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honkytonk-hangman · 1 year

Text

... And In Health

Jake Seresin x Aviator!Reader

Summary: A year after Jake has come to terms with his sickness, he might just have the opportunity to find the cure.

Notes/Warnings: note much, maybe some language? mostly just Jake being a sweety and being cute <3 This part is set about a year after the first one.

In Sickness...

Masterlist

When the waitress stops by your table for the fourth time, with a free pity-drink, your lip begins to wobble as she walks away. An hour ago you promised yourself you weren’t going to cry, at least not until you got home.

You’ve always been quick to emote, but even more so since your last breakup. Although you were shy and quiet, you hadn’t always lacked confidence in the romance department, but after finding your boyfriend sleeping with someone else, you hadn't realised the hit your self-esteem had taken until recently, when you’d started putting yourself out there again.

Suddenly instead of worrying about how your butt looked or what your hair was doing, you had deeper, far more troubling worries, like not ever being enough, and feeling like a constant burden.

Being stood up tonight was really, honestly, the very last thing you needed. Worse still, you knew that when you called your pickup, you were likely going to have to explain the situation, and that you weren’t looking forward to whatsoever. Which is why you’d been waiting out the time, so at least you might be able to convince Jake that your date had shown up.

You doubt he’ll believe you if you tried lying, your feelings were always much too clear on your face, you were practically an open book. Jake in particular always seemed to see right through you, like he was paying more attention to you, but you think he might just be observant of everyone. You wouldn’t allow yourself to go on thinking you were special in some way to him, even if the two of you had been slightly closer since your previous breakup.

You appreciated it, that’s as far as you would let yourself go. Jake had told you that he saw you as a friend, and even if you lacked self confidence in that friendship, you knew Jake was the sort of person who went hard for his friends.

Which was the whole reason he’d offered to pick you up tonight in the first place.

Your own car had been playing up and when you’d finally gotten it in the mechanics, they’d given you the unfortunate news that they weren’t going to have it back to you in time for your date tonight. You’d been telling Phoenix that you were going to cancel, as you didn’t feel comfortable being picked up by a date you didn’t know all that well, when Jake had chimed in that he would be your ride, if you still wanted to go. Although he still made you flustered when he fixed you with one of his looks, you really did trust Jake, and you wouldn’t have accepted if it were anyone else, because you also knew he would never have offered if he hadn’t meant it.

You have had a few regrets now, but you don’t let yourself linger on them. This whole situation was already pushing you to the edge, you know that Jake picking you up and likely being annoyed on your behalf shouldn’t count towards that… even if part of you feared he might start an ongoing joke about that time you were stood up.

You cringe when you shoot off an ‘all done’ text, and receive an ‘already??’ In reply, but you force yourself not to elaborate.

You don’t even have his car door shut before you’ve burst into tears.

“Hey, woah! What the hell happened?!” Jake’s voice is bewildered and slightly panicked, but quickly it turns hard. “Is he still in there? Wait here.”

Hurriedly you reach across to grab his shirt sleeve, one hand still rapidly trying to wipe your eyes, now filled with scratchy mascara specks.

“It’s fine, please. Just take me home?” You sniffle, trying your best to calm down and hope he looks past your sobbing and does as you ask. He doesn��t though, looking at you like you had absolutely lost your mind.

“You’re crying!” He gestures at you as if you weren’t away. You shake your head, before realising you can’t exactly deny it, and nod.

When he pulls open his door and steps out, he pulls himself from your grasp with little effort. Pathetically you let your hand drop and desperately wipe more at your eyes, trying to see where he’s going. You almost jump when your car door opens again and Jake appears, ducking down into your line of sight, his face stern, but his eyes slightly wide and very concerned. You feel bad for making him worry.

“Cricket,” Jake begins, digging into his glove box and pulling out a wad of face wipes. “I’m going to need you to explain to me why you are crying, otherwise I’m going in there.” He isn’t using his normal friendly voice, right now you’re confronted with Hangman, not Jake, and it actually comforts you a little. You knew how Hangman worked, Jake often gave you more cause for confusion.

“He didn’t come. I know I shouldn’t be so upset, I’m sorry. I’m just tired and—”

“—He didn’t come?!” He cuts you off, sounding disgusted, and when you look up at him, you see his lip curled and his face pulled into a snarl. You drop your gaze, and all of sudden his temper seems to disappear and change entirely.

“So you’re saying he’s not even in there for me to chat to?”

It makes you snort a little, and when you glance up at him, Hangman is gone and once again you’re with Jake. You watch him look away from you, over the top of his car roof, and let out a deep sigh, before he looks back at you, his expression unreadable, but soft.

“Here,” Jake takes the wad of wipes you’ve been holding on to and you’re too tired and worn out emotionally to protest when he tips your face up and begins cleaning off your ruined makeup. He goes about it a lot more diligently than you’d have expected, and about five minutes later, he grabs the fistful of now filthy, makeup covered tissues, and steps briefly away to throw them in a nearby bin.

When Jake returns, he doesn’t come to stand at your side again, instead he closes it and returns to the driver's seat.

“Have you eaten yet?” He asks, like the last ten minutes hadn’t happened. You shake your head, and rest it against the window as he lets out a breath, and begins to pull out. The hand he reaches out to balance on your car seat as he checks behind him almost makes you wish you could just hug him, but you push that feeling down.

“Alright. Let’s go get you some food then, sweetheart.”

It’s not the first time Jake has ever called you ‘sweetheart’, but it’s the first time he hasn’t been teasing you when he’s said it. Your pulse jumps at the almost casual intimacy of the way he says it, like he’d said it this way a hundred times before. Like this was something you did regularly with one another.

It’s almost a blessing he doesn’t say much else for the rest of the short drive, if you’re overthinking this much already. You feel stretched thin, tired from your work week, and even more tired now that you've expended all the effort and emotional preparation in order to come out tonight only for it to end in pure disappointment. All you want to do is hide under your blankets for the rest of the weekend, and maybe drink a bottle of red wine through a curly straw while you do.

Jake seems to have other plans though, as when the car stops at last, you aren’t outside your apartment building. Before you can even open your mouth and ask him where you are, he’s at your door again, pulling it open and holding out his hand.

“Where are we?” You know you sound silly, seeing as the big neon sign flashed bright in front of you through the window.

“At a restaurant. A good one, this time.” Is as far as Jake goes to explain to you. Dumbly, you unbuckle yourself and go to hop out of the car, forgetting that he holds a hand out for you. Jake doesn’t forget though, and quickly moves to take your hand before you can balance it on the car door.

The movement makes your pulse jump again, and this time it doesn’t stop, seemingly keeping its new fast pace going. You blink rapidly up at the blind who watches you carefully, your mouth opening, working like a fish for a moment as you try to get your brain working again, but Jake gets there before you.

“Humour me,” he says sweetly, giving your fingers a slight squeeze as he does, doubling your heartbeat again, but you can’t stop yourself from nodding. When he smiles at you, you half expect it to be a familiar cheeky smirk, but it’s not.

You let Jake help you from the car, and try to get ahold of yourself as he guides you away and toward the front door. He even leads you around the grating in the sidewalk which your high heels would surely fall through, and you wonder why you’d never considered that Jake would be a good date before. At least, you’ve never considered it beyond his cocky persona. You’ve never thought about how he would open your door for you, or gently hold your hand, or make sure you didn’t have to contend with holes in the pavement.

You’re still tired, but this turn of events shocks a small amount of adrenaline into you, and you decide that you have enough energy at least for whatever Jake has planned. Or, at the very least, you don’t have the energy to fight it, but you trust him, so you choose to trust that whatever it is, he means the best.

Jake releases your hand when he reaches for the door, and you find yourself startled by the feeling of loss that overcomes you when he does. You notice then for the first time that Jake wears a simple pair of slacks and a knit polo shirt that still sits a little rumpled from where you’d grabbed him by the sleeve earlier.

Once you’ve allowed yourself to be ushered inside the restaurant, you turn back and quickly smooth out the soft material, doing your best to be impartial to the feeling of his firm bicep under your fingertips, even though you find yourself needing to pull down the fabric where it seems to stretch even tighter around his muscled arm. Normally you really only take notice of Jake’s physique when he’s purposefully using it against you, to make you tongue-tied for his amusement, but this is really the first time you’ve found yourself up-close and personal, and you’re once more surprised by the intense desire you have to be hugged by him, to press yourself up against what you know to be his incredible strong body, feel that strength wrap itself around you.

Briefly you glance up at his face, expecting an amused smirk, but all you find is another unreadable expression, though his eyes do follow your movements closely. You finish your smoothing with a small pat, and turn away again. It takes another moment for you to feel him stir back into action behind you, and you find yourself again caught up in your thoughts as he steps slightly around you, to speak to a waiter who pops out to see you seated.

You’re vaguely aware that when you’re shown to your table, Jake pulls your chair out for you, and rests his hand briefly on your shoulder as you’re settled, squeezing it gently before he steps away to his own seat.

For a while the both of you are quiet as you mull over the menu, but the more your stomach begins to grumble, the more your senses seem to come back to you properly at last, and the bitter taste of disappointment and embarrassment that has been swirling around inside your chest and head all night begins to recede. This was just Jake, and even though sometimes he confused you, you knew Jake. You know that what he’s doing right now is his own way of hugging you and telling you it’ll be okay, like Phoenix would if she were in his place.

Your shoulders, which you hadn’t even realised had been slightly raised, relax as you place down your menu and take to studying the man in front of you instead. You’re able to watch him for a good minute before he turns the page of his menu, long enough to know he wasn’t reading it at all.

“I like Italian,” you venture, though your inflection makes it sound a little like a question, one you’re not sure you have the courage yet to ask.

“I know.” Jake replies, at last dropping the laminated booklet and linking his hands together on the table in front of him. You want to challenge him, but you stop yourself, figuring that knowing what your friends liked was the least someone could do.

You soften a little then, and drop your gaze to your place setting, straightening the silverware nervously, feeling his gaze locked on to you, and you chance peeking up at him as you talk.

“You really don’t have to–” you don’t even get to finish speaking before his sharp gaze flashes, eyes narrowing and he lowers his chin. “If you want dessert you won’t finish that sentence,” his words are humorous, but his voice maintains a level of sternness that you’d heard earlier when he’d been worried. You wonder if he usually masked his concern or anxiety with hardness. You wonder if that worked for him like it worked for you. You can’t deny that his cutting through your shit to get at the real problem was helpful when you were so prone to brushing off your own comfort for the sake of others.

Jake sighs then, but doesn’t even look away from you as he picks up the carafe of water and pours you each a glass.

“I’m not letting you go home tonight with that being the last date under your belt,” he sounds more casual now, and there's an offended scoff that punctuates his words, like the idea insulted him as well as you.

“This isn’t a date, though,” you hear yourself argue, though it's more out of sheer confusion than any real protest. You regret it immediately though, as Jake’s signature smirk makes an appearance, and he unfolds his hands to fix you with pure amusement.

You almost jump right out of your skin when something warm brushes over your hand again, and you realise too late that he’s taking it in his own, leaning toward you and cocking his head as his thumb begins brushing softly across the tops of your fingers, like he knew his actions have frozen you in place.

“Sure it is,” he tells you, and that seems to be that.

It takes you a moment to reboot your brain.

“You took all my makeup off…!” you protest after a moment, letting your arm go more slack as the feeling returns to the hand he holds. Jake raises an eyebrow, lips twitching.

“Don’t need it,” he shrugs, before relenting some. “For what it’s worth, in the two seconds I saw you before you started crying, it looked nice.”

You’re forced to reconcile with the idea that Jake thought you looked nice, and attempt to work out what that means for you now.

“Oh… Thank you…” is all you’re able to say, and are immediately greeted once again with his regular smirk, though it feels a little softer around the edges now, almost tender, but you think that must be only in your imagination.

“This is when you tell me how handsome I look,” Jake prompts, and you could roll your eyes and laugh him off, but the more you think about it, the more you actually agree with him.

“You look very handsome tonight.” you say, meaning it, finally able to laugh softly when he preens obviously at the praise.

“And have I been working out?” he’s definitely teasing you now, but you don’t mind so much, because his thumb is still slowly moving in circles over your fingers, which you’ve only just realised do feel rather cold.

“You’re always working out.” you tell him, your brows furrowing just a little but only for show. Jake fixes you with an amused expression and shakes his head. His hand tightens around yours just a little.

“Not always. Sometimes I take beautiful, lovely women out on dates.” he corrects you. Your heart leaps into your throat, and you blink at him, dazed.

“Sorry to interrupt your plans, then,” you joke, but it comes out a little more self-deprecating than you really mean. Jake narrows his eyes at you again.

“Are you questioning my tastes?”

“Almost always.”

“I’ll have you know that you are both beautiful, and inarguably lovely, Cricket.”

His words make you stare dumbly at him, mouth once more working like a fish to try and figure out what it is you’re supposed to say to that. You don't realise until it's too late that you’ve said those words aloud.

Jake smiles, full and wide and not teasing at all this time.

“You say ‘thank you, baby. This is the best date I’ve ever been on’,” he almost sing-songs.

“I’m not calling you ‘baby’!” you sputter, your brain going into overdrive at the thought of Jake calling you baby.

“Not yet you aren’t,” Jake blinks slowly at you, but he doesn’t back down from the statement, staring at you until you’re the one forced to look away, and he speaks again. “But I can be patient. I’ve been patient.”

You find yourself transfixed by what he could possibly mean by the fact that he’s been patient, but you don’t get the opportunity to ask, because your waiter returns and watch enamoured as Jake orders for you, not really that surprised that he knows what you want, but surprised that you’re so quickly becoming normalised to this behaviour from him.

Oddly, as dinner goes on, you almost forget that it’s Jake you’re with. He seems softer, gentler in a way that you hadn’t been aware existed within him, but in a way that you aren’t sure how you’re going to live without once he drops you home again and the spell is broken. In your minds eye, you realise that day to day you’ve seen glimpses of this Jake, when he’d wordlessly begun offering you a hand when you’d climb up to your jet around a year ago now, or how he’d normally complain about the amount of time everybody else took with their shots at darts, but sometimes when it was just the two of you he simply waits quietly for you to line yourself up properly, even occasionally giving you an ego-free pointer that always helped.

You wonder how often other people saw this side of Jake, and if you might be able to convince you into showing you more. For once his perpetual amusement and teasing seems to be at bay, and you’d like to think that this is the way he is in the quiet times, in the morning before his coffee, or in the grocery store. You can picture him in these times, but more importantly you want to see him in these times, more than you might have thought you would, more than out of simple curiosity.

His fingers lacing with yours after your plates are cleared makes you think once more of his talk of patience, and you wonder briefly if he wanted you to see him like this too.

“Absolutely not,” Jake quickly cuts in when you both stand by back near the entrance, reviewing the bill. The card you hold out, and the hand it’s in are engulfed suddenly by his much larger one, and even as the waiter smiles between the two of you, Jake doesn’t let you escape his grasp, holding you firmly in place as he hands his own card over.

“Jake!” you grumble, trying to pull your fist out of his, but he simply tightens his hold and gives the waiter a look like ‘can you believe this woman’.

“I’m so sorry about her, she hasn’t been taken out properly in a while, she’s forgotten all about how dates are supposed to work,” Jake tells the waiter conspiratorially, voice thick with faux-sympathy, like your cause was truly tragic. Your protests are fully silenced however, when he shoots you a pitying look, and brings your enclosed fist to his lips, kissing it softly like you were a sick puppy or something of the like.

You know he’s aware of the effect he has on you, it was why he teased you so much, but for the first time ever, you think he’s actually using it properly against you to get his way, and unfortunately, you aren’t even able to summon much annoyance about it. Quite the opposite in fact, his display makes your argument fall quiet and your heart skip several beats as he kisses your fingers tenderly again, before offering it back to you at last.

Quietly, you put your card away and bite your lip as he finishes paying.

