which bleeds into her Pokémon video. To quote someone on reddit:

“World of Warcraft is...

-A game where dialogue is minimal and easily skippable.

-You don't have to grind against enemies in the world to level up, you can just do quests.

-Has a point A to point B style of questing.

-Has a huge focus on exploration of the vast and grand world.

-Once you get to a certain level you can basically curb stomp your way through all of the early parts with no effort.

-Are able to just skip all the cutscenes to fight the boss”

are you fucking kidding me. No knowing that she has the media literacy as a smashed egg on toast this just compounds it. They are different games you fucking dumbass

[mvpsychic]

"Zoro would betray the crew" "Zoro would kill anyone in the crew if Luffy asked him to do so" And if I fucking kill YOU then what?

HE MOST CERTAINLY WOULD NOT ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND WHAT THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN WATCHING??!

How HOW can you watch this anime or read the manga and still believe Zoro could be evil and have a scheming plan all along to betray them?

He would take one look (ONE) at Choppers little shiny eyes and crumble completely if he ever were to betray them (HE WON'T, STOP THIS MADNESS AND DON'T PISS ME OFF)

He is literally DREAMING of impressing Chopper. He loves that little guy. He would never in a million years hurt him like that.

He took all of Luffy's pain for himself, and when Sanji offered to do so himself and be the sacrifice instead, what did Zoro do? knock him out. To take the burden himself.

He promises Luffy he would never lose again until achieving his dream, while acknowledging and treating Luffy's own dream as a reality. To him, the sky is blue and Luffy is, or will inevitably be, the king of the pirates. (without even knowing what Luffy's dream actually implies)

He bows his head to the same man he vowed to defeat for the sake of his captain and his crew (lets remember for a second that the reason he and everyone in the crew trained was NOT to achieve their own dreams, but to see their captain achieve his and be there to witness it).

He offered Kaido to smash his head instead of Luffy's when he knew he was not strong enough to defeat him just to buy Luffy some time.

AND LOOK AT HOW HAPPY HE IS TO SEE LUFFY AFTER, IDK, A WEEK WITHOUT SEEING EACHOTHER! how can you look at that expression and think "yeah he is a traitor and he secretly hates him and his crew so much" HUHH???

He looks at Luffy, a small brained stupid little lovable stretchy guy, with admiration. Look at that face. He would never wish REAL harm upon any of them. He wants to cut Sanji on the daily, but that doesn't really count.

He was ready to cut his feet off for their sake, and he was halfway there too! and he is always looking out for them. And just like these few examples, there's many more. So, yes, I refuse to ever engage the thought of Zoro being a traitor.

Besides, I do not believe Zoro is smart enough to pull something like that. That man is not that intelligent. "He could be deceiving us" huh? US? the readers and audience who know his every move, phrase and thought? really now?

Also, LUFFY WOULD NEVER IN A MILLION YEARS ASK ZORO TO DO SUCH A THING?? He picked his crew himself. He cherishes his crew like the treasures they are. He would die for them in a heartbeat. He is literally alive right now thanks to them (he would have lost himself after THAT otherwise). Every time a crew member "betrays him" he doesn't believe shit. He doesn't care as long as they come back to him unharmed. He wants his friends to be free, be happy, have adventures, achieve all of their dreams and eat to their hearts content.

He would rather eat every cherry pie in existence than have any of his crew members in pain, yet you believe he would go around just asking people to kill them?? you need psychological help if that's the case.

Now, anyone who genuinely believes that Zoro would ever do something like that, please don't even continue on watching the show or reading the manga, you CLEARLY are not paying attention and you are not enjoying shit.

I ask you to stop polluting this beautiful series and friendship with your nonsense.