—

“Jake,” you begin slowly, having taken most of the car ride so far to gather your thoughts together.

“Cricket,” Jake matches your tone and cadence, while shooting you an amused smile.

“Why did you hold my hand?” you try your best to ignore him, and shift slightly in your seat. Jake seems to shift too, but he only glances briefly over at you this time.

“Do you mean ‘why am I still holding your hand?’?” he squeezes your aforementioned hand, still in his grip and laying on the centre console. When he shoots you another amused grin, he’s met only with your pursed lips. Placing his gaze back toward the road, he rolls his eyes a little.

“Because I want to? I don’t know, feels kinda nice, don’t ya think?” Jake clears his throat a little, before a frown begins forming between his eyebrows and he seems to lurch. “Unless it doesn’t, in which case–” he begins to loosen his grip on you, but before you can think too much about what you’re doing, you tighten your own fingers laced through his, and give him an even more unimpressed look.

“So it does feel nice, note taken.”

You sit in silence for a few more minutes, in which time Jake begins slowly stroking his thumb across the back of your hand. When you do finally pull up to your apartment block, you feel the need to say something, but you don’t know what, so you keep quiet as Jake puts his car into park.

“Wait here,” he tells you and before you can really respond, he’s jumping out of the car and loping around to your side, opening the door with a gallant smile.

“You know, you’re a pretty good date, Jake,” you say softly, letting him take your hand once again and help you out of the car. Jake beams at you in an almost boyish manner that makes you want to squish his cheeks, but you refrain.

“Why thank you,” he says proudly, making you smile too.

You stand and stare at one another for a moment once you’re settled on your heels, and Jake cocks his head at you, before offering out his hand for you. Biting your lip slightly, you can’t help but look at your feet as you reach out and take the offered hand, feeling your chest go all warm again when he adjusts his hold to be more firm, and you both begin walking again.

Jake lets you take more of a lead, even though you know he knows where you live, considering he had been one of the friends you’d enlisted to help you move out of your old place. You can’t help but wonder if all this hand-holding was going to affect your friendship now, or what it even meant for your friendship. Your mind goes back to what Jake had said about patience at dinner, and what that meant.

Biting your lip again, you come to a stop in front of your apartment door, taking your hand back reluctantly so that you can pull your key from your purse and unlock your door.

“You aren’t going to cry again once I’m gone, are you?” Jake suddenly asks, making you blink back at him. He shoves both hands in his pockets and purses his lips. “Can’t be having that, now can we?” he says as if that explained his concern.

“No… No, I feel a lot better now,” you tell him, and you really do mean it. “Thank you for dinner.”

Jake stares at you, like he often does when he’s trying to make someone crack. Usually it worked pretty well on you, but you have nothing to crack over right now, so you simply stare back at him and shrug.

“I’m glad you feel better, Cricket. I don’t like seeing you upset.” Jake tells you, and even though his expression is humorous, his voice is stern and sincere, and it makes your stomach twist and turn violently in a way you’ve felt it attempt to do several times recently, but you’ve never let yourself linger on. It's as though all at once you can’t stop it, and an explosion of butterflies takes the place of all your internal organs.

“What was that?” Jake murmurs, and you blink at the step he takes forward, his brow furrowed in concern. You realise you’ve spoken the question that’s been on your mind out loud, and you swallow thickly as you try to gather yourself again.

“I… Earlier, you said you’ve been patient… what did that mean?” you ask, chewing the inside of your lip, wondering if you even want this question answered in the first place.

Jake cocks his head at you, and you can’t help but take note of how his lips quirk in the corners, like he thought it was adorable that you even had to ask.

“It means,” Jake begins, stepping even closer, and resting his arm on the wall above your head. “That about a year ago, I realised that I wanted to kiss you, and a year later, I still do.”

You stare up at him, and try to refrain from moving too much, as if he might disappear if you did.

“But only if you want me to,” he adds after a moment, beginning to peel back from you. Once more you don’t think too hard about what your body does, and you realise too late that your hand has shot out to rest against his chest, smoothing over his collar. Jake stops in his retreat and fixes you in his gaze again, even as your mouth opens and closes silently. You frown at your own inability to talk, and feel a pit begin to open in your stomach, sucking up the butterflies let loose there.

Jake frowns down at you, as if he can read your thoughts, and gently covers your hand with his own.

“Do you want me to?” he asks softly, and you’re glad he doesn’t make you say it, you aren’t sure you’re ready to ask yet, but you think he might understand this about you.

You nod at him and hold your breath as he seems to cock his head again. Briefly you see him smile, full and warm, but quickly you’re gasping softly as he kisses you.

Kissing Jake has been something you’ve refused to let yourself think about, repressing the thought so much that you’re truly surprised by how good he is at it. It makes sense, you think, that Jake would be a great kisser, and you’re fairly certain that you’ve never ever been kissed like this before, either. If this was what you’d been missing out on for a year, you feel foolish and idiot, because right now you vow that you will let Jake kiss you whenever he wants, wherever he wants from now on.

When at last he pulls away, you relish in the way his hand cups your cheek, thumb swiping back and forth tenderly.

“I don’t know about you, Cricket,” he says, making your chest flutter when he nuzzles at your nose sweetly. “But I think that feels kinda nice too, don’t you think?” he places another, much chaster kiss to your lips, and you can’t help but let out a soft laugh.

“Yes, Jake. I think it feels nice, too.”

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bittersnsweetz · 3 months

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feeling normal about krisnix in this chilli's tonight

Kristoph gavin who never expresses vulnerability, who is always so calculating and so good at hiding himself and playing into the facade hes crafted, who hasn't felt genuine happiness for as long as he can remember (and he has a pretty good memory), feeling personally and emotionally affected by someone and that someone is phoenix wright

he has never dedicated himself to being in control of someone's life as much as he has with this man, and that's shown by just how long he draws everything out, how long he stays phoenix's "friend", how attached he becomes to the feeling of winning, of having the upper hand. you could argue that klavier was his greatest triumph, and you wouldnt necessarily be wrong. but i would argue that with the fact that i definitely think kristoph gets bored of how easy it is to have klavier under his heel. it becomes child's play, so much so that it's no longer rewarding. but phoenix is a completely different story because he's unpredictable, because he's much more vigilant about that kind of thing, much more fun to make squirm

it consumes him without him even realising. he never even entertains the idea that he needs phoenix to satisfy him (both in the physical and psychological sense) because needing someone is equivalent to admitting that you're weak or useless on your own and kristoph gavin can never accept that as fact. he can never be honest with himself because thats not something he's capable of

he doesnt take into consideration just how much that what he does, he's doing FOR the approval of others, it doesn't matter if it's genuine to him or not because he sure as hell doesnt know what that looks or feels like. to be respected, to be given what he deserves, to be constantly above anyone and everyone else because thats an insatiable need for him as a person with a simultaneous inferiority AND god complex (as well as a number of potential personality disorders)

he needs to know that he's in control of the situations and people around him. and hes paranoid about the reality of not having that and being reduced to something lesser. unworthy. which is why he's always so careful, so meticulous about everything, to protect that ideology

phoenix to kristoph is this anomaly that he can't define, and he's too afraid of the unfamiliarity of exploring anything remotely foreign i.e his, ugh, FEELINGS about him and what that would imply to ever try. so he convinces himself that it's all about control and its all about personal satisfaction, and while that definitely is true, there's a deeper intricacy that he continuously denies

and its not until phoenix's "betrayal" that that really cements in kristoph's brain. the fact that he's affected by it. that he feels something more intense than simple anger at being foiled

hes afraid of phoenix being able to see through him because he's gotten close so many times. and the only power kristoph has over him after his sentence is the fact that phoenix has never truly understood him, not completely, but it's a personal affliction that he's managed to come close.

kristoph knows that phoenix knows something's up but he has to toe that line of. being the kristoph that phoenix recognises while also making sure he stays in line, and its difficult. especially when phoenix himself learns how to hide better

he knows in a way that phoenix already has him, but he also knows that its not something that phoenix could safely or reliably reveal now or he would have done so sooner. and thats the only solace he gets in knowing that the one-sided trust has been completely shattered, which forces him to actually start exercising his own vigilance in lieu

but he knows that up until shit hits the fan theyre going to keep what toxic situationship they have going. because kristoph isnt letting phoenix go for obvious reasons and phoenix isnt letting go either, and they both have such an intense grip on each other, playing with each other's fears and paranoia, testing each other's limits, attempting to get the other to slip first

and kristoph knows that phoenix is determined. and that he wont stop at anything until he's given kristoph the punishment he believes he deserves. i dont think he knows how much he's unconsciously tapping into phoenix's personal trauma, which is why he ends up underestimating how far he's willing to drag kristoph down

there is something so interesting about how their relationship develops over time

how they both take turns being the pawn in the other's game

how the reality of the situation changes virtually nothing because at that point they've become so ingrained in each other

obviously its the worst for phoenix. he sees miles in kristoph in the worst way and despite his better judgement he still feels the need to try to save him from damnation, even when its futile. thats just how his mind works. he sees the little human things that kristoph does and obviously he's not a complete apathetic dick, so he sympathises

its not as simple or as black and white as dahlia was

dahlia for one literally only used phoenix as a scapegoat. its obvious that she never truly felt anything romantic towards him, and she's much more clear cut in terms of her motivation being purely out of selfish desires to protect herself, which is something phoenix understands. with kristoph though, he goes out of his way to present himself to phoenix as someone he can trust first instead of completely lovebombing him, he builds up their relationship in a way that's slow and gradual to have the highest chance of success and to really get inside phoenix's head.

and i refuse to believe that kristoph wanted to spend any more than a year with him to get what he needed. the fact that he continues keeping in contact with him instead of outright killing him during the 7 year gap which is not at all beyond his capabilities, is a testament to how much he needed phoenix around. and not in the sense that it was vital for his revenge plot which we still dont even know if he has planned at the time. and kristoph is manipulative and cunning out of fear, so this isnt something he thought through step-by-step

phoenix is the only person kristoph HAS. and obviously he hates him, he believes phoenix took something that was rightfully his, and phoenix wright of all people being the one to do it (someone known for his bluffing in court, his chance techniques, his complete inadequacy during court proceedings and yet he STILL manages to get the win time and time again) is just the biggest slap to the wrist

but phoenix is also the only person who kristoph learns he can parry with. and maybe just a little he starts almost enjoying the way they hate each other. how much theyre able to get under each other's skin. which is something phoenix undoubtedly recognises and absolutely uses to his advantage

its because phoenix is able to elicit such a visceral negative emotion from him in a way that nobody else can, that kristoph gets attached. that hes able to elicit anything that causes kristoph mental distress at all. its not that he WANTS it to happen, but moreso that it implies he's getting under phoenix's skin too. and we know how much kristoph loves attention

whereas with dahlia, she didnt have a personal vendetta against phoenix, he was just collateral

and that changes things because shes very obviously just a person with villainous intent who took advantage of phoenix's more naive nature, whereas kristoph took advantage of his position as someone who desperately needed a friend. and that changes things. that directly plays with phoenix's ability to trust those who extend unconditional kindness to him

it means that kristoph becomes this fucked up amalgamation of an in-between. this limbo state between dahlia and miles, in phoenix's head. neither one nor the other, but a secret third thing. it makes phoenix believe that he can somehow help him like he helped miles, becoming blinded by their characteristic parallels, while also recognising that he's being manipulated

and phoenix WANTS to see the best in kristoph. he wants to know that hes human so that maybe it makes things easier. maybe hes just hurt. maybe he's getting defensive because he's going through something else. maybe he wants to be a good person but doesnt know how. he doesnt have to be another dahlia.

phoenix's unrelenting saviour complex and denial over being manipulated by someone like dahlia again, mixed in with kristoph's absolute debilitating abhorrence for being pitied or sympathised with in any way, and how that just ends up spiralling them down further and further

the complete opposite nature of the two of them, foils if you will, phoenix having so many regrets about the situation and kristoph harbouring none

phoenix never truly being able to understand him like he could with dahlia, because he becomes attuned so much with kristoph's humanity, the limbo, how he operates, the uncertainty of whether or not it was all an act, that kristoph never meant the things he said, that the moments of vulnerability, the split seconds that phoenix saw being crafted just to manipulate him (he KNOWS its not true) continues to eat away at him long after the events unfold.

kristoph never opting to give him any sort of closure because that would mean compromising himself and that's something he can never do willingly, and that being the only thing he has over phoenix's head now, the one thing he can pettily hold on to in spite of everything phoenix has managed to do to him. the last bit of control he has left

yeah im normal. why do you ask?

#ace attorney #aa4 #kristoph gavin #phoenix wright #krisnix #the most toxic yuri ive seen in my life #but also tragic? if you squint #i wrote this at 3am

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writingdumpster · 2 years

Text

when you come back

pairing: Robert Floyd (Bob) x reader

warnings: none

word count: 1,000

summary: After seeing how dangerous the mission is, Bob gets worried about leaving you behind.

masterlist

“Don’t tell me. Tell his family.”

The words rang over and over again in Bob’s mind. He wasn’t upset with Phoenix nor Coyote. What all of them were doing was difficult and they needed practice. He wasn’t upset with anyone but himself. He was going back and forth on whether he ever should have joined the Navy at all. On one hand he never would have met you if he hadn’t been based in Lemoore, but if he wasn’t in the Navy he also wouldn’t have the horrible feeling that was brewing in his stomach.

Bob couldn’t believe he’d ever been so stupid as to believe that he would never be in danger like this. He wasn’t scared for himself. He didn’t want to die, but he was in the Navy for a reason. He was scared for you. Bob meant to take care of you till the day you died. He couldn’t leave you unprotected. He had been distraught ever since his training.

You had a job that allowed you to work from home which was lucky because it meant as long as Bob wasn’t deployed, you could be with him. So you had gone to North Island with him even though he was only meant to be there a couple weeks. You rented an airbnb which turned out to be great for Bob because they’d only been offered barracks to sleep in on the base. He came home from his second day of training at Top Gun with worry written across his face.

“How was training, Robby?” You asked as you rose from the couch to wrap your arms around his neck and give him his ‘welcome home’ kiss.

“We have to get married before I go,” Bob blurted out when you pulled away. You chuckled.

“What are you talking about?” You asked with a smile.

“I’m not joking, honey. We have to get married before I go,” he said. His hands had found purchase on your hips, his fingers spreading across your body above the thin spandex of your leggings.

“Robby, why would we do that? We just finished paying off the venue and we sent out invitations two weeks ago,” you said with a smile. “I’m excited too, but we don’t want to let down all the people who are coming just to get a free meal.” Bob didn’t laugh. He raised a hand to your neck and ran his thumb along your jawline.

“The man teaching us is a Captain. His girlfriend has a boat and he’ll take us out to marry us before I go,” he said seriously. The smile on your face was fading away.

“Why do we need to get married before you go, Robby?” You asked. Bob gave you a sad smile.

“Just in case,” he said. He didn’t want to say what you were beginning to understand.

“In case of what?” You asked. Your voice had lost the softness that you usually spoke to him with. It was wavering and hollow. Bob sighed. He kissed your forehead.

“It’s a dangerous mission. More than I ever would have thought,” he admitted.

“Robby.” Your voice wavered. “What does that mean?” He looked at you and pursed his lips.

“I can’t tell you much more,” he said.

“Why do we have to get married now, Robby?” You asked, your voice cracking as tears rose to your eyes.

“Honey, I’m sorry,” Bob murmured.

“I don’t want to get married now,” you whimpered, the first tear spilling from your eye.

“I know, sweetheart. I don’t either,” he said.

“Then we shouldn’t. We should just go back to Lemoore,” you said, your voice cracking.

“Y/N, honey, you know I can’t do that,” he said.

“We should just go home, Robby. Just go back to Lemoore,” you repeated. Bob pulled you into his chest and ran his hand over the back of your head, smoothing your hair out. You let out the sob you’d been holding in.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

“I can’t lose you, Robby,” you whimpered through your tears. Bob didn’t know what to do. There was nothing he could say that would make you feel better and be truthful. He couldn’t tell you that there was nothing to worry about or that everything would be okay, because he couldn’t be sure of either of those things. He’d never regretted joining the Navy more, and after the two hundred push-ups he had to do the day before he hadn’t been expecting the record to be beaten for a while. You sniffled against his shirt, your arms were wrapped around him tightly keeping him pressed to your body. His hand was still running through your hair delicately.

“I love you so much, sweetheart,” he mumbled. “You mean so much to me, and no matter what–”

“Robert Floyd, you better not be trying to say goodbye to me,” you said sternly. You pulled away so you could meet Bob’s eye. You still had tear tracks on your cheeks and your eyes were red and puffy.

“I just want you to know,” he said softly.

“Tell me when you come back then,” you ordered.

“Honey…” Bob protested.

“When you come back,” you said firmly. Bob closed his mouth and nodded. There was time later for him to say what he wanted to say to you. Right now you needed to believe that he would come home. And all he had ever wanted to do was take care of you. So, instead of telling you how much he loved you and how lucky he felt to have you, he kissed your forehead and pulled you into his arms, tucking your head under his chin.

“Okay, honey. When I come back.”

#bob floyd x reader #robert floyd x reader #Bob Floyd x reader #bob x reader #bob floyd angst #lewis pullman x reader #top gun maverick x reader

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wh0refornikolailantsov · 11 months

Note

Prompt: I know my pain is such an imposition.

Song: You're Losing Me - Taylor Swift

For Kaz x Reader??

English is currently not my first language, incoherent screaming is.

Walk Away, Take My Heart With You - Kaz Brekker

Content Warnings: Angst. Heartbreak. Unhealthy Relationship And Communication Habits. Canon Complaint Violence And Threat. Not Beta/Proof Read.

Do I throw out everything we built or keep it? I'm getting tired even for a phoenix Always risin' from the ashes Mendin' all her gashes You might just have dealt the final blow

"Kaz are you even going to look at me?" You ask. Kaz doesn't, he keeps his eyes to the ground, walking in that consistent rhythm despite the pain it must cause him. That repeated tap of the cane on the cobblestones, a sound you hear in the back of your mind like a melody, you know you'll hear it even still when it becomes nothing more than a memory.

Stop, you're losin' me Stop, you're losin' me

"Kaz Brekker, stop right now," you say, stilting your own movements. You're walking the length of the harbour, and you're done chasing after him. You've done nothing wrong, not that you ever really have to get him riled up at you. He'd need to communicate with you why he is mad but he never seems capable of that.

Stop, you're losin' me I can't find a pulse

"I swear to the Saints Brekker if you don't stop and turn around now it is the last chance you'll get to do so," you snap, and your voice carries on the wind. He hears you, clearer than a gunshot and his walking stills, but he does not turn around. You don't move to meet him, you're done meeting him at a distance. There are so many things when it comes to Kaz that do not hurt you, things that you can tuck away and love him not in spite of but as well as. The fact he can never touch you, it leaves space for longing, for wishing, but it would never have you step away from him. His history, his demons, they don't scare you, and you know they should. You can love him, knowing all the reasons you've been told you shouldn't.

But this, this cold, unrelenting anger, this shutting you out and down and cutting you off without warning, without giving you the smallest clue as to what you've done, if you've even done anything at all. This is what is killing you.

There was a time when you thought there wasn't a thing in the world you wouldn't do for The Bastard Of The Barrel, but you've finally found your line, your limit, and you can practically hear Nina's voice in the back of your head telling you "it's about time."

"You do not give me orders," Kaz says and every other sound across the harbour is silenced. You are alone, painfully alone in the darkness, nothing around you and Kaz but the cannel and all the broken promises of hope between you. His words remind make something snap within you, and you realise once again, just how alone you truly are.

My heart won't start anymore For you 'Cause you're losin' me

"You know, Brekker," you say, staring at his siloutte in the dark, "one day I will have been gone long enough, I will have put enough distance between us, that I will forget your name, I will forget your face, I will forget each moment, each day, every single second spent with you. You won't even be a memory."

You don't mean it, you don't have the strength inside you to mean it, but you know if you don't walk away now, you're never going to, and you have given all the chances your heart can take on a man who doesn't want to love you, even if he does.

"I long for that day," Kaz says in return before continuing his path into the darkness. You should have expected nothing less. You should have expected worse. Kaz is filled to the brim with harsh words and cruel intentions. You've seen first hand everything he is capable of, you know exactly what he could do and why he would. But you had thought, you had let yourself believe that there was more between you than could be torn down with one bad mood and some words. But you're left in the harbour tying to pull yourself up from the stones like he has left you to bleed out on them.

And the air is thick with loss and indecision I know my pain is such an imposition

"I know Kaz can be... Kaz," Jesper is saying hovering around you throwing your stuff into a bag, "but you can't be leaving."

"I've been meaning to leave a long time now Jesper," you remind him.

"I thought you changed your mind," he says. You had. You had changed your mind, you had decided the barrel was your home, that what you had found here would be worth staying, that the world couldn't offer you what you have found at the bottom of the barrel. But you can't stay with your heart being target practice every time you pass a corner and expect to see him there.

Now, you're runnin' down the hallway And you know what they all say You don't know what you got until it's gone

"I can't stay," you tell Jesper, turning to face him. You try not to linger on how sad those eyes look, usually so filled with optimism. Jesper is scrambling to look for the right words but he comes up short.

"Look, I know none of us are great at... talking with each other," Jesper says, "but Kaz... I cannot imagine how he is going to be if you leave."

"It's not my responsibility to make him into someone who can talk to me Jesper," you say, "it's not my responsibility to fix him." You sigh, your bad feeling so heavy with the added weight of your pain. "I didn't want to fix him, I just... I wanted to believe that he loved me, but he can't be happy in the knowledge he does. It makes him angry, his feelings for me feel like a sickness to him, and I cannot stand around, loving him when him loving me makes him hate himself."

Jesper knows there is nothing to be said to that, he remembers the time he nearly brought down the Jam Tart House to nothing more than ashes when the Razergulls felt it a good idea to try and make a move on you as an act of violence against The Dregs, The Crows more specifically, and Kaz the most. Kaz had been all Dirtyhands that night, eyes like a shark smelling blood in the water, and violence that had the blood painted red. But when you'd arrived back at the slat, split lip and rope burned wrists you'd tried to thank him, but he had rebuffed you. Jesper could not understand the scowl on his face as Kaz had looked at you, for someone who had been willing to burn everything to the ground before he looked so inconvenienced by your presence. "Did you really think I’d be happy to see you?" was all Kaz had to say to you.

"I've forgiven him too many times already," you say, more to yourself than Jesper, "but there are only so many times someone can trespass against you before you realise that they don't see you as someone they need consider in their actions. I love Kaz, against every sensible fibre in my being, but I cannot love myself and love him at the same time, not with how he loves me now."

"I am going to miss you," Jesper says, leaning back on his heels.

"Jesper, I am going to miss you the most," you say, squeezing his arm, "don't tell the others."

Stop, you're losin' me Stop, you're losin' me Stop, you're losin' me

Kaz doesn't bother to look up as Jesper pushes his way into his office unannounced, having a very good idea what the intrusion is about not really wanting to engage in the conversation at all, especially with Jesper.

"You want them to leave," Jesper says.

"They will do whatever they want to do Jesper," Kaz says, "you should know that by now."

"You are pushing them away," Jesper says adamantly. "And that is... Boss I am going to speak out of turn."

"When don't you?" Kaz asks, finally bothering to look at him as he leans back in his chair.

"We are all broken Kaz,-,"

"Jesper do not presume to know anything about how I feel or what I think," Kaz cuts him off.

"Kaz, you can get as mad at me as you want, Saints fire me if you must, but hear me when I say, you do not want to do this."

I can't find a pulse My heart won't start anymore For you

You're back at the harbour, waiting now, waiting for something entirely different than the last thing you waited for on this stretch of stone. Your way out, instead of a reason to stay.

You brain is playing the memory of Kaz's steps that night over and over, the tap tap tap of his cane on the stone. "I've arranged you passage," comes Kaz's voice from behind you. The sound you now realise wasn't entirely in your mind.

"One good deed doesn't erase all the bad ones," you respond, not turning to look at him, scared to see him, scared that if you see him all your composure might fall away.

"I know," Kaz says, and his voice that is usually so steady, so laced with intent, is uncertain on its words.

"Why are you here Kaz?" you ask, keeping your eyes on the water.

"To make sure you leave," he says, wrapping his hand over the crow head of his cane, the tighter the grip the tighter his throat feels, the more he thinks he could drown in his own bitterness, right here next to the canal, and what an irony that would be.

'Cause you're losin' me 'Cause you're losin' me Stop (stop) 'cause you're losin' me

"I know my pain is such an imposition." You take a shuddering breath. "But I do not regret staying in Ketterdam, I need you to know that."

"Will you regret leaving?" he asks.

"Will you regret not asking me to stay?" you say in return before walking off, as he had that night, not giving you a chance to say anything in return, you pay him the same curtsey.

He stands there, watching you go. Jesper is right, of course he is right, and he knows that, and he doesn't doubt that deep down you know that too. But it isn't what matters. You need to leave, you need to be far away from Ketterdam, from The Barrel, from The Dregs, from him. You need to be somewhere where the world isn't threatening to pull every last piece of good from you at any given opportunity.

And for all his wants and his selfishness, if he has to make you hate him to ensure you leave, that is exactly the price he is willing to pay, even if you take the best parts of him with you as you go.

#shadow and bone #grishaverse #six of crows #kaz x reader #kaz brekker x reader #kazzle dazzle #kaz brekker

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seresinsbabe · 1 year

Text

Hate Me So Good

My first smut fic! This story is 18+ MINORS DNI! Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x reader

Summary: You bicker with Jake Seresin the second your eyes land on him. He's finally had enough but the talk he tries to have with you goes a little better than he anticipated. Word Count: 2.2k Warnings: sexist!jake, SMUT, dirty talk, pinv, unprotected sex, choking, spanking, daddy kink, alcohol.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You hated him. God did you hate him. Jake Seresin was too cocky for his own good. Thought he was God’s gift to not only the navy but to the universe. Everytime you were near each other the bickering started. Sometimes you thought about avoiding him all together, but when you worked at the Hard Deck and you were friends with all the aviators in the Dagger Squad avoiding him was nearly impossible. So you two just bickered until one of you had enough, or your friends got tired of it. You often felt bad for constantly putting them in the middle of your squabbles with him and you wished you didn’t always fight with him, but that smug smirk and arrogant tone always had you at the ready. Jake Seresin was a cocky misogynist who was willing to bulldoze anyone that stood in his way to fame. While others tried to knock him down it seemed your jabs were the only one that ever phased him. Which was perhaps one of the reasons you continued to do it. To be the one that finally made him realize just how miserable he made everyone around him. Except for Javy, but you had a sneaking suspicion that Javy had seen a different side of Jake than he let anyone else see.

And yet, for as much as you hated him deep down you knew you wanted him. You wanted to find out if his cockiness was purely compensation or if he actually had reason to be that cocky. You want to feel his hands on your skin, taste him, have him inside of you. An ache started to pool between your legs but the sound of Rooster calling your name brought you out of your daze.

“You good?” The mustached aviator asked, concern etched in his eyes.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine just zoned out for a little.” You smiled reassuringly at him and sweet Rooster seemed to take the answer as concrete. You swallowed hard and looked around, hoping no one else noticed but it seemed to only be Rooster. And seemingly no one did.

The night was surprisingly enjoyable, even with you and Jake in each other’s presence and you were just positive the shoe was going to drop at some point. For the sake of your friends you were hoping it stayed that way. Of course, Jake didn’t seem to care so much for the group. Not that you were surprised in the least bit.

The second you returned from the bar with a Tequila Sunrise in hand Seresin just couldn’t help but open his mouth. “Shouldn’t a bartender like something a bit more refined than a Tequila Sunrise? Those drinks are nothing but sugar, you’d have to buy ten of them to get buzzed.” It was a stupid comment to get pissed about, but you were pissed. You tried to keep collected and not fire something back immediately, but he just continued. “Then again not everyone can be one of the boys like Phoenix here.” Jake’s signature smug smirk pulled at his lips to see if Phoenix would have a reaction to his sexist comment.

“Why the fuck does it matter what I drink? It’s not like you have to drink or pay for it.” Your eyes rolled hard and you adjusted your legs as you sat on the stool. “If I was drinking whiskey you’d tell me I need to be a little more feminine.”

The part of you that wanted Jake hoped that he didn’t actually think these things about women. That he only said them to get a rise out of people, but the other part of you felt like you knew better. You knew that Jake believed this was still a man’s world and a woman’s place in it was the kitchen.

“You know what, you’re right. Maybe Phoenix can take some lessons on how to be more ladylike. You know, after she doesn’t get picked for this mission.” Any sexual feelings you’d had towards him had flown out the window.

“Get fucking bent Bagman.” You grabbed the end of the pool stick Rooster was holding and shoved it, the cue landing harshly against Jake’s abdomen. The pilot bent over with a grunt but you didn’t stick around. You needed a moment away from him before you did something harsher to the man.

The bathroom was only a few angry strides away but it felt like a mile walk. When the door finally shut you let out an aggravated groan. Your hands slamming down on the sink as you finally tried to let out all the frustration you were feeling.

No one had ever gotten under your skin the way he did and you kind of hated yourself for letting him get to you. Normally you prided yourself of having thicker skin, you had to when you worked in a bar, especially a military bar. Some of the bullshit you heard spewed in here was downright despicable. It was part of the reason Penny made the rules. But Jake, god he was just so good at pissing you off. Sometimes the fact that he even existed pissed you off.

You had finally just started to calm down when the door to the bathroom shoved open. At first you thought it was Natasha or maybe even Penny coming to check on you, but then you heard his voice and your frustration just soared.

��What the fuck is your problem?” Your eyes were both wide and angry at the same as you turned around to face Jake, your back now against the sink.

“What’s my problem? What fuck is your problem? You’re the one that always has some stupid shit to say!” You reached over to grab the door handle and get out of this situation but his hand swatted yours off the door knob and then locked it. “What the fuck? You can’t just lock me in here you dick weed!” You reached for the door but he swatted your hand away again.

“No, we’re not leaving this bathroom until we talk this shit out.” Despite what he was sure you wanted to believe, Jake actually cared about his friends and he did care about you. He just couldn’t help pissing you off. As pissed off as he got in return it was cute the way your nose scrunched up whenever he said something particularly despicable. And he admired the way you stood up for not only yourself but those you cared about. He wondered if you two actually got along if you’d stand up for him the same way.

You tried to shove him out of the way but he didn’t budge. Instead he picked you up by your hips and plopped you on the sink. His palms came up to rest on the wall on either side of the mirror, caging you in. “Let me out! There’s nothing to talk about, you're an ass and we hate eac-” your anger was cut off when his lips pressed against yours and as much as you wanted to pull away your body wouldn’t let you.

A soft whine pushed through your lips and your hand came up, clutching his khaki top in your fist. Jake had fully expected for you to hit him and shove him away, but then he felt you melt into him and he realized that maybe you didn’t hate him as much as you led on to believe.

His mouth moved from your lips to kiss and nibble along your jawline. Your hands moved to push against his chest, but instead of pushing they just rested there. “Jake…” you whined and he finally pulled away. His pupils were large, filled with lust as he stared back at you.

“Tell me you don’t want this and we’ll go back to arguing.” He was breathless as he spoke, but he went right back to kissing your skin, nipping hard enough to leave marks. “Tell me, Y/N.” A strangled moan left your lips when he spread your legs with his knee and brushed it against your core. His hand came up and gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Come on pretty girl, tell me what you want.” His tone was dominant and this was the first time you weren’t going to challenge him.