[explodingchantry]

A review of Veilguard from a long time, die hard fan of Dragon Age

When the review embargo on Veilgurd was lifted, I found it hard to take any review at face value. Dragon Age is unfortunately the one series I am very pretentious about, and I can’t trust reviews from people who aren’t huge Dragon Age fans like I am and who don’t hold the same views as me -- those views being, to keep it short, that Anders was right and justified, that he is one of the most tragic characters in the entire series, that he is a hero, that Bioware’s writing can be shockingly biased at times in the wrong ways, and that Inquisition is really not that good at all. These opinions have a lot of weight in whether I will listen to someone about Dragon Age matters. And I haven’t see a proper review from someone like this -- though granted as soon as the game came out I locked down and refused to look at anything in fear of spoilers lol. 

This review will be spoilers free, and there will be an addition at some point with all the spoilers and what I think about specific story details, because I have so much to say. 

The TL;DR? It’s a good game. If you like Dragon Age like I do, you’ll like it. If you open your heart to it, you’ll love it. It was made with love. 

This will be divided in section based on people’s biggest worries about the game and how much I have to say about each of them.

The art direction

Honestly I was a defender of the art style as soon as the trailers started coming out and my opinion has not changed lol. Dragon Age was never exactly known for its graphics - Origins and DA2 look… okay. And Inquisition was fine for its time but has aged like the most rotten milk you could find. Its environments are still pretty, but its characters, man… I’m sorry, it just hasn’t aged well. Frostbite engine did not help Bioware in this case. They’ve spoken about how it was a new engine for them and how they struggled with it and it shows. 

This game? Oh boy, yeah, no, I can believe they got a handle of Frostbite now. It is breathtaking. The environments are crafted so meticulously and with so much love, the lighting is beautiful and that’s even without RTX (because I’m in the AMD gang and can’t splurge on Nvidia lol). Many many times I would stop and go into photo mode either to take screenshots or to just admire the world around me. I’d spam screenshot in cutscenes, too. The character animations are good, especially the facial expressions -- though the body animations remain a tad stiff, like everyone’s got a broom up their ass and forgot their spine can bend and move. It’s not that big of a deal, but I did notice it a couple times. 

You can tell Bioware had fun both with character design and with the environments, now that they’re free of Ferelden’s basic medieval england looking ass. You grow attached to the beautiful and lively environments. Treviso has got to be my favorite, but there’s a lot for everyone in there. 

And no, the smoother art style does not make the game less dark. If anything, some of the enemy redesigns really help make the game scarier. The first time I was faced with the blight in game, even though I’d seen it in all of the promotional screenshots and trailers -- I was horrified and sickened by just how gross they made it look (and sound.). I promise you, you shouldn’t be scared of that. 

The emotional moments sold well even “in spite of” the art style. I don’t know, it’s hard for me to even understand people’s worries about that. Not everything’s got to be hyper-realistic, ya’ll. 

The combat system

That IS one thing I was a tad worried about, when we first saw it. It looked good, but it was definitely a departure from what we were used to. 

Honestly, to sell my point, we have to look at the previous games’ combat system. I don’t actually know if there’s a specific name for this style aside from, idk, “CRPG combat” lol. I like to refer to it as MMORPG combat because you mostly see it in MMOs now, I feel. Your character cycles through a bunch of basic combat animations for basic attacks, and has a lot of abilities to throw in combat which can synergise which each other. DAO had the best system, but DA2 felt best to play due to the updated and dynamic animations and faster paced combat. DAI had the weakest both due to the way they overhauled the classes (especially mages) and made us lose fan-favorite specialisations (spirit healer and blood mage) with not much in exchange. It was simplified and a bit sluggish, in my opinion. It missed the strategy imposed by DAO as well as the punch from DA2. 

And of course, there’s the battle tactics. You get to basically program companion AIs and can chain some really, really good combos with them. It’s really fun once you get the hang of it, but let’s be real: very few people did. Very few people actually used them, as good of a system as it was. 

This combat system… has aged a tad, unfortunately. It doesn’t fit today’s gaming landscape, but even if it did… It would need more to land, I think, if they kept it as it was. Something to make it feel less sluggish, more intense, more involved. Make the attacks FEEL like they land and hit and hurt the enemy. Because the harsh truth is, although DAO has the most in depth combat system of all of the games -- it also has numerous popular mods to skip combat entirely. 

Combat in Veilguard feels really, really good. When I first started I often found myself grinning, going “oh HELL yeah” at the screen, because it felt so good. I almost raised the difficulty a few times because I wanted combat to last longer because it just felt so damn good. I do wish it was a bit deeper, especially in the case of combos, but it remained nonetheless fun to cycle through abilities and companions depending on the area and type of enemies I was fighting. It feels more action-y, but it isn’t a damn hack n slash like I’ve seen people say lol. Have none of these people ever heard of the term action RPG or what. Because that’s what Veilguard is. It’s an action RPG and there’s nothing wrong with that. 

I think Bioware always kind of wanted to move towards this, as well. Since DAO, Dragon Age felt like it kept its combat system not because it was the most fitting for the games Bioware wanted to make, but because they “had to”. Because it was right for the genre. Because it’s what players expect. Because they’d get backlash if they didn’t. But they finally decided to change it, and I think it’s right, for Veilguard. I think Bioware had fun making this system, and it is very much extremely fun to play. 

My only wish is for spirit healer and blood mage specialisation to come back, and for companion leveling up to have been deeper and more varied. They basically have set abilities that you level up and though you can change some aspects of them, that’s it. But it remains a good system. I liked it. I genuinely have really enjoyed fighting in this game and will be exploring all classes and specialisations thoroughly in my next replays, as well as exploring every difficulty. 

The writing

It’s fine. It’s brilliant, at times. Cringy, at others. And you want to know a secret?

You could say that about every god damn Dragon Age game, lol.

I’ve recently -- as in, very recently -- replayed the whole series in preparations for Veilguard. Not only did it have cringe-worthy moments in all games, but some even made me grimaces. DAO is staggeringly misogynistic both for its time and for its setting: You are told in the character creator that men and women are equal in Thedas only to constantly face outward sexism at every turn. It’s shocking. As for DA2, it’s weirdly mean spirited. It calls a lot of its characters crazy and makes fun of them for the meanest fucking reasons. It has a character who fights for his people’s freedom approve of you when you give another character over to a slaver, for fuck’s sake lol. It is very mean. This one is the most “product of its time” of all three, because DAO was misogynistic even for its time lol. And DAI… well, DAI is bland and lacks depth and feeling ina almost everything lmfao. 

Veilguard holds your hand a lot, especially in the beginning, and kind of babies you at times. It also suffers from painful expository moments. Thing is, I feel for Bioware: They have three games and dozens of side media’s worth of lore to explain to you, and have to keep in mind not only that some players will have never heard of Dragon Age, or that some have only played the games and never touched the side media, or that they played the games a whole DECADE ago and can’t remember shit. It’s hard. I would’ve done better lol but it IS difficult. I feel for them. 

Some things are a little less excusable, like the game REALLY holding your hand through a couple puzzles and through the fact that you need to focus on companions and do their quests etc. A part of me wonders if it came out of playtesting, or something. It definitely took me out of it a little bit, not gonna lie. It felt quite jarring. 

There’s a couple other things, like having far too much telling in places. I’d also have liked to do some of the cool stuff my Rook does in cutscenes within actual gameplay, lol. And there were beats where I was left thinking “... that’s it?”, which is never good. 

The codex entries are great and interesting though. Only game in the franchise where I read every single codex entries I found (AND I FOUND ALMOST ALL OF THEM!!!!). A lot of them are fascinating, but more are just very sweet or funny, and they help build the characters and the world. 

And my god, those characters are ALIVE. I truly understand when Bioware said they really put emphasis on the companions. There are so many cute banters, a lot of which you can catch in the lighthouse, as well as little scenes that mostly serve to humanise the companions and make them feel alive. Not only that, but you also get attached to a lot of NPCs -- and I do mean a lot. Each faction has NPCs I cared for deeply, and you always just get to visit them and talk to them, even if it’s just them saying a line or two of dialogue at you. It still helps to build a relationship with them, and care for them. And your companions interact with them sometimes, too! And they have history! It makes the world genuinely feel so much more alive and makes you feel so much more involved than you were in DAI! They manage to transform from pixels on a screen there to give you quests to actual characters with rich lives and feelings that you want to see succeed.