“I want it.” You whispered. Almost all logical thoughts were gone from your mind, but there were still a couple in there. Still trying to get you to realize just what you were doing, but you knew what you were doing. Jake didn’t hesitate, his fingers softly caressed up your thighs, agonizingly slow and you bucked your hips in a desperate attempt to feel more.

Jake let out a breathy chuckle, his fingers finally coming into contact with your soaked panties. “Look at you,” he murmured, grazing his teeth along the side of your neck. The sensation sent shocks down your spine and made your cunt clench around nothing. “That slutty cunt of yours is wet for me already.” He pulled his hand away and you let out another desperate whine as he tugged the top of your dress down. Your nipples were already pebbled, putting the gold bars through them even further on display. Jake leaned his head down, his tongue flicked out against one of the pebbles and you moaned out. His lips wrapped around, sucking the body part in and your head fell back as another moan burst through.

Jake’s hand pushed back under your skirt and he pushed your panties to the side. His index finger ran up your slit, collecting some of your slick. You whimpered, the hand you were gripping the back of his neck with gripping harder. The digits circled your clit a few times before dipping back down and slipping in your hole, finally giving it something to clench around. Hangman let out a groan as he felt your cunt squeeze his finger. Slowly he started to pump the finger in and out and you couldn’t believe how good a singular digit felt.

“Jake please,” you whined. “Need more.” Your hand came down and worked to undo his khaki pants.

“Hold on princess, you’ll get it when you deserve it.” Jake pushed a second finger in you, curling the digits to hit the spongy spot inside of you just right. The action had you crying out and you fell further back against the mirror. His thumb came to rub pressurized circles on your clit. Before you could realize what was happening your vision was going hazy. “That’s it, be a good girl and cum on my fingers so daddy can give you his cock.” His breath was hot against your ear and it was the tipping point that sent you spiraling into your first orgasm.

Jake didn’t give you a chance to breathe before he was bending you over the sink and ripping your panties off. He jerked his cock a few times before bottoming out inside of you. “Fuck princess, your pussy was fucking made for me.” A harsh slap landed on your cheek and you were sure there would be a handprint left.

All those times your mind wandered to what it would feel like to be fucked by Jake didn’t compare to this. It was better than you were sure you’d admit later, but god you knew this wouldn’t be the last time you fucked him. He was bigger than what you were used to, but fuck did he stretch you in the most delicious of ways. And he was right, your cunt molded around his cock like you’d been made for each other. The tip of him brushing against your walls in the exact way you needed him to. Each blow pulling the most pornstar-like moans out of your throat.

His hand wrapped around your throat, pulling you back so you were pressed flush against him. “Open your eyes pretty girl, I want you to see how pretty you look all fucked out.” It was a demand and even though it took you a second you did open your eyes. “Good girl,” he purred and the sound went straight to your pussy. Your sex clenching around him and drawing a delicious moan out of him. “Who knew it only took daddy’s cock in that needy pussy to shut you up.”

Jake let go of your hip with his other hand and brought it down to slap against your clit, causing you to cry out his name. “Daddy…so-agh! I’m gonna cum…let me cum please.” Your head thrashed around his shoulder.

“Do it, let go princess, cum on daddy’s cock.” Jake squeezed your neck a bit harder and pinched your clit. His cock brushed against your sweet spot and sent you over the edge. You were seeing stars while you cried out his name like you were repeating a prayer. Jake followed shortly after, biting down on your shoulder as he spilled into you. His thrusts slowed down but he didn’t pull out right away.

Jake was nice enough to help you pull your dress back up, but the panties were of no use anymore.

“Still hate me?” He grinned cheekily at you.

You licked your lips with a smirk. “You? Yes. Daddy? No.”

#hangman top gun #hangman x reader #hangman x you #hangman smut #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin smut #top gun maverick

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undercoverpena · 9 months

Text

ix. not his place. not your place.

javier peña x dea f!reader | chapter nine of nowhere to run

chapter warnings: season three narcos spoilers. no use of y/n. use of a nickname. mentions of smut. feelings. angst. anxiety. ptsd. love thoughts. word count: 6.5k.

AN: sorry for the wait, I got really in my head about it all, but thank you to @yeyinde who listens to me ramble about my writing woes and also to the brilliant @guyfieriii who tells me things my brain won't let me believe.

dedication: i dont normally do dedications, but a special one to @thelightsandtheroses because her love for this has made me want to keep chipping away, even if i lost my way. thank you for being such a light.

You’d love to say that you'd been his the moment you had stood in his office.

But you hadn’t.

You fought losing yourself in his brown eyes more times than you’d like to count.

Somewhere between his face being between your thighs and you riding him, you’d been sucked in—like a moth to a flame.

You’d been able to peel back the thrown-up walls, while he’d been assessing how to take down yours. Until the two of you are both standing in rubble, staring at one another more bare than you have been in bed.

“You have to work with Don Berna?”

He’s looking at you, swiping his tongue across his teeth. Your heart falling in your chest.

“Shit…”

“Indeed.”

The house of cards is floating down, haphazardly falling, ready to land and squash those who don’t get on the right side of it. You’re never sure if he is on the right side—not because of his past, but because they’re always one step behind.

Chasing something, anything—everything.

One thing away from finishing it, from drawing a red cross over another photo.

It’s why you gnaw your lip, why your nail polish is picked off from your index, middle and thumb on the one hand, and one hand only. It’s what made you begin unravelling: the sight of your undoing evidence each time you stapled or picked up the phone.

Because… you like him.

Truly, like him. Could even, possibly, maybe love him.

And it makes you want to plead. Beg him to move closer, at least. Close the gap. Let you clutch him. So much said, without words being spoken. A soft glance, warm eyes and a kind smile—both given and returned.

“Don’t…”

But he does.

Taking soft strides to close the gap, hand reaching up to take hold of your cheek. You know he can see the fear shimmering in your eyes. It sitting in the pools that you try to blink away. Hiding your anxiety, how much you want to protest but choose not to.

You knew that was the thing with love, you could fight it, attempt to bury it, smother it in sex, whiskey and other destructive decisions, but it always cracked through. Always rose, standing in its flaming glory like a reborn phoenix.

“Javi. Please…. Please don’t….” Die. Leave me.

“Not a fucking chance.”

You let his forehead press to yours, eyes closing, managing to choke out, “Good.”

At some point along the way, before he’d gone to Cali, he had handed you a key to his place, and you had told him where your spare was.

Easy, convenient. Practical.

Those were the words you chose and the ones he leaned on. The two of you allowed them to be the reason you took the step, not because it made sense or felt right.

Doing so allowed the two of you less rigid plans when it came to meeting. It allowed you not to rush as he sat outside your place, not needing to tap his steering wheel as you flicked lights on and off, dashing across your windows. It meant you didn’t have to wait to begin showering or cooking when it was time to be at yours.

It also meant the two of you didn’t need to look in his mirror—just in case someone saw. Something he’s thankful for now, more than ever since your friends are back.

In the days before the attempt to take down Miguel, it felt right to be in your possession for many reasons. Leaving his pocket—all heavy and meaningful—and finding a home in your palm.

Because it also stood for something else.

Just in case.

The words linger, heavy and pulsing in the air. In case you need me for anything or shit hits the fan.

Both of them are things they should keep an eye on and consider. It’s in the air, how dangerously close they all were—how things were in place, yet no clear direction paving its way.

Then there was you.

You who has shared all that you have with him, but won’t answer him truthfully when he asks if you’re okay. You save that for your nightmares.

It’s another reason he handed you the key: a gesture, a promise: I’m here. So much so he hadn’t been sure how you’d react, watching you stare at it for a second before your fingers closed around it, and he felt able to breathe.

Then you’d smirked. Is this in case I need your signature, sir?

If his name hadn’t been shouted, he’d have congratulated you for it—slipped his tongue past your lips and tasted the coffee on your tongue.

Instead, he spent the evening signing his name against you. First, your neck, then your collarbone, before he wrote over and over with his tongue between your slit—carving each letter, gripping your hips, controlling them as they tried to meet him. One of his palms flat on your stomach, making you wait—

Paciencia, he whispered.

Blowing cool air over your soaked core, watching you write to wriggle, twisting yourself to meet him. Little pleas and begs leaving your lips, the same one that is more wit than honest.

It was different. The way you two fucked.

It had been for a little while, but that night it was noticeable, a shift ever present in the room—words sitting on the edge of his tongue as he captured kisses and swallowed your moans.

He missed it when your nails didn’t slide down his back; he craved the way you looked at him before you let go.

Things he hadn’t focussed on before, not with you or anyone else.

Then, there’s the morning when he wakes to find you next to him. Sometimes asleep, sometimes just waking the same as him—sleep-filled eyes washing him in beauty, warmth, and a future that feels like he could have it.

Though, Javi hadn’t expected to hear from you tonight—never mind seeing you.

Had assumed that you’d be catching up with Van Ness, the two of you have clung to one another in the office—some part of you visibly snapping back into place before him. He’d have been jealous if not for how you iced out Fiestl—a smugness sitting behind his teeth as he nodded at the three of you before faking a reason to hide in his office.

Your voice was barely a whisper when he picked up the phone, softly asking if you could come around—or whether he could come over.

Something you never ask, which is why he’s there in record time, finding your spare and sliding it in.

For saying usually, your door has a petulance for letting him in, the lock turns in with ease, greeting him with the darkness inside—all shadowed ornaments and streams of light from cars passing your window. Your curtains are limp, undrawn—not perfectly slid into their place as usual.

Nothing seems as it should be, not even how your place makes him feel. Usually, it wraps warmth around him, all hopeful—swamped with happiness. Your home feels cold and withdrawn tonight—like it’s at a loss.

The door clicks with a finality, placing the key inside the glass bowl with a chime, yet he doesn’t hear you call. Not a Javi, not a Peña.

With each heavy step he takes, he expects light to blind him—your hand over the light switch, smirk so broad that his mind automatically takes a photo of it. It never happens. His hand moves for his phone, the other motioning for his gun as he passes the open kitchen, living room and bathroom door.

His mind goes into overdrive, wondering if anything seemed out of place, if your voice had given anything away as he pauses outside the only one shut: your bedroom.

“Cariño…?”

He considers knocking, tapping knuckles against wood as a warning, as a sign when he hears silence. But he twists the metal door knob in hand instead, opening it, expecting to find emptiness—made bed, cushions placed at the head.

Javi finds none of that, removing his gun from his waistband to put on the side table—his phone following suit.

Because what he finds instead is lit by the occasional headlight and the weak stream of the streetlight. Cold ochre shimmering across balled-up sheets, used tissues and the broken mess of a person at the centre.

At first, he can’t tell if your eyes are open until a car slowly drives past—light reflecting from the walls and hitting your open irises.

He says your name uneasily, each letting falling consciously from his tongue as he moves close to the bed. Only receiving the lowest hum back from the duvet and destruction.

The mattress dips, your body unmoving still as his fingers find the string of your bedside lamp.

“I’m turning the light on—just need to see you.”

He wishes he hadn’t.

Black stains against usually manicured cheeks, tired, empty eyes staring into him—all forbidding as they wince and then land on him.

Javi knows shattered pieces typically cut skin, but his hand finds your exposed shoulder—coldness greeting him, sliding down the pads of his touch to his wrist and bones.

“Cariño.”

He says it differently, more a calling than questioning.

You blink, trying to erase your distress and pain—but it hangs all the same, like a banner, there all for him to see.

“You came…”

His chest tightens, something falling from within as he releases a feeble breath. He knew, suspected it for a while, that you weren’t okay. Not pushing, not knowing if his words could be ones that could heal you. So he said nothing, let silence do its thing between the two of you, as his thumb brushed your cheek. Wiping across spilt grief and fresh tears.

“What…”

You swallow it loud in the quiet—eyes furrowing before widening, as though hearing his words repeatedly.

He smiles, knuckles resting on your cheek, thumb stroking the edge of a smile he misses.

“Talk to me, cariño. Please?”

More fall from your eyes, sliding down like rain droplets against dry cheeks and a sorrowful stare. If he could, he’d take it all from you. Urge the ball that clogs your throat to shrink—the one that lives inside you and has gotten matted with your soul. He’d do whatever you needed him to do.

Your eyes fall from him, landing on a spot—darkness blooming over the colour as they unfocus.

“I thought once you knew, it would feel easier. The same way I thought I’d be okay with seeing him back, Chris. Thought the distance would mean I didn’t hate him, but then I saw him and…”

More fall in single file, orderly.

Something tugging at the corner of his lips, because only you would have tears that fall in unison—that march down your cheeks and cut across your misery.

“Did you know that I didn’t have a nickname before her? Luna—the moon. Said it was because I only came alive at night. The name was just for us—that name. Threatened to punch someone back in the States for using it.”

Smirking, he watches as you blink. A river, cloudy with memory, scales down your face, tracing the outer edges of your nose and hanging expertly on your cupid bow.

It catches—whatever comes next.

Clings to the back of your teeth—rots on the tip of your tongue as he continues his ministrations on your cheek. Watching, studying—waiting for a cue, a mark. A sign.

“…I don’t mind some, but there’s something about him using it that way.”

You pause, the smallest of laughs slipping from your tight lips. “I wish you could have met her. She’d like you. You think I’m witty, but she was so much better at it. Barely needed to think. Always a retort—both in English and Spanish, always ready...”

The last word hangs, syllables dancing until they run out of steam and are swallowed by silence. His knuckles pausing on your jaw, clearing his throat, finding your eyes flick up to him.

They smother him in heaviness, so much so, it almost makes him crumble. The edges of him weakening, the knot in his chest that needs to make you smile constricting, wrapping further around his oesophagus—

“She sounds wonderful,” he manages to say.

Your face scrunching, a mix of agreement and anguish fighting in battle on who should show first—should prevail.

“She was.”

It wounds him to hold your stare, for the stinging edges of your grief to dig further into his spirit. Injecting more cause into his blood, more reason to keep fighting, pushing—hunting injustice until bars surround it.

When he blinks, he’s freed. Temporarily, but enough to think. To rest his palm under your chin, keep your eyes upon him.

“You think you can let me in, cariño?”

His eyes flick down to the sheets, the duvet wrapped around you, trapped under limbs.

It takes a second, one which spreads across space for far too long, but you nod. Shuffling awkwardly so a corner emerges—one he can lift and slide in.

Your blouse is gone, but the rest of your work clothes still adorn your frame. Javi’s shirt rustles as he seeks to bring you comfort—to find a way to pull you close without forcing you to flee.

“This okay?”

It’s tinged with nerves—draping between you as he finds you still watching him.

He'd have missed your nod if you were almost shoulder to shoulder. Only catching how the edges of white teeth bite down your bottom lip. Spotting the tremble before he sees the unmissable wobble as your eyes fill until they’re shimmering with a new wave that’ll crash down and coat them.

“Cariño—“

“Lune.”

He looks at you, takes it in. The look in your eyes, the way they burn unspoken emotions into him.

“French, I know. She had to make an adjustment, claim it back before we left. She didn’t let anyone, not even Ch….him. But, I think she’d let you call it me,” you whisper, all hiccuped and difficult.

Something unlodges inside of him, a thing which is determined to rid those two words. Because he suspects you’re thanking him because you don’t get this. Usually pushed, nudged to the edge until you devastate.

He kisses your hairline instead. Feeling you curl into him, head against his chest—and then he braces for the first shake, the eruption of shudders ripple from you to him.

And he clings, clutching to root you here—to him, with him.

“Javi…”

His fingers continue sliding up and down, feeling soft skin as your breath flutters across his cheek.

“Thank… thank you for coming over.”

He smiles, spreading over his lips before he can hold it back, opening his eyes to face you. “I’ll always come, cariño.”

“Prometes?”

“Promesa, baby.”

Javi rarely dreams of the after. But he has begun to.

You’ve stayed over at his place more often as of late. Easier, you’d tried to protest, and he never complained.