I romanced Lucanis and he is by far my favorite of the companions, but I love all of them. This means it’s the first game in the series where I genuinely really love all the companions. There was always one, maybe two, in each game whom I didn’t care much about or which pissed me off -- but they’re all immensely likeable here, and I care so much about not only my Rook’s relationship to them, but their relationships to each other. And there’s so many little banters, notes, and codex entries which helps further their bond and makes them feel like roommates. It’s very sweet and enjoyable.

I also love my Rook a lot. I played mostly as a sarcastic Rook who was very impulsive and wasn’t afraid to speak their feelings out. There are times you can express genuine fear, hurt, or anger at certain NPCs or situations, and the line delivery really carries it. They felt alive and involved, so much more than the Inquisitor ever did. My Rook has a personality, and not only that, but the way the factions were integrated was really nice. I played as an elven mage grey warden, and each of those bits came up a lot. I’m a bit miffed that you don’t get to choose whether you were dalish or city elf, and more miffed that the game/npcs try to explain dalish lore at you even when you put a wholeass vallaslin on your character, but aside from that I’m rather pleased with the integration of the faction. I imagine some factions (lords of fortune) got the shorter end of the stick - but playing as a grey warden was deeply rewarding in this game. Rook can make comment about it in dialogue, in banter, and other characters mention it too. I got to discuss the joining with another warden, and my Rook commented a few things about their time in the order. And it made my friendship with Davrin mean so much more, too. It also made every plot point involving the wardens hit like a TRUCK. 

And my god, do some of the missions in this game hit like a truck. The villains are believably terrifying. This isn’t Corypheus 2.0. I hadn’t felt this level of dread in Dragon Age since DAO. Some missions especially have rocked me to my core, and some of them I consider to be absolute masterpieces (Weisshaupt, my god Weisshaupt. My favorite mission in any Bioware game, period.) I wish the last boss had been scarier and stronger, though. I felt it did fall short in regards to that. Funny enough a lot of the side bosses were harder than main bosses. That was a bit sad. But yes, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain feel like gods that you are facing. It is so much better than DAI in that regard.

The game does make you care deeply about everything happening, I can promise you that. And it manages to make even vehement Solas haters like him. I used to be a Solas hater back in 2014/2015, though I did mellow out over my replays. By my last Inquisition replay I did come around to him and was just mildly annoyed at how popular he was because I still found him overhyped, mostly because he suffered from DAI’s bland writing. But Veilguard makes you care for him, and elicits a lot of strong reactions towards him. He’s made me cheer, and also made me feel extreme anger, and then a lot of sympathy. He’s a marvelously complex character and one of Bioware’s best. He went from being one of my least favorite characters to one of my favorites - potentially even top 10 material. This is high praise for me lol. 

The matter of bringing choices in is…. Well, not gonna lie, a few events I was like “hm, no this wouldn’t happen in my world state” or “oh I wish they took in account past choices for this scene/plot point”. It remains an extremely baffling choice from Bioware and I remain really pissed off about it, lol. 

The Inquisitor was fine. I’m not attached to the Inquisitor, so I’m not able to make many comments about them. I’ve seen other people who ARE attached feel happy about their inclusion, so I’d go with that. There were a few nice moments. 

Act 3 is absolutemy amazing, also. It's engaging and terrifying and broke my heart several times. I do not cry easily but I was left sobbing and whimpering at Bioware lmfao. Granted, it was my first playthrough, and my emotions were heightened by having a new Dragon Age game after so long. But I do think Act 3 is just... really, really good. It gets the point of the game across very well, too.

The lore

This… is where the game falls short the most, for me. 

Don’t get me wrong: we get a LOT of new lore and a lot of it is insanely satisfying when you’ve been in the trenches for a decade and had tons of theories. A lot of discoveries left me buzzing with thoughts, new theories, ideas, and excitement. It was exhilarating. 

But there’s many points where, as a guy who just casually reads the lore books for fun, I was left saying “uh, no, that’s not true” to “that doesn’t make any fucking sense”. Mostly, a lot of my issues comes with the integration of the politics of the game. Dragon age has always been a political series, in the sense that the politics of Thedas are just as important as any threat we face in the game. And for like 15 years, the north was built up in a certain way -- and in many aspects, Veilguard does deliver. In others, it feels like it glosses over very important lore, or just tries to gaslight you into thinking you were wrong all along. Some of it is clever recontextualising that I did appreciate, considering all the lore we DO know is in universe, which means biased by the areas we learn the lore from. But there are a few times where the lore breaks took me out of the game and felt very immersion breaking.

Unfortunately I can’t go to much further into this without spoiling anything, but it’s definitely where I was the most disappointed. It’s small things, it’s always small things, but it’s definitely made me either raise my eyebrows or be very disappointed at times. I’ve already spoken about a bit of it in previous posts, and need to write something lengthy about magic specifically. Just beware that if you are insane about the lore, it is where the game will fall short at points. But it will also offer you amazing lore in turn, so you know. It’s a balancing act. 

It feels like the writing has mellowed out in this aspect. It makes me wonder how different the past games would be, if written by these people. How different this game would've been, if it was written by past writers. Only game where I've gone "wait why am I not getting hate crimed right now".

Also the secret post credit scene sucks entire ass and ruins everything lmfao I am ignoring it entirely.

There’s obviously a lot more I want to say about many things. I want to talk about Lucanis, about Taash, about Emmrich, about Harding -- about everyone, really. But that’ll be for further, spoiler-full posts. 

I’ll also save some more in depth review for a later post because I wanna go play dolls in the character creator again.

[quinnverse]

“What does it matter if I invited you when you refused? You’re clearly not interested in bedding me-- which I suppose I should be grateful for, but…” Letting out a huff, Emma shook her head. To finish that sentence would be to confess more than she cared to admit. And she'd already given him enough for one day.

“Then stop being jealous!” She challenged, as though it were as simple as choosing to not be ruffled. If he didn't want her trying to make him jealous, then he should stop acting like he was jealous. His behaviors only made Emma want to taunt him, want to make him confess deeper feelings that he had, whether they were positive or negative.

“I do know how to count, thank you very much. And I believe your vulgar words about my body deserved a slap to the face. Thus, we are even." Rubbing at her fingers beneath the leather, she continued, ignoring the light sting that such a blow had induced. "Unless you think insulting my womanhood deserves two slaps?”

And he deserves true affection, does he not? She averts her gaze, knowing he was right. If she kept up the charade long enough, Emma didn't think it would've been impossible to grow genuine feelings for someone like Mister Finnegan, but that didn't change the fact that her reasons for pursuing him were disingenuous.

“Yes...” Emma conceded with a weak nod. “He does.”

By all means his associate seemed genuinely sweet and the thought of flirting with him for purely selfish, insincere reasons wasn’t fair. His concerns for his friend were understandable and as much as she wanted to despise everything he did, she couldn’t deny that his protectiveness towards his friend was admirable. A part of her wondered if he’d be as protective of her if they married.

“I apologize. I do not wish to hurt Mister Finnegan. I would very much like to be friends with him, if anything. Besides, I doubt he would ever harbor any real feelings towards me. As you said, he’ll choose you over me, and you’ve made it clear you do not approve of my existence.” She ignored the fact that she was supposed to hate him, too. That she had been the one intent on making her distaste towards him known from the second they met.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I want you to want me?” She scoffed, but it didn’t hide the way she paled at the realization.