The thoughts the dreams leave behind knock on him more frequently, especially when the darkness slides over the two of you, when you’ve gone quiet before soft shallow breaths fill the space in his room. It there, sitting on his tongue, wanting to ask:

What are you gonna do when it’s all over?

A question which festers and burns—eroding a hole in his mouth and the back of his brain. It throbs more when he feels you curl against him, craving some form of touch before the two of you have to rise and pretend all over again.

It’s why he likes it when you stay. When he can start the day with his palm on your cheek, lips slotted over yours. Pulling you flush against him as you whisper his name into the air—not tired of him, not even close.

Because after it’s rushed, you need to do this or do that. The pretence needing to be kept up—him rushing to get in before you, more so now your friends are back. Fingers shakily doing his tie until you spot him in his kitchen, half-dressed, barely ready for the day, and your fingers smooth over his. Helping, shifting your hips against him as you loop his tie and knot it: the definition of a multitasker.

Letting his eyes take you in, he lowers his hands to your hips. “You keep doing that, cariño, and we’ll undo your handiwork in a moment.”

He likes the way you smile around him.

How soft it is, the sharp edge you’d once purposefully wrapped it in, now gone. Faded. Vanished.

“I could fuck you with your tie on, Peña.”

Javi knows that. Almost lets you prove it. Mouth opening to find words to say—

“You have a meeting, remember.”

Gritting his teeth, jaw sliding to the side, he nods.

Your fingers drop from the fabric as something sits in your eyes—a set of words that roll around that pretty head of yours he’s yet to decipher.

“You think you’ll come here tonight?”

Javi asks, hopeful. Not wanting to assume—not even with his spare on your keychain and most of your things in his bathroom. A smug look crosses your lips, making him leave ahead of you even harder.

“I’ll be here. Prefer your water pressure than I do mine and the hands that come with it.”

He tortures himself by sitting in your lingering perfume on the commute.

Fingers tapping on the wheel, thumb and index brushing in tight circles over and over as he parks his car, trying not to think of bubbles, water dripping down, you against the tiles.

Like most mornings, he notes how dull the place is when you’re not around before he picks up the metaphorical weights he carries. The ones stuffed with expectations, getting it done—passing the board with the photos he can see when he blinks.

Each minute until you arrive, the weight digs in. In the same way, it did before the night, he took you back—only being removed from his shoulders by your fingers and yours alone.

It’s the relief you provide that makes him flick his eyes up as he hears someone arrive, casting a glance through the blinds—all on edge until he sees you. Until he knows you’re safe—something prickling, pecking at him that you’re not.

It’s worsened since you told him everything. Since he saw you in the centre of your bed, all broken and at a loss. A part of him was angry with himself that he hadn't tried to take the weight from your shoulders, hadn’t noticed how close you had woven yourself, how unspooled you’d become.

Worst of all, Javi wonders if there’s still a target on your back. Your face stuck up on some wall like the Godfathers are stuck on theirs, a thought easier to silence when you’re in sight.

He knows it’s because he cares, feels things. It creeps into his chest, unwrapping, unfurling—spreading its vines until they loop around his muscles and bones. Making him feel so much it burns a hole in his tongue, in his heart—

“Morning,” you say, file in hand.

His eyes lifting from the paper, watching you smile—body relaxing.

Your words linger in the air, all innocent, airy as though you hadn’t said it to him already two hours ago. Fingers in his hair, nails scraping along his jaw as he rocked his hips into you, filling the air with breathy mornings and right there.

He smirks, taking the file from you as you step into his office, beginning your usual morning rundown of his day, who has left messages, and what he hasn't done that needs handling.

It’s not until you begin talking about having a meeting yourself, that he forces his head to look up from the file, does he take you in. Eyes dropping down your frame, not able to help himself, until—

“—so I have to go—“

“Is that my shirt?”

You pause, words dying on your tongue before you softly begin to smile. “How would I be wearing your shirt, sir?”

“Are you wearing my shirt, cariño?”

Folding your arms, you shift your weight on the spot. His eyes scan behind you, spotting and noting that no one is within ear reach. Working out the probability of whether he has time to hook his finger in one of the belt loops of your trousers, pull you to him, shut the blinds and kiss you until your lips are swollen before duty calls.

“If I were wearing your shirt, it would be because I ran out of time this morning to iron my shirt because someone needed assistance with their tie. So if this was yours, it’s merely being borrowed.”

He swallows—something stirring inside of him.

Because you’re wearing him, here. Out in the open, around their colleagues. He’d be able to look out of his window and see you dressed in him, marked in him.

You’ve buttoned half of it, tucked it into the band of your trousers. His fingers want to trace the vest underneath the open buttons—take you in for a second, admire the way it’s styled so it looks less like him, and more like something new you’re trying with a pair of your trousers and heels.

Your confidence falters; he watches it—how it wrinkles out over your face. “Wait…Javi, do you mind?”

“Fuck no,” he says, more gruff. “Not one fucking bit. It’s just…”

“Just what?”

He shifts his jaw, staring at you, tracing his eyes up and down your body—knowing how each curve feels, how your skin tastes. “I’m not going to be able to fucking concentrate.”

“Wh… Javier Peña, do you like women wearing your clothes?”

“Not women. You.”

You pull a face, smirking. “Well, that’s good to know.” His brow arches, watching something glimmer in your eyes. “Because you have quite an impressive shirt collection, and guess what I like?”

Tracing his bottom lip with his thumb, he tries to stop himself from tracing his eyes up and down you. Hearing people come in, the office slowly springs to life behind you.

“What’s that, cariño?”

You lean forward, allowing you to drop your voice. “Knowing to take it back, you’ll have to take it off of me—once I get to yours, tonight, that is,” you whisper, soft and breathy, a hint of silk to each of your words as they slide into his ears. “Have a good day, sir.”

Failure was something he was being served more and more frequently.

This time, it was dealt to him when he’d allowed a part of himself to relax—to feel like they were close to a win—having gone from panicked to relieved when he felt Jurado’s wife against him.

Her all curled up, trembling. The scent of mud, sweat and something he assumed had once been perfume rotted into his nose as the jungle faded from view.

It’s why he allowed her the comfort she so desperately needed, giving himself the chance to feel the joy that he had managed to fix the mess he’d caused by not thinking of every single option.

Then, like grey clouds holding back her storm, there was a clap of thunder—Christina's eyes were then full of sorrow and fury, digging into him as though they were made of knives. Yet, it had been her words that did the slicing.

It hadn’t meant a damn thing, not accounting for a single thing. All of it, from listening in on her and Jurado to now, a giant waste of fucking time. The phone call confirmed it.

He was dead. All that chasing, the jungle—

Javi had intended to cool down before he headed back to the office. It had all boiled inside of him, unable to think straight, that was until his eyes landed on you.

Finding you at your usual spot, bent over, the low light making you squint. Your head lifts to glance at your screen before back down to the files on your desk, fingers rubbing at that spot on the side of your forehead—your tick, your tell.

Then you lean back, hand brushing over your face before landing your eyes on him. At first, he watches you relax, relief flooding your expression—likely due to the fact that he’s safe. You'd been forthcoming with how much you'd been worrying.

Then, a smile. One that is quickly swallowed by concern. It amazes him how quick and astute you are—lifting yourself, grabbing something without taking your eyes off him as he approaches, nodding to Stoddard as you clear your throat.

“Could—can I talk to you about a lead?”

He nods, swallowing. He gestures for you to lead the way as he follows you into his office. It isn’t until the door closes, wrapping his arm across himself and playing with his other elbow, does he see you throw the file on the desk.

“There’s no lead. I just… you looked like you needed to talk.”

It's instant, the way he softens. Looking down, letting himself feel the calming wave you cast over him without knowing you even do it.

The airport. The jungle. The call.

He’s not even sure where to begin.

“She thinks I’m a piece of shit. That’s… that’s what she called me.”

Slowly, you move to the mini-table-turned-bar as you pour a glass—one for you, one for him.

“And maybe, I am…” You extend the glass, his hand taking it as he nods, running his thumb over the top. “I mean, I get tunnel vision—and I just have to….”

He sighs, feeling you watching him, before it all comes out.

From the moment they reached the jungle to the airport. Your eyes not leaving him, likely seeing how easy it is for him to undo—how he’s coming apart, crumbling, pieces of him snapping off. The words keep coming and coming, the stress releasing a hold on his chest but doubling on his shoulders simultaneously.

It isn’t until he’s done, your silence, thick and loaded, does he even feel he needs to ask:

“Y'agree with her?”

He has to ask, watching as you undo the thought.

Studying your expression as he coats his tongue and lips in deep amber and misery. He used to drink to celebrate. Somewhere between Colombian takedowns and Escobar, it began as a way to stop himself thinking. Now, he’s unsure if it calms him, deafens things or just numbs him—or better, a concoction of the two.

You lean against the wall, wrestling with your thoughts. He can see it—the thin line that appears between your brow and the way your fingers dance along the crystal glass.

“I can… see why she’d think you were one.”

He takes a large sip, raising his brow. “Well... fuck, thanks.”

“You don’t—this doesn't work because I lie to you. We work because I’m great at feeding that self-deprecation you’re carrying around.”

He smirks, snorting into the glass as he watches you take your first sip. Not hissing or scrunching—sipping it like it’s water. Suspiciously so.

He hears you step forward, closing the gap, placing your hand on his shoulder, nudging him to turn entirely towards you. “You’re a good person. The only time you’re a piece of shit is when you don’t do that thing with your tongue to me. She's hurt, Javi. Understandably, so.”

He smiles, and you brush the sides of it with your thumb.

Because he knows he’s experienced in non-committal fucking. Well-versed, almost excelling at it, until you. You who he wants the opinion of, the person who makes his world splinter and crack in the best way—more so when you dig your nails in, and he paints your walls in ropes of white. You are different.

He's thought it since the beginning, when you barged in, all confident and smug. Now, it’s so much harder to ignore, to bury—to smother in other problems and issues.

All of the realisation snapping inside of him, the walls he’s built coming down with ease, as your palm remains on his cheek—all intimate and full of care.

“Starting to think you like me.”

“Get rid of that thought, sir. I merely tolerate you.”

“Liar.”

You blink, dropping your hand.

Holding your eyes steady, Javi lets the seconds add up, sliding into a minute. The air tightens with understanding as it rises like a slow tide threatening to pull you both under and drown you. Realisation twists and gnaws in your chest, not able to blink, not able to turn.

He sighs, knowing it too. Releasing you, watching your head tilt before you roll your eyes, and then you’re moving to close the blinds—the office slowly fading from view before you approach the last turning so all he can see is you.

You who is looking at him with a mixed expression he hasn’t got the energy to decipher. Thoughts, suspicions, all rolling around his head, mixing horribly with the expression of Christina Jurado staring at him as he ended that call.

“You do matter to me.”

“Tell me you like me, baby,” he says, likely knowing that you're struggling for breath.

Him doing the unspeakable—making a move, so off the board, he’s confirming neither of you is playing. Likely haven’t been for weeks. The signs were all there if you really looked, really focused on it.

You smirk, shaking your head as you step back. “I like you, you know I do.”

Hand slowly spinning the glass in your hand as you sink into the chair opposite his desk. Eyes staring into it, the amber sloshing from side to side.

“I just…”

“Cariño…” your eyes look up, meeting him. “It’s different for me too.”

You nod, biting the inside of your mouth as you rest your head on your palm—elbow digging into the arm of the chair.

“What now?”

“What do you mean?”

You scoff. “Well, do we stop?”

“Do you want to stop?”

“I want you to answer a goddamn question without asking another question. Because this is humiliating as it is.”

“Having feelings for me that bad, huh?”

You smile, barely—but he notices it. “No. But, I—I’m not good at it—being with someone. Being in a relationship. I'll fuck up. I’m broken and…. without even fucking meaning to I'll—”

Sighing, he swallows. “Bonita… I don’t care.” His hand grips your cheek, tilting your eyes up to him. “I’m no good either. You deserve—fuck, you deserve far better than me, but I’m selfish, a piece of shit. So, I can’t let you go, so let's just call this what it is.”

“You don’t know—“

“I do, cariño. I do.”

Your eyes fill with tears, staring at him, unsure if you’re going to agree or push him away. That is, until your hand comes over his wrist, holding him—just like you usually do.

Then, you turn him, so his frame hides you. Your lips press to his, kissing him as though you didn’t care. The two of you are now experts with both your tongues than words—able to articulate full-blown sentences with your mouths pressed against each other.

Now, you're in his arms after all the sheer determination—after doing nothing but fighting him. The low light from the lamp casts a soft glow over you both, offering comfort, hiding how everything else around the two of you is burning.

“I hate how good your cock is.”

He laughs, pressing his forehead against yours. “Yeah, I can see how that would be a problem.”

Strumming his fingers up and down your side, he smiles against the top of your hair. Letting the moment settle, the confessions being filed in a happy place in his mind.

“Are you okay?”

“Now?” he asks, fingers toying with your hip. “I’m better.”

For a moment, he just watches—takes you in.

It goes back to the night in the bar when half of your face had been shrouded in mystery, and the two of you had gotten off on the wrong foot. If Murphy were here, he’d say it was typical Peña—somehow managing to fuck the woman who hates him.

But then, you’d never really hated him, just like he hadn’t really ever found you difficult.

“Let's sit,” you say, joining him on the sofa, the leather creaking under you.

The silence is an odd comfort—so used to cracking under quiet, yet with you, he settles.

No one to disturb it, the peace. No one was ringing or asking for him.

Even the office outside has gone quiet.

That one thought, which has been hammering and hammering, rises—bubbling at the top of the sea of shit he has to undo, answer for and deal with.

“If you weren’t doing this, what would you be doing?”

It’s likely too deep for such a day. Knowing he should take the win that the two of you have agreed to be something more concrete than convenient fucking, but it falls from his tongue quicker than he can say I’m okay or let’s go.

You think, eyes sliding to the corner as an array of expressions flash across your face. A frown to a relaxed smile, a shift of your lips to a soft sigh.

“Not sure. Maybe run a coffee shop? A cafe. Want it to be a local place, lots of gossip.”

Watching you lick your lips, he lets himself take you in. A mental photo snapped, locked away in the vault he’s drafted just for you.

“One of those places where either the coffee is good, but the cakes are bad, or the cakes are good, but the coffee is bad. Because I’m one person, y’know? I’m not fucking superwoman.”

His fingers tease the edges of yours—wanting to keep you here, in this moment. Not step back out into the sound of phone calls and typing.

“There would be this will-they-won’t-they with a local guy. He’d come in, and everyone would study our interactions and gossip about how long he stood at the counter.”

Smirking, you turn your head, confronting him with a wicked smile—a sight that makes his heart beat.

“What about you?”

Shrugging, he laces his fingers in yours. “Probably be on the ranch. With my dad. Helping. Do the good son thing, for a bit at least.”

“Well, you can only do the good son thing if you’re good.”

Nudging you with his knee, he shakes his head. “Hey. I’m a fine, good rancher.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.”

He sneers. “Come see it, baby. I’ll show you all my moves.”

You smile, and like this—after today—it’s something more stunning than he can find the words for. Not sure he’d ever be able to describe it, what it does to him—how it feels like an arrow has been shot into his chest, inflating his heart, making it grow twice as big.

Licking his lips, he smiles wider—almost allowing it to spread to his eyes. “You open your cafe in my town. We’d be the talk of it.”

“Because you already tried the buns.”

“First thing I’d talk up.”

You laugh. Sweet and weightless. It flushes through him, easing the stress from his muscles. Basking in it, the momentary pause on the job, the mission—the reason.

“I’d make sure a Catrina or a Mary would have overheard me telling people you’re good with a whip. Let them gossip.”

“Oh, there’s actually three Marys, and I’m sure there’s at least two Catrinas.”

Shrugging, you wink. “See, I’m fitting in already.”