She did want him to want her. At first, it was merely so she could use it against him. So that the wound would be deeper once she’d sunken her claws in and tore them out. But after the kiss, after seeing the slivers of warmth beneath his arrogant façade, Emma couldn’t deny that a part of her wanted him to want her. At least if she knew he wanted her for more than her money, she might be willing to accept a proposal.

“Perhaps if you courted me properly, like a true gentleman, I wouldn’t need to make you jealous. If you wish for me to accept a marriage proposal, you could at least pretend to be likable.” Emma crossed her arms over her chest and looked away. “Instead of tricking me into kissing you and then rejecting me when I offer you more. You invoke impropriety and then deny it when I try to reciprocate, so make up your mind. If you want me for my family’s money, that’s one thing, but I don’t appreciate being thrown about like a ragdoll for your childish enjoyment. If you’re genuinely interested in me, act like it. Otherwise I would rather you treat me with the distain you truly feel.”

"Yes, I did those things, and yes, I bloody well instigated it, but I never once told you to invite me into your bedroom!" Benjamin exclaimed, pink-cheeked and shaking. "I told you I wanted to keep things appropriate, yet I guess your objective was to push me into another one of your infernal traps!"

Emma lurched forward, needling him and goading him, and despite the fact Benjamin wished to snap a rebuttal at each of her (regrettably sound) points, all he could do was press his lips shut and feel the fire in his face burn progressively hotter.

“I do not want him to choose me over you! Again, not everything is a competition, you dense, fatheaded man-child!" she seethed. "The only thing I want is for you to disappear from my life already. To leave me and my father alone."

"Then prove it!" Benjamin volleyed. "If you're not digging your claws into Finnegan for selfish means, and if you're so damnably intent on getting rid of me, then stop this outing at once! Quit with your blatant attempts at rousing me into jealousy!"

Without a moment's thought, Emma reared back and struck him harshly across the face. This time, her palm was clad in a leather riding glove as opposed to the soft, delicate silk of the night prior, so the hollow thwack caused momentary sparks of color to dance across his vision.

“How dare you, you bloody tuft-hunter. I take back what I said about you being a pig. Pigs are far too civilized to be compared to you.”

Despite this not being an attack on his true self, a nettled sense of agitation burned throughout Benjamin's chest, sharp and bilious. He raised a hand to his stinging cheek, breathing hard as loosened locks of hair fell into his eyes.

“I... believe that makes us even now,” she challenged.

Scoffing, Benjamin lowered his hand again, smoothing his palm across his weskit. "If that's even, I'm afraid you don't know how to count, Miss Dunster."

She sneered at him. "Gods, you are a piece of work, aren’t you? Tell me, then, if you think him marrying me is a bad idea, then why in God's name would you think it would be any different if I were marrying you?"

Fed up with her conjecture, Benjamin exclaimed, "It is not you I object to! What I take issue with is you are clearly using my friend to get to me, rather than harboring deep, genuine affection for him! And he deserves true affection, does he not?" Surging back toward her, his upper lip curled as he observed, "If you honestly wanted me to abandon this fruitless marriage, then you wouldn't be trying everything in your power to make me jealous...to make me want you." His breath hitched and his pulse quickened. "Or, perhaps, you actually want me to want you."

[btsbs]

.

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

Guy who stopped watching/reading bnha once she got to the Class A/B dual training arc (Me): I am not willing to get back into this by any means but how dare you (fans sharing panels and fanart of the last like 100 chapters) make me feel things😭💘

[maegalkarven]

The thing what kills me what it's not even OOC for the team to work with Gortash. You can canonically do that.

Wyll and Karlach don't even leave the party if you do that, you don't even have to make a roll to convince them.

You can either abandon Ravengard or save him BEHING GORTASH'S BACK after you've already killed Orin and solidified your pact and he went to the Morphic Pool. Like this is legit the thing I did in one on my playthroughs.

He canonically only attacks you if you attack him first, give him the stones (proving yourself to be weak) or if you went to a place he Explicitly told you Not To Go.

He calls you before you enter the Iron Throne and tells you not to do that. It's a direct warning and pretty much the only line you can't cross. You can destroy Steel Watch Foundry and STILL he offers an alliance.

(Fr how desperate is he for an ally??? Hello?? @ Mr Bane's Chosen, I don't think Bane approves???? You got this whole tyranny thing a lil wrong???)

His downfall is HIMSELF; if he did not go for that dumb stones grab he'd survive, but also he KNOWS they're going to fail in confronting the Brain, he pretty much states it in the convo next to a Morphic Pool, but he still pushes to try it, to meet the downfall on his terms.

I'm pretty sure it would be possible to convince him the Elder Brain needs to be destroyed because it became uncontrollable and is too much of a threat now (the things you can't control should be destroyed, yadda yadda, survival is a strong instinct and would win against thirst for power bc power is a means of survival too and power can be achieved elsewhere, meanwhile in death he is sentenced to Bane's wrath)

All the possible scenarios where his death by Netherbrain's command does not happen cloud my mind and I suffer. They could have had it all! Even Good!tav/Durge could have a Good Ending(hero of Forgotten Realms) and alliance with Gortash.

We could have had it all!!!

[stellocchia]

All I can offer is this little drabble I've been working on:

Stage Two wasn't the type to get insecure, that's what they told themselves. Stage One had enough of that for all of them. So, it goes without saying that, when they whispered: "You prefer spending time with the others, don't you?" in a voice so soft, uncertain, and quiet that Color almost missed it, they hadn't meant it as an admission of their weakness, but as a statement of fact.

Stage Two knew that, among all of them, they were the most unpredictable, the least trustworthy, and the emotionally flat one. They were exactly what Chara and Nightmare had wanted them to be. A weapon ready to be wielded.

But Color wasn't either of them.

He was soft and kind. He didn't need a weapon, he needed a friend. And, no matter how much Two studied him, they could never hope to replicate the genuine bond all the others had managed to establish with him.

Being empty truly was a double-edged sword...

Color let out a confused sound. "What?". He was undoubtedly stalling. He wasn't the type to soften the blow usually, but maybe that time around he decided to be nice.

Killer could never just decide to be nice.

They knew how to be polite. How to behave respectfully toward all of their superiors. How to bow, and how to use the correct kind of overly fancy cutlery at a high-end dining establishment (they'd been teaching that last skill to Color as well because that guy ate like an actual animal. Face-first into every plate. It was kinda gross).

But actual niceties just didn't come naturally to them. Neither did kindness. They still couldn't understand how Color managed to make those things look so easy.

"I can see it, you'd rather go out and have fun with One, or cuddle with Three. Or whatever freaky shit you and Four have been getting up to" this time, it was no longer a question. However, they did make sure to throw some humor in there just so Color wouldn't think that they were trying to be vulnerable. They weren't.

And they truly didn't know what Color and Four got up to when they were together. That asshole still refused to share any of its memories with the rest of the class. So rude of it!

"But I don't" Color shot back sounding almost offended. "I like spending time with you all equally. All of you are my friend, and I love all of you".

Killer's hands were twisted together into a painfully tight knot. Had Color not been there, watching them attentively, they would have pulled out one of their knives and played with it. Unfortunately, Color never liked how rough all of them aside from Three were with the body. Especially Two.

It was one of the reasons why they figured they must have been his least favorite. They could never listen. They always ended up messing up and not taking care of themselves properly. They barely knew how to be a person and it showed.

"Why?" they were back to whispering. This time they couldn't even try to gaslight themselves into believing that there was no doubt there. They were desperate for whatever sweet lie Color could come up with, and even more so if it ended up being convincing enough to fool them into believing it.

"I know that there is no reason I can give you that you'll believe. So, think about it, if I didn't love you, wouldn't I have found a way to trigger a switch into one of the other stages by now? Or do you really believe me so stupid?". That was a low blow.

Stage Two glared at him, ready to fight that last claim when it clicked for them.

Ah.

Maybe they were wanted after all...

i need more colorkiller and/or color spectrum duo to cleanse my palate