“Texas would love you.”

“Texas would be quaking in its cowboy boots.”

“That too.”

The two of you go silent.

All comfortable and nice. No thoughts rushing through him, no darkness ebbing in the corners—it’s like it is in the mornings. Where he can pretend the world outside isn’t Colombia but Texas. That his responsibilities are to make you smile and make sure a cow doesn’t crush his pop.

You tap your fingers over his. “You okay?”

“I don’t even fucking know.”

“It’s okay if you’re not.”

Turning his head, he meets your eyes, a little smile so effortlessly falling over your face. “I know.”

He moves, shifting so he’s closer, and you subconsciously move closer, letting your head find his shoulder as you take a deeper breath.

“We could. I could.”

You slowly look up at him, watching him stare off before glancing down.

“It's not a lot, but you could make lemonade, and I could help my Pops do ranch shit. Live out our days in the field and between one another’s thighs.”

“You’d get bored…”

“Of you?” he asks, shaking his head. “Never. I’m never tired of you, not even when you’re frustrating and annoying.”

“You crave danger, Peña.”

He moves you closer, wrapping his arm around you to pin you close, dropping his mouth to your ear. “Guess we’ll have to begin fucking outdoors, see how far we go until we’re arrested for public indecency.”

“You drive a hard bargain.”

His hand slides up your forearm, spreading warmth back through you.

“Think about it, cariño. Yeah?”

You swallow, nodding. “Would you wear a cowboy hat?”

He laughs, rich, light. “For you? Yeah.”

“Alright, I’ll think about it, sir.”

It’s you who interlocks your fingers with his, squeezing—like a version of a signature on a contract.

“I didn’t ask. How’s your day been?”

You snort, not moving—not even to look up or find his eyes, thumb sliding over his hand. “Why?”

“You always hiss when you first have a sip of whiskey. You didn’t earlier.”

Then you move—eyes finding his, something in them he can’t read—a look he can’t place. Your own moving from one eye to the other as you swallow.

“I may have helped myself to a glass… or two.”

Placing his fingers under your chin, he lifts your face. “Talk to me.”

“Just a bad day, that’s all.”

“Cariño.”

Rolling your lips, you sigh. “Can we just go home?”

Nodding, he drops his hand from his nose, taking the glance balancing precariously on his knee as he drains it. It’s only when he feels the loss of you, hearing you mumble about getting your coat—and your bag, that you need to nip to a store on the way—does it come back to him.

Home.

You’d said home.

Not his place. Not your place.

His teeth bite down on the inside of his cheek, the softest twitch of his lips. One, that on another day, where it hadn’t felt like a complete fuck up, he suspects would be a smile, a real one.

Fingers tap on your desk—hands you used to know, once upon a time. Lifting your chin, you stare at him. Chris.

His face was all a mixture of annoyance and pleading, a sight you suspected didn’t mean good things for you.

“You thought about it? Helping me.”

Your fingers pause on the keys. “If it involves me leaving this building, there best be a good reason you’ve even brought this to me. The shit I could get into—”

“I wouldn’t ask.”

You tilt your head. “Yes, you would.”

“It’s for Van Ness, too.”

Narrowing your eyes, you slowly stand. “We need a meeting room or a quiet space. I need—I need what you have. Photo, information.”

Chris nods, furiously so. “So, you in?”

Your head turns, glancing at the empty office—the one you’ve been staring at the entire time he’s been out of it. “I’m in for the debrief. That’s all I’m committing to for now.”

AN: hope it was worth it!

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cornertheculprit · 1 year

Text

see like what's so so so fucked about bridge to the turnabout is that the final witness on the stand is maya. the final witness on the stand is maya and she is lying through her teeth and she knows it and phoenix knows it and she knows he knows and he knows she knows he knows. this is maya who is so self-sacrificing. who once wrote to phoenix that he should get engarde a guilty verdict even if it meant her life. who once pushed past phoenix and told him to run while she threw herself at von karma for him. for their case. this is maya who mia told to take care of phoenix for her. this is maya who believes in phoenix more than absolutely anyone.

and this is phoenix who has promised maya he would never abandon her. this is phoenix who has told maya to her face that he would never desert her. this is phoenix who once came so so close to pinning corrida's death on adrian andrews just so she would be alive and safe. this is phoenix who admitted that maya was the closest person to him. this is phoenix who mia asked to watch over maya and who responded "of course" with no hesitation. this is phoenix who ran across a burning bridge to try and reach her on the off-chance that she might be in danger.

this is phoenix and maya, the friendship that we've seen develop over the course of three games. and maya is lying on the stand and begging phoenix to please just stop. to please just listen to her. because she knows he knows and phoenix looks at her and goes "...may i?" because he is going to drag the truth into the light like he always does. he knows this. she knows this. in any other situation she would not let him get away with settling for anything less than the truth and so even at the cost of hurting her he will drag the truth out of her. and she believes in him more than anyone and that makes it all worse because she knows he'll do it. that's why she believes in him in the first place. and the thing is? the real kicker of it all? they're doing it for the same reason:

Maya: ...... I knew it... You've figured it out, haven't you, Nick...?

Phoenix: (Maya... I guess you were doing your best to cover for Godot... ...for the same reason, huh?)

even when they were at odds they were still thinking alike. and then it's phoenix begging maya to tell the truth, and this time he says "don't bother trying to hide anything, because i'll know." he knows her like the back of his hand just like she knows him. the same way she knew that he would figure out where she was being held when she was kidnapped: "i thought you'd come. i knew you would." phoenix is urging her in this trial the same way maya urged him by leaving him that note in farewell, my turnabout: speak the truth, even if it hurts you. even if it hurts me. even if it hurts all of us. i believe in your ability to speak the truth. it's "now listen up! you'd better get engarde a guilty sentence, ok!? if you get that creepy slimebag a not guilty, i'll never forgive you, ever!" and it's "...please, maya. testify. [...] i want to hear the truth from your own lips..." it's looking at a person you love, your best friend, the "person closest" to you, your self-proclaimed "big sister", somebody that you'll believe in until the sky falls down, and saying that the truth matters more than anything else. what a FUCKING case man

#chewing on bridge to the turnabout like it's a dog toy man. MANNNNNN #THREE GAMES OF PHOENIX AND MAYA AND THEIR FRIENDSHIP ONLY FOR THEM TO BE AT ODDS IN A TRIAL FOR THE FIRST TIME #BUT THEY'RE DOING IT FOR THE SAME REASON............GOD. GOD.........#THEY'RE FAMILY AND SOMETIMES. SOMETIMES YOU HAVE TO HURT YOUR FAMILY.#phoenix wright #maya fey #ace attorney

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saintsenara · 2 months

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thoughts on sirius/narcissa

thank you very much for the ask, anon! this has the potential to be an interesting and controversial one...

i've spoken here and there about how - as much as i loathe the character commonly known as fanon!sirius - i'm also not the biggest fan of a version of sirius which has emerged as a reaction to this, who we might call dark!aristocrat!sirius.

this sirius - who appears not to have realised his canon self is being sarcastic when he says his parents considered themselves "practically royal" - is, i'm sorry to say to the aristocracy fans, just as distorted a version of the character as the heavily-tattooed and tiny fanon!sirius. and that's fine, obviously - people are entitled to like and read and write what they want - but it's not going to stop a tear beading in my eye whenever i see it...

[one day i'll hit publish on my the black family are not politically important manifesto and be removed from the fandom...]

which is to say, the sirius who tends to be shipped with one or other of his cousins - although, for exactly the tedious pro-aristocracy, people-belong-with-their-own-kind reasons outlined above, the cousin in question never seems to be andromeda - is this dark aristocrat version, and he's usually written as wanting to fuck either narcissa or bellatrix because the only woman worthy to be with a male scion of the house of black is a female scion of the same house.

and i think it's out-of-character and i think it's dull!

now, if you're looking for the whole twisted-obsession-ruins-the-vibe thing, i can see that there's a plausible case for sirius/bellatrix - they're set up by the canon narrative as extraordinarily similar [and i absolutely read sirius' claim in order of the phoenix that andromeda was his favourite cousin as a lie, covering up the fact that, as a child at least, that role was taken by bellatrix]. i think there's something very interesting which can be done with both of them shattering the expectations of their families in ways which would evidently be quite shocking in a society with such restrictive mores. bellatrix massively defies gendered conventions which require a pureblood woman of her social class to be little more than a wife and mother [although that she does so without being able to leave her family, like sirius, is because - you guessed it! - of those gendered conventions themselves], while sirius shirks his expected social role as the eldest son, upsetting the "natural" order of things in his family's eyes. that can, i think give some interesting flavour to that pairing.

but sirius and narcissa never - in my view - hits in the same way. while they're closer in age than sirius and bellatrix, their personality types are sufficiently divergent [but not in an interestingly conflicting way - their major difference is largely that narcissa doesn't seem to be particularly fun] that the spark is lacking. and this, i think, is the reason why siricissa tends to hang really heavily on the idea that it is hot, glamorous, and aristocratic to have sex with your first cousin.

and look, one of the only bits of "pureblood culture" fanon i accept is the idea that blood-supremacist families practise arranged marriage [i think sirius' comment in order of the phoenix about parents "only letting" their children marry other purebloods essentially confirms it], and that first cousin marriage may well be their cultural practise as well. but arranged marriages [and, indeed, cousin marriages - which are obviously considered much less unusual in some cultures than others] aren't inherently interesting things. they're just things some people do.

but the vast, vast majority of the sirius/bellatrix or sirius/narcissa i've ever seen thinks that the blood-relation element and that alone is enough to justify the ship as hot and exciting and wicked. and it's not.

what i would like to make the case for instead is shipping narcissa with regulus.

my reading of narcissa has always been that she's somebody who - a little like petunia dursley - feels an absolutely enormous pressure to adhere to social convention, owing to the shame she perceives her family as receiving following both andromeda's desertion of them and bellatrix's refusal to conform. she's someone, i think, who really leans into the character of the perfect lady-of-the-manor, the model wife and mother, the pure ideal of wizarding womanhood - and i think you can do a lot with her experience in this gilded prison of her own, and society's, making.

regulus too is someone who canonically conforms - again, as sirius tells us, as a reaction to sirius' own defiance of the behaviour expected of him by his class and blood status. i think the two of them finding themselves in a relationship which is constantly battling against this artifice - whether they end up clinging all the more tightly to the masks they wear in public or they're able to help each other gradually become more open and real - would absolutely slap.

#asks answered #asenora's opinions on ships #siricissa #sirius black #narcissa malfoy #this isn't a safe space for pro-aristocracy takes #it comes from living in a colony

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loserley · 1 month

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The lies we've told this city..

pair: iso x gn! reader

warnings: mentions of cheating, a bit angsty maybe?

note: i have finaallly finished all of my pending works!! so heres an iso fic 4 yall!! i also turned 18 a few days ago :) i feel old LMAOO n my back hurts sm :'(

walking in the night sky, the moon watching every person's move, yet here you are, doing something you shouldn't. you and iso have been sneaking around for the past few months. By sneaking around, iso's been cheating on his significant other for you, you both know it's wrong but it feels so right. the only person who knows about this is sage and viper, you felt safe with them, for some reason the person iso is dating is not in the valorant protocol. everyone knew that iso is dating someone, so you two weren't being open at work.

hiding this wasn't so easy either, iso's partner visits the protocol often, and by often, i mean everyday. you couldn't believe that brimstone was allowing this considering the circumstances that she might face when someone attacks and so on.

"so, when are you gonna tell her?" you said, staring blankly at the sky then looking at iso. "i don't know." same old answer everytime, for some reason, iso feels the need to have two partners at the same time. he loves his girlfriend still, and he loves you, but he can't pick. he doesn't want to. you wanted to leave him but you can't, and it's so wrong.

you went back to hq, bumping into sage, she was shocked, you were crying on the way home. "hey, are you alright? why are you crying?" you burst into tears, if you were crying earlier then this time, your tears would be enough to flood the town. "i.. i don't know what to do anymore, with iso.. i love him but i don't want it to be like this.." your voice cracks each word you let out, she didn't want to see you like this, it hurt her. "oh dear, i know you do, i know you love him so much to the point you cry like this. but y/n, you know this is wrong don't you? so why don't you let him go? there's other people to be in love with like this, you can't just stick with a man who isn't even loyal to his own girlfriend."

you two went to the lounge and surprisingly no one was there, usually yoru, jett, phoenix, neon, and the gfs hangs out there around this time, but no, they weren't. "sit and breathe y/n, i'll get you something to drink." you sat, tried calming down, it hurt so bad to settle for something like that. "oh? y/n? what are you doing here?" that voice, the one you hated hearing the most. iso's girlfriend was still there? "oh uh, hi.." you answered quietly, "i thought you were with the others? i came for iso but he wasn't in his room.." she sat with you, "ah, iso? i don't know where he is, i saw him by the balcony earlier but after that, i have no idea." "hm, weird. he's always in his room haha" she laughed a bit, it sounded fake though, "maybe he went outside to buy something?" you gave a curious face, "ah, haha maybe?"

sage was back and was shocked to see iso's gf as well, "oh? good evening dear, you're still here? i thought you went home." sage asked while giving you water, "oh ahaha, i fell asleep in phoenix's room, we were hanging out there earlier along with jett and neon. so i kind of basically just woke up." hmm weird but you bought it. "ah, i see. well anyway, do you need anything?" "oh i don't, i'm just waiting for iso." she said giving a smile. sage replied with an okay and sat in front of you two. a few minutes later footsteps were heard and iso came, "hi baby, where were you?" "oh uh i went to get something sorry, were you waiting for me?" iso's gf replied with a yes and they went to iso's room together.

"so how's that making you feel? hm? it hurts no?" "yeah, it does." you frowned, "ay ay y/n when are you ever gonna learn? leave him. he isn't good enough for a person like you, now is he? he's the one you want but he's not enough" "i know and knowing that it hurts, so much sage" sage got up and sat beside you, hugging you while you cried in her chest. is this worth it? is iso worth it?...

#iso #iso x reader #valorant #iso valorant #valorant iso #˖*°⌨️. 🖱₊˚✧⋆ xin's work .

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theaceofflamesposts · 3 months

Text

Marco the Phoenix - 18. "Kiss me Again"

For: @quinloki

CW: The merest hint of NSFW

The bed was empty when you fell asleep. Not that there was a bad reason for it, Marco was just a busy man between his duties as division commander and as doctor. The bed did always feel a little empty without him but at least you never wake up alone. One arm is looped around your waist and a large palm is flat against your belly in a position that would have made you self-conscious once upon a time. Now it’s something grounding, even when his fingers curl slightly into the softness layered above muscle.

The other arm is under your head and given your slightly desperate desire to stretch, you can only guess you’ve been curled in this position since Marco came to bed. Cautious not to knock him, you stretch out and let out a tiny yawn. He might need less sleep than others but you can’t bring yourself to interrupt him regardless. He mumbles something breath washing over the back of your neck in a way that makes you shiver slightly

Then your stomach growls. You sigh - so much for a nice, slow, cuddly morning. But if you can manage to extract yourself without waking him, you can bring breakfast in bed. Thatch is probably already awake and cooking. With some difficulty you manage to slide out of his grip, and almost fall off the bed as you try to climb over him without actually climbing him. Then you make the mistake of looking at his face.

Not that it’s ever really a mistake to look at his face, but it’s nice to look at him when he’s completely at peace like this. Marco is good at never looking exceptionally stressed, his eyes are usually the give away - at least to you - about when there’s something more happening than the usual day to day chaos that came with life on the Moby Dick. But sleep is something different. And damn it, if he isn’t beautiful laying there. Even though your stomach growls, you take a moment to lean in and brush a soft kiss over his lips.

They pull into a small smile, and you hustle out of the room before you can get too distracted from your task. There’s a handful of early risers – and admittedly usually you and Marco are part of this group – but not too many people. You’re surprised to see Ace at the counter, but less so when he’s snoring into his plate. You catch Thatch’s eye and he glances at the younger man with a soft smile.

“Swapped his night watch shift and got out of schedule.” Thatch explains. Ace’s narcolepsy is always worse when his sleep schedule changes unexpectedly. Sometimes it can’t be helped, sometimes he does it even though he knows it’ll effect him. Most of the time his narcolepsy catches up with him when he’s already feeling relaxed, at least. Hence why he was often face down in his food. Thatch has already made sure he can breathe, so you just ruffle his hair and move on to fetch plates for you and Marco.

“C’mere, let me serve it up fresh.” Thatch tells you, and you pad over so he can do just that. In what you consider some kind of karma, he ruffles your hair before you thank him and head off with the food. You scowl but you can’t really be mad. There’s half a dozen hair ruffles a day by various members of the crew. One of the side effects of being so small by comparison. At least Ace is younger than you, so no one can call you the baby.

When you go back into your room, Marco is on his back, one arm up behind his head and the other draped across his stomach. Your eyes follow along the lines of his body hungrily, but your stomach growls yet again and reminds you to feed it before you attempt any exercise. Balancing the plates on the bedside table, you sit beside Marco and brush your fingers through his hair lightly. There’s not much of it but what is there is soft and feels luxurious against your skin.

His eyes open shortly after and when he turns his hooded gaze on you desire brews at your core. The man is too much for you sometimes, it’s a miracle you don’t jump his bones more often. But his eyes do flick over to the food briefly before back to your face.

“Good morning,” You greet him with a hint of a smile. “I figured breakfast in bed was in order.”

Marco just hums at first, hand sliding up your thigh like he’s thinking about some other kind of breakfast in bed when your stomach chimes in yet again. Your cheeks heat up and he chuckles softly.

“Breakfast in bed sounds wonderful, pretty bird.” He murmurs but when you turn to reach for the plates, his fingers curl into your thigh that little bit more. “Kiss me again?”

Your cheeks heat a little more as you realise he was awake when you left, but you adjust, swing a leg over him and fight down a gasp as you feel the hard length of his cock pressed against him as you settle. For his part, Marco does little more than take a breath that sounds like it’s between his teeth and you lean in to press your lips against his.

A large hand cups your ass, and the other one curls into the hair at the base of your neck. When you moan, his tongue presses past your lips and teases against your own. You’re breathless when you part and about to go back for more when your poor, ignored stomach betrays you once again. Your forehead tips to his as you both laugh softly.

“After we eat. Then you can kiss me again.”

#one piece fanfiction #x reader #marco the phoenix #theaceofflamesposts fluffnstuff #theaceofflamesposts event 2024

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dovalore · 4 months

Text

i bought a pair for stock the pond recently and decided i’d make a badge for them and their kids

lore under the cut

aruktai, the 'fae'

he's actually a guardian! he ended up turning into a fae after he was slain in battle while protecting ransetsu

it's pretty weird for him to be in such a small body now, but at least he's still alive...

the reason he's a fae right now is that he's the descendant of a guardian who's charge is a phoenix and their bloodline's been blessed (or cursed) so that a guardian can't die unless their charge does

normally they'd stay as guardians, but he was wounded badly enough that only a scrap of him remained

aru's still very much a guardian in spirit, ransetsu is still his charge even if he no longer has his old body

well, he tells everyone that, but his true charge is actually ransetsu's freedom, his ability to live his life as he pleases, which naturally comes with the man himself

it's easier to tell those unfamiliar with the concept that his charge is another dragon instead of something so... theoretical?

ransetsu, the ridgeback

he's from a filthy rich family of merchants that deal in goods produced in the ashfall waste

he's not interested in inheriting this 'empire' at all, the thought of it stressed him out to the point of him running away, which is exactly how he met aruktai

which was a massive boon for him because he's absolutely awful at trying to take care of himself, he's the kind of guy who's walk directly onto a rake and introduce his forehead to its handle. it's bad

he's always liked aru from the start because y'know he's quite literally the only person who listened to his reservations about being in the family business and went, "okay, let's go far away from this place then." instead of immediately trying to return him for well, a dragon's ransom

their relationship

ransetsu's without a doubt head over heels for the mysterious man that literally appeared out of the blue and whisked him away from his old home. he's... not experienced when it comes to romance, but his efforts to impress aruktai are nothing if not from the heart. he still clumsy as ever

aruktai... is flattered. he's not playing 'hard to get', he just genuinely doesn't know what to do in this situation because he's never thought about being in a relationship with anyone. the search for his charge all but consumed his every waking moment and now that he's found it, he's free to pursue one

lucky for ransetsu, aruktai does find his attempts to court him incredibly endearing. unfortunately for both of them, he also feels like he doesn't really deserve to be the center of his attention, not after he failed to protect ransetsu from getting captured to be used as a bartering chip

aruktai did manage to free him again, but the incident left him way more shaken than he'd liked to admit. if it wasn't for his blessing, he wouldn't be alive at all and would've died a failure

this isn't something that has escaped ransetsu's notice and while he can never know the depths to which aruktai feels the way he does about what happened, it's plainly obvious to him that this is something that's constantly weighing him down

the whole ordeal was incredibly unpleasant for both of them and aruktai doesn't know that he's not the only one who feels personally responsible for it. ransetsu doesn't know how to fight, why would he? he's never had the cause to do so since he's been pampered his entire life

their offspring

they aren't canon lol i just wanted to make cool lore for a pair of dragons

if you do happen to receive one of their offspring you don't have to follow anything i say here or even keep them connected at all, do whatever

-----

SURPRISE BONUS LORE

you thought i was done? wrong! i have ffxiv lore for them too because i love lizards, mild spoilers for stormblood?

aruktai buduga

he's from the steppe

and he would've happily spent the rest of his days there if he didn't absolutely hate magnai's guts, he vehemently opposed his brothers' decision to join hands with the oronir, but alas his voice fell on deaf ears

he fought daidukul about it and lost, so he packed up his bags and left entirely

from then on, he became a travelling mercenary around the far east

ransetsu final fantasy

sorry i don't have a surname for him yet LMAOO

he comes from a family of blacksmiths and armourers who are obscenely wealthy

his family quickly found out that while he was absolutely awful when it came to metalwork (clumsy), he had a gift for selling their wares to customers simply by talking about what they could do

so he basically became their ambassador

one day he got jumped in a backalley after leaving a restaurant, aruktai happened to be there so he sent ransetsu's assailants packing

ransetsu immediatey decided to buy his services permanently by hiring him as his persona guard

their relationship

ransetsu absolutely decks aruktai out in the finest armour he can get his hands on, to him a warrior such as him absolutely deserves the best of the best

aruktai's honestly a little starstruck by how this all played out, all because a guy was grating to the point of him leaving the steppe...

anyway ransetsu's basically aruktai's glucose guardian now (they're roughly around the same age) and he gets whatever he wants because he's so good at fighting

spending money on aruktai brings ransetsu immense joy

#flight rising #oc #haha hiiiiii i rambled for a lot #oc: aruktai #oc: ransetsu

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theredcuyo · 11 months

Text

Just thought of a cool wrightworth concept

Hear me out, 'k?

What if they got married, but like, a long while ago, long while as in somewhere during the 7 years of hobo Phoenix

Because after Miles made himself the second dad of Trucy (even if Phoenix was reluctant to get any sort of help) and she called it out, it just sinked in

They both went "Yeah, Miles is your other dad"

And then Trucy asked if parents weren't ment to be married, as the little child she was, and they took it up like a "Okay, yeah, sure, let's get married"

And they are married, just like that (taking this up from the Japanese context, where is far easier to just get married) and there wasn't any super emotional break thru of their feelings, they just knew it was it, even tho Phoenix likes to tease Miles about the "Unnecesary feelings" from time to time

And that's it, that's the only change and it actually changes nothing, because Trucy doesn't talk about it, like, ever, its just how her family is, and that's it, unless she gets asked she won't be bringing it up

The only reason Apollo and company ever found out was because one day they noticed that "Wait, why does Mr. Wright wear a ring?"

Because neither him, not Miles usually wear it, except for their anniversary once a year, and same realization happens in the prosecutors office

And so, they ask Phoenix but he gets saved by Maya taking him out for the trial of the day, and they are left to investigate into the matter, because they don't have anything else to do anyways, and investigating stupid stuff is literally their job either way, bad thing is, their only witness is Trucy who won't tell them a thing because she thinks is more fun to let them uncover it on their own

And then you also have the team investigating on Miles' side, that would be Kay, who is curious as if this will finally lead to know who "that man" is, Sebastian, who is taking this a test to prove he's learned the methods of research of his mentor, Miles, and then Klavier also joins because he is just curious and will take in any chance to not be in his desk for five minutes and also is friends with Sebastian, they were classmates back in the day

Gumshoe is not on the team becuase he actually knows they're married, he was the witness for it as Fransizka was still out with Interpol affairs, tho that granted him a visit from her whip, actually, three of them got one for not waiting for her to be there, Maya got to record the whole thing, even if it was just signing some papers

#wrightworth #ace attorney #miles edgeworth #phoenix wright #narumitsu #phoenix x Edgeworth #my otp #headcanon #tho this would make for a funny one shot #i might write one in the future but not any time near i already got a ton in waiting list #trucy being a caothic little being is my favorite #also just want to point out kay and seb know trucy #just somehow they never got to met phoenix under the usual ridicule aa circunstances #like they were meant to met and a murder occured kind of thing #or Phoenix was going to pick up trucy and he got hit by a bus #he only got a scratch on his head tho #or one time they visited trucy and phoenix was just out in the grocery store #and he didnt come back until they were gone because the store got taken hostage

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topguncortez · 8 months

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There’s always that one arsehole that ruins things🙄

Anyways, i honestly think Jake puts on a tough/cocky persona because he didn’t want to be seen “weak” and when he got his call sign he was saddened due to the meaning of it. And he just continued to live up to it. He definitely has one night stands promising to call them but never does. But when he finds that one person who he falls head over heels with he does everything in his power to be better, to make sure that person doesn’t ever shed a tear unless his railing them and when things get bad he’ll do everything to fix it. Cheating? Absolutely not. Probably too scared of his mamas beating she would hand him. If the relationship came to a amicable ending, he would still love them and probably would get back together after some time apart

I can't remember in the TGM script in one of these scenes, I want to say it was Phoenix who is talking about callsigns and it's mentioned that either Rooster gave Hangman his callsign or the other way around. But for the sake of this ask, let's run with the whole Rooster gave Hangman his callsign.

Hangman's callsign is obviously gets used in vain, I mean Phoenix says: "that's why we call him hangman, cause he'll always leave you hanging." and Jake just kinda lives with it? like he knows that there's no escaping it, so why not live up to it. I think that he either got his callsign from leaving a trail of broken hearts, or maybe it was something more saddening than that, like accidentally causing an accident that resulted in someone getting hurt.

But Jake honestly, I believe has a heart of gold. He has been put in this box and has been labeled the "bad guy" without much reasoning. We never find out why he is called Hangman, or what his true history with Rooster was. Again, Jake suffers from the same "I Am Man," syndrome as Bradley, but I think he's been able to handle it a little bit better. Honestly, Jake probably does yoga and believes in going to therapy.

Also, I kinda have a bone to pick with Phoenix because I think she's a little shit stirrer. Her comment about Jake to Bradley was kinda uncalled for. But then again, her and Bradley are best friends, so maybe her views on Jake are very one sided.

#g mail #Jake seresin #hangman #Bradley bradshaw

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azalawa-scroggs · 6 months

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OKAY I guess I'm doing this. While working on my fic Ananke, which is an exploration of Manfred von Karma's perspective from DL-6 all the way to Turnabout Goodbyes, I've been having so, so many thoughts about him that I realised they didn't actually all hold into my fic. So I thought that maybe I should make them a tumblr piece. This thought has kinda just hovered at the back of my mind flaring from time to time, but eventually I decided to jump the gun. (No pun intended.) (That's a lie.)

So, um. Manfred von Karma character analysis time, I guess?

(Warning: this turned out to be LONG.)

The question I see pop up a whole lot when it comes to this guy is: Is he a good father? I'll be honest from the beginning: I'm not going to give an answer to that question here. What this is going to be is a somewhat larger examination of his character, which naturally does involve, in great part, his influence on Miles and Franziska. But I don't want to lock myself in the false binary of a yes/no question when there's so much else to talk about.

So I want to, sure, talk about him as a father a little, but mostly as a piece of the narrative, as a mentor, as a legacy-holder, and as a bringer of destiny - because he is not called Karma for nothing.

We first hear about him from Edgeworth in Turnabout Goodbyes, right as his trial is about to begin. Edgeworth seems utterly terrified of him prosecuting his case. "He is a god of prosecution, Wright, a god," he tells us. "He taught me what it means to prosecute. Imagine a prosecutor as ruthless as me, times twenty." Considering Edgeworth has been giving us a bit of trouble himself, between witness coaching and updated autopsy reports, that's quite the introduction.

And the man lives up to his reputation. He barely lets us align two words before interrupting us and scoffing at us, he's the first one to make the judge give us a penalty for pressing a testimony in the wrong place, when pressing testimonies had been such an important way of getting information up until then, he's dismissive and memeishly funny and a piece of shit and an absolutely great final boss... and then he also happens to be the culprit of DL-6. The case that has been underlying the whole game, and whose repercussions are going to be felt for the next two ones. Discovering him and taking him down is one of the best pay-offs ever after a masterful, game-long build-up.

Tumblr user trlsvn wrote a very thoughtful post in answer to an ask, making the point that von Karma is a story element before being a person. His primary purpose is to drive the plot to its conclusion, more than being psychologically developed as a character. Our antagonist up until now has been Edgeworth, but Edgeworth is being given a redemption arc, and so von Karma stands as the evil behind him.

The writers make the decision to humanize [Edgeworth], make him not just a character that represents a wrong idea but a person who has a backstory and some good in his heart [...]. This is where we start to question what exactly made him like this - this is why Miles gets a tragic backstory. He is meant to be explained, he is meant to be human, he is meant to be more. So Manfred von Karma becomes the answer. He is the reason, he is the influence, the part of Miles's life that made him like this and the part that he starts to oppose.

I recommend reading the post for more thoughts about his narrative role as a mirror to Edgeworth and a symbol of what he could have become. Von Karma is, like Redd White and later Damon Gant, the personification of the corruption of the courts that we've been fighting. He represents everything that Phoenix stands against, he is a willing and willful cog in the system that convicts people for crimes they did not commit. His metaphorical crimes, the innocents he sends to death row or to life in prison, all culminate and cristallise into an actual, legally defined crime: the murder of defence attorney Gregory Edgeworth, who represents - quite literally, in court - all those innocents.

Turnabout Goodbyes is possibly my favourite case in the entire series, because on top of having incredible pacing and wrapping up the first game wonderfully, it is so very dramatic. There is theatre in there; I may be getting ahead of myself in this but I find it Shakespearean. There is an atmosphere of supernatural mystery on the misty lake, with those two gunshots resounding in the silence and the ominous shape of "Robert Hammond" disappearing in the water without a trace. The slowly unveiled connection to DL-6, Edgeworth's recurring nightmare, the wound of the unsolved crime fifteen years festering, the guilt of patricide.

And, at the centre of it all, von Karma. The prosecutor who was Edgeworth's mentor and who has been making our job difficult every step of the way - it turns out he is behind everything. His overly complicated revenge scheme makes him something of an Iago. The murder, the blood on his hands, something of a Macbeth. The place he then took in Edgeworth's life, something of a Claudius.

The localisation also did something that I find very interesting with him: they made him German nobility. His Japanese name is Karuma Gou; "Karuma" is basically "Karma," and "Gou" according to the wiki could mean "great" or "excellent," or "fires of hell" or "the effect of karma." The localisation took back Karma, added the particle "von" to it and made the rest of his name basically a reference to Manfred von Richthofen, the Red Baron. Von Richthofen was a German pilot during WWI; he is famous for being basically undefeated for years, having a nearly unmatched victory record, and being brought down by a single bullet. Sounds familiar?

There's probably something to be said about Mei, Franziska in the original version, being a Japanese immigrant practising law in the USA burdened by her father's legacy into expecting impossible perfection of herself, but I am nowhere near qualified to make that point, so I am going to stick with the localisation from here on. Making the von Karmas nobility is interesting to me because the nobility as a social class is one of declining power. They once had power, and they still hold a certain social prestige, but their political power is in fact gone as the system that supported them is no longer in action, and most of them are losing their money or already ruined. As a reaction, many nobles (not all of them, but this is again about archetypes) stay among themselves, hold conservative values and sometimes somewhat of a superiority complex due to their education. Nobility's core value, by its very structure, is that of family, so although this was more the case at the time where they were the ruling class, there can be an emphasis on upholding one's legacy and being worthy of the family name. All of those elements suit the von Karmas extremely well.

And Manfred, the patriarch, holds a particular place in that family. He is defined by his power. He is the establishment, the system you're fighting against. He is the nepotism and the corruption, and he holds all the prestige that makes taking him down extremely difficult.

So von Karma holds a strategic place in the narrative as the literal and symbolic obstacle you must take down, but... when it comes to his motivations, we get nothing. We know, for a fact, that perfection is the most important thing to him. We know he was so shocked at receiving a penalty that he dissociated for at least five hours afterwards, and that plus the pain of a bullet in his shoulder was enough to drive him to kill a man. We know that he mentored Edgeworth, his enemy and murder victim's son. We know that fifteen years later, he framed Edgeworth for murder with the intention of falsely revealing Edgeworth as his father's killer, in a plot that was a significant risk to himself, and which ended up uncovering him as the true culprit the very day before he would have been free forever. Later on, we learn that he not only taught Edgeworth his work, but took him in and raised him, so that his daughter saw Edgeworth as a brother.

Put together, those aren't actions that are logical or make any sense. The whole thing is actually completely insane. And the game doesn't offer us the slightest explanation as to why he did them.

Most of the fandom runs on the idea that framing Edgeworth, presumably having him convicted for Hammond's murder, and compelling him into confessing to his father's murder afterwards was his plan from the very moment he decided to take Edgeworth in. That's not a groundless idea but it isn't actually canon. It's a theory that was formulated by Marvin Grossberg:

Maya: B-but how could von Karma know about Mr. Edgeworth's past like that? Even Mr. Edgeworth thought it was just a nightmare! Grossberg: Hmm... That, I do not know. Yet I do know that von Karma is both persistent... and a perfectionist. He may be seeking to satisfy a grudge against Gregory Edgeworth by hurting his son.

But von Karma himself gives us nothing.

Phoenix: Why did you take his son under your wing afterwards? The son of your most bitter rival? Karma: ... That, my dear attorney, is none of your business.

So it could be Grossberg was right and this really was a fifteen-year-old revenge plot in the making. It could also be that von Karma, a father himself, felt enough guilt at the thought that his impulsive crime had orphaned this kid that he decided he should take him in. Equally, there is the possibility he realised the third person in the elevator that day was a potential witness of his crime, and that he took Miles in to surveil and control him. Or it could be yet another thing - the point is, we do not know. The game gives us nothing.

(The theory I chose to explore in Ananke is a mix of several things: that it started with good intentions, then as he realised Miles was a potential witness, hatred and paranoia grew in him until they spiralled into framing him for murder as a desperate attempt to erase him from his life. But there are many possibilities.)

In fact, except for Edgeworth and Franziska's clear admiration of their mentor and father, the main games also don't give us anything about their dynamic with him. Edgeworth and he never interact directly in Turnabout Goodbyes, unless you count von Karma's breakdown, and after that he is in prison. Franziska first appears in the story after he's been locked up. To see them interact, we need to turn towards other media. There are little bits and pieces in interviews and official manga but the main media featuring them are two: Ace Attorney Investigations, the spin-off game starring Miles Edgeworth, and one episode of the Ace Attorney anime, Sound the Turnabout Melody.

And what's interesting is that von Karma's characterisation in those two pieces of media is at first glance completely different. It is my theory that this is the reason for this insane controversy around the character's parenting skills. They're not contradictory, as such, but it definitely takes some brain power in order to reconcile the two - and as such it opens wider possibilities of interpretation.

(Spoilers ahead for both cases.)

In Turnabout Reminiscence, the fourth case of Ace Attorney Investigations and a flashback case from Edgeworth's early career, von Karma acts as the main source of exposition. Edgeworth has just been assigned the very first case of his career by way of hasty reassignment after the previous prosecutor was compromised, and von Karma quizzes him to make sure he knows the facts of the case perfectly. Then of course, shenanigans happen, and by shenanigans I mean murder because this is Ace Attorney. Edgeworth investigates, he is joined by Franziska, and the case progresses.

Mostly, von Karma acts in a rather neutral way. He prompts Edgeworth into giving information, praises him when the information is correct, completes his information with some of his own, all peppered with various "Hmph!"s and "Bah!"s and other expressions of contempt, with a few quips full of dramatic irony here and there ("Criminals have a way of incriminating themselves, don't they?") and many, many demands for perfection - as well as internal oaths from Edgeworth to uphold it, bless him. He dismisses Franziska when she asks him if he will come to see her court debut ("... I'll consider it") and calls Edgeworth worthless when Edgeworth asks to do something Manfred isn't keen on seeing him do. In fact the whole exchange is pretty interesting in terms of the dynamic between the three of them:

Edgeworth: ...Sir, if I may, please allow me to continue with my investigation. Manfred: Whatever for? Edgeworth: I know that there is already a suspect in the murder of Mr. Faraday and Mr. Rell... ...however, there is not enough evidence to prove that it was he who committed the crime. I'd like to continue investigating in order to find the perfect proof of his guilt. Manfred: The perfect proof? Don't make me laugh! A worthless person like you has no right to claim such a thing as perfection! Edgeworth: .................. Franziska: .........Umm, Papa? Who do you think is the real culprit behind these murders? Manfred: .................. Franziska: Miles and I, we're competing to see who can find the real killer first. Plus, being able to investigate a real crime scene is a really rare opportunity. It would give us some real-life experience, wouldn't you agree? Manfred: ...Hmph! If you want to investigate this case that much, then do as you wish. Edgeworth: Then, you're allowing us to continue...? Manfred: In court, your top priority is to win, and a solid investigation is one of the keys to winning. We have to make sure you become recognized as a first-rate prosecutor, don't we? .........It wouldn't be very interesting otherwise.

To be noted that on that last line, Manfred is smirking.

While there are several reasons why he could be saying that, the smirk specifically, to me, establishes it firmly as a reference to his plan to frame Edgeworth for the murder of Robert Hammond in Turnabout Goodbyes.

All in all, his characterisation here is pretty much in line from what we saw of him in Turnabout Goodbyes and what we could infer from Franziska's words in Justice for All - in all his Sunday cartoon villain glory. But since this is a completely different case, his motivations for either taking Edgeworth in or framing him for murder are still a complete mystery.

Now let's turn to the anime. Surprisingly, it is an entirely different beast.

The sixth episode of the second season, Sound the Turnabout Melody, is a flashback case from when Miles was twelve years old. The anime is the first media that actually establishes that Edgeworth grew up in the von Karma household, as opposed to being merely von Karma's student and Franziska's (somewhat one-sided) rival. Miles is still struggling with the grief and trauma of his father's death, waking up from his nightmare alone and crying in a huge bed under a high ceiling. Franziska is desperate to cheer him up and make him smile. She convinces her father to take them to see one of their trials, then they go to the mall to have pancakes. During the outing, Miles's dog gets lost. There are shenanigans (murder-free this time) involving another lost dog, reward money and a radio message from Phoenix, after which Edgeworth corners a woman trying to steal the other lost dog for the reward money while von Karma is watching his budding prosecutorial skills from the corner. At the end of the episode von Karma cancels the orphanage application he'd been filing for Miles, ties a cravat around his neck, and Miles gives a bright and wide smile for the first time in the episode at the sign of acceptance, which makes Franziska quietly happy in the corner in turn.

If, while reading this, you were imagining a charming "slice of life" story, a feel-good little piece that establishes dynamics and in which nothing truly bad happens... you would be right. The episode is centred on Miles, showing him as he adapts to his new life and starts to think about his path in life. DL-6 is, of course, alluded to, but only in passing: Miles has the nightmare, he is shown questioning whether he really wants to follow in Gregory's footsteps, von Karma mentions to him after his trial that "if only your father were my opponent, I would have enjoyed myself a little." A rather baffling statement, considering the entire reason Gregory can't be von Karma's opponent is that von Karma ensured that himself, but I digress. In fact von Karma is only there in the background, although he too undergoes an arc of sorts, from being in the process of sending Miles to an orphanage to deciding to let him stay with them. We do, however, get a glimpse of his thoughts for the first time:

Von Karma: I didn't know myself why I decided to adopt that boy three years ago. But I think I caught a glimpse of the reason why today. It wasn't out of guilt. I simply wanted to see what path the pain I had taken on would take. That is my karma.

This is the translation of the subtitles, but the dubbed version is a little different:

I wanted to see where the path of pain would lead us, and how it would eventually develop. Karma has a strange way of showing itself...

What this actually means is quite mysterious, but fascinating. What does he mean by "the path of pain/the path the pain I had taken on would take?" Why is that his karma, if guilt didn't spur him to act? The words ask more questions than they answer.

All in all, factually it doesn't contradict anything previously established. Von Karma lies to the journalists about the fact that his win record doesn't matter to him, only bringing criminals to justice, because again if that had been the truth he would never have killed Gregory Edgeworth, but for the rest, it is all pretty consistent with the games.

But the gentle tone of the episode, especially if you're coming fresh off of "you and your father are my curse," is jarring. There are different ways to reconcile that. First of all, neither the anime nor Ace Attorney: Investigations are the mainline game series, and as far as I know the writing team of the main game series worked on neither of those two things, which probably explains the discrepancies. The canon status of the anime especially is arguable. Secondly, both of those pieces of media have their ambiguities. When it comes to the anime, a friend over Discord told me that to them it read like "the honeymoon phase in an abusive cycle," with as evidence the pointed comments about Miles's father which can be read as derisive and willfully undermining, Miles's overall downcast attitude around the von Karmas, and some "noose imagery" in the scene where von Karma ties the cravat around his neck.

That interpretation, of course, is only that; it is in no way canon. In fact, you could absolutely make the opposite case of taking the cute, heartwarming tone of the anime at face value, and arguing that it is in the Investigations case that the tonal dissonance resides. I don't have a source for this except the hearsay of Japanese-speaking friends, but the Japanese word which was translated into "worthless" in AAI would apparently be less harsh in the original version, being closer to meaning "amateur," or “a person without experience.” (It is to be reminded that in Turnabout Goodbyes, von Karma called Edgeworth “an amateur and a romanticist” when talking about him with Phoenix, so that could absolutely be a reference to his characterisation in that case.) And aside from that line, von Karma's behaviour towards Miles is overall neutral.

Those are the two most extreme interpretations, but naturally there are many ways in-between to read those two pieces of media. My point is that the range of the characterisation is actually very wide. Various manga, interviews, promotional material travel in that gap: between victory family karaoke sessions on the tune of My Way, joke strips where Phoenix manages to make von Karma burst into tears by mentioning his daughter leaving the nest, and Edgeworth being roped by his mentor into being a chauffeur for an impromptu shopping trip on his day off, the different insights into the creators' imagined dynamics of the family do not help paint a more cohesive image.

And we still have no answer regarding his motivations.

What we do have is the perspective of his wards on how he shaped them into who they are today. His influence on them is felt even years after his downfall, something they aren't shy about; but they aren't exactly open about their feelings about him, either.

It's obvious for Franziska, of course, whose mentions of the von Karma name in Justice for All might as well be a drinking game. Interestingly, though, when it comes to her feelings for her father himself, she is remarkably guarded.

Maya: Why do you keep giving Nick the evil eye!? It doesn't matter if you prove the defendant guilty tomorrow... Nothing will be able to bring your dad back! von Karma: ... My... Dad? You must mean the esteemed Manfred von Karma. Maya: Of course! Your dad! I know you miss him... von Karma: Enough out of you... One more word and you'll get a mouthful of whip. Now. When did I ever bring up my papa's name in this, or any other conversation...?

It's only to Edgeworth that she confesses about how much her family legacy weighs on her in the post-credits scene of the same case.

von Karma: Shut up! You don't understand a thing! You can't possibly understand what it means to be "Manfred von Karma's daughter"! Edgeworth: Franziska... von Karma: So many expectations from everyone around me... Expectations I must fulfill! I'm expected to win no matter what. And failure? Such a thing is not an option for me! My father was a genius. There's no doubt about that! But... But me... I'm no genius. I've always known that. Edgeworth: ... von Karma: But I... I had to be one. I had to.

(Franziska beloved. You became a criminal prosecutor at 13 years old. Kindly shut up about not being a genius <3)

In contrast, this is what she has to say about being the daughter of Manfred von Karma in Bridge to the Turnabout:

Judge: V-Von Karma, you say…? Perchance, you wouldn't be of any relation to the legendary prosecutor Manfred von Karma? von Karma: … Legends are a thing of the past. I am a Von Karma. That is all.

And then she also has a few lines about it in Ace Attorney Investigations 2. The lines are ostensibly about another character's struggle, but you know they refer to her own.

From The Forgotten Turnabout:

Franziska: However... one must be able to accept the mistakes of their father... ...no matter how much they may look up to him...

And from The Grand Turnabout:

Franziska: "Going up against your own father..." It won't be easy.

Regarding Edgeworth, he is about as quiet about it. He briefly says this upon his return in Farewell, My Turnabout:

Edgeworth: A lot of things may have happened, however Manfred von Karma was still my mentor. And a "perfect win record" is proof of a Von Karma.

He also has this conversation with Ernest Amano in The Kidnapped Turnabout:

Ernest: Ah... Seeing that badge reminds me of Manfred. Now HE was one fine prosecutor, the best of the best. Edgeworth: ...Yes, I can't disagree with you there. Ernest: Hmm... I sense that you don't really want to talk about him. Edgeworth: How I feel about him... It's hard for me to be truthful about that with another person. Ernest: Your hard countenance... I don't know what you're thinking or feeling... ...but mark my words, I think you are Manfred's true successor. I really do. Edgeworth: ..................

When it comes to Edgeworth and his complicated double legacy especially, I really really recommend this post by lorillee, a long meta piece on that specific topic in Ace Attorney: Investigations 2 which gave me a lot of food for thought.

What we see here in this whole load of quotes is that Miles and Franziska have slightly different, yet still very similar ways to talk about about Manfred. Both of them readily admit to his skill as a prosecutor and don't shy away from the way he influenced them. However they also do not open up at all when it comes to their actual feelings about him. Edgeworth puts that reluctance into words in his own thoughts; we unfortunately aren't privy to Franziska's, but the way she outright refuses to talk about her experience, unless it is a snide reference made about another's struggle, makes it clear she is in the same situation.

I don't really have any clever observation to wrap up this already much too long post. But it is really interesting to me how deep an influence on the narrative this character has, despite a limited amount of appearances in the series and practically non-existent insight into his own motivations. Miles's and Franziska's perspectives on him are a fascinating exploration of the themes of family, of legacy, of how even the worst betrayal by the most awful criminal doesn't cut their influence away from you; how even gods of prosecution remain, in the end, human, and keep a very human place in the life of the people close to them.

#Ace Attorney #Manfred von Karma #Miles Edgeworth #Franziska von Karma #meta #perfection is the norm #phew that stayed in the draftbox a loooong time #ugh. I give up on the formatting #Aza talks too much #(seriously this is so wordy)

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