#hes one of the only people that have thanked me for aquitting him

[tabellae-rex-in-sui]

Acquitted 😌

(there's no mention of his friends and allies idk what's the deal with the others)

[magnificentcenturyfics]

Forrests of Manisa

Description: Mustafa x Taşlicali fic, with an explicit sex scene.

Since he has been told about his disgraceful reassignment to Amasya, and though he and Yahya rarely talked about it, there was no need to. Yahya himself wasn’t too happy about it. After all, besides the obvious injustice and weakening of his possition as heir at a time where having his inheritance challanged was the last thing Mustafa needed, there were other, more personal – some would even say pettier reasons to be unhappy. Şehzade and his mother had been in Manisa for about seven years (not counting his regency in Istanbul during the campaign to Persia) and had created a network of friends and loyal attendants there, of which some they could take with them as part of their retinue (including Yahya himself, thank the Almighty), but many they could not. General populace too loved the prince more in Manisa than in anywhere else, if things Yahya overheard on his walks around town were any indication – though even in Istanbul, people were at worst indifferent towards him. Though truth be told, unless they were one of those types who amused themselves with the most outlandish rumors about the exploits of „the Ruthenian witch“, common people cared little for which şehzade will ascend the throne. In fact, the general consensus gleamed from his least priviledged aquitances was that sultan Süleyman has brought the land such peace and prosperity than once he passes away, things can only go downhill.   Yahya, of course, never talked about it so openly, at least not front of Mustafa himself. Instead, when asked about public opinion, he comforted his şehzade with half-truths; his father sultan Süleyman is quite popular and so is Mustafa. Indeed, some common people (well, one person – Yahya himself) say that sultan Süleyman is merely Philip of Macedon to Mustafa’s Alexander... No, of course his transfer to Amasya won’t make people think any less of him, on the contrary, everyone can see what great injustice is being done to him, which if anything could make people support him more... At any rate, his final verdict on the matter of transfer to Amasya was thus: „After all, people are much the same in Amasya as in Manisa. People, and woods...“ „Indeed, Yahya, woods are much the same everywhere, but I have no idea why it should be of any comfort to me.“ replied Mustafa gloomily. Words „it used to be a source of much comfort to you after Ibrahim pasha died“ almost found their way onto Yahya’s tongue, but luckily he managed to bite it before then.   Because sometimes, woods are in fact just a collection of trees, but these past few years certainly not to them.   That spring and summer was filled to the brim with all kinds of unpleasantness for şehzade. He was still reeling from losing his son and having an attempt on his life remain unpunished when Ibrahim pasha unexpectedly fell out of favour and was executed for an offence sultan refused to disclose. Noone, not even pasha’s own wife, seemed to have understood this decision, except as a favor from the sultan to Hürrem sultan – yet another victory for the scheming consort whose lust for power and revenge seemed to know no bounds. Taşlicali’s aquitance with pasha was brief, but fond; either way, he was much more angry for Mustafa’s sake, as şehzade obviously adored the deceased pasha and was devastated by his death like noone except pasha‘s wife and children. Taşlicali has never seen Mustafa cry, but the morning after the news reached Manisa he could not help but notice his master’s red eyes and pale face. Taşlicali did not tell anyone, though perheps he could’ve; there was no shame in it, after all. Everyone knew of pasha’s closeness to şehzade, some even said that’s why Hürrem orchestrated Ibrahim’s unjust execution in the first place. Mustafa himself suspected so, as he openly discussed with his most trusted people – a group which, to his surprise, included Taşlicali.   Mayhaps it was that he has lost the appetite for women after Helena’s departure and his own mother could not provide him with a silent, unjudgemental ear that he needed. Mayhaps separation from his brothers fed his craving for a brotherly... Or, well, close male presence, anyway. Mayhaps the discovery of a spy in his private chambers made him desperate for someone, anyone he could not possibly suspect of anything bad, and Taşlicali fit that description for some reason he could not fathom (was it really just their past as comrades-in-arms from so many years ago?). Either way, as guarded as Mustafa was, he had quickly become less so in Taşlicali’s company. From the begining, it was an odd frienship; Mustafa sometimes pretended to be interested in his poetry as a mere polite conversation starter, but he clearly never wanted to actually hear or read it – and Taşlicali soon realized şehzade, not an artistic soul, but cultured enough to appreciate a good verse from time to time, simply doesn’t like Taşlicali’s works. Instead, he was much more interested in Taşlicali’s military career and thoughts on warfare and imperium, neither of which Taşlicali talked about with great enthusiasm, but he at least listened to Mustafa’s thoughts on these matters with enough polite interest that it must’ve satisfied the prince nonetheless. Soon, he invited Taşlicali to a small sparring session with swords, then another longer one, and in the end they spent many summer mornings in passionate embrace of their weapons... Indeed, prince was never as radiant as when he tired his deceptively lean body in vicious pretend combat, his cheeks flushed behind a long, beautiful beard and dark eyes rivaling the night sky with their sparkle...   Then Hatice sultan arrived, and one of his concubines started to near childbirth – small annoyances that nonetheless made Mustafa less and less keen to spend time in the harem. He stayed in the palace only to prepare for the campaign, and when his father arranged the matters otherwise, Mustafa simply couldn’t bear it any longer. His departure must’ve worried Mahidevran sultan a lot, being sudden and in the company of but a few attendants, but Mustafa didn’t seem to mind. It seemed a temporarily decreased safety was worth saving his sanity from the many frustrations, big and small, bothering him in those months. The hunt only lasted about a day, and it left şehzade with a considerably better disposition, so while Taşlicali understood his mother’s worries, he nonetheless considered it a wise decision on şehzade’s part.   The poet himself was charmed by the beauty of the woods surrounding Manisa and impressed with Mustafa’s skill as a hunter, even if he himself did not share it, to şehzade’s amusement. Mustafa’s gentle ribbing did not hurt Taşlicali in the slightest – on the contrary, he joined in on şehzade’s affectionate laughter, his heart warmed by finally seeing him happy. When they settled in for the night, Taşlicali found himself Mustafa’s closest companion by the fire and the one with whom şehzade shared tales of his past and future, memories of childhood in the palace he now lived in and dreams of glorious conquest that was surely to come, should he escape Hürrem’s clutches and become his father’s successor. In turn, Taşlicali shared the mundanities of his own life, from a lonely childhood in the house of his bad-tempered unmarried uncle, trough his youth, when he first took both a sword and a pen in the hand, to the current, perhaps happiest period in his life. When he told Mustafa his presence has brought him more joy than he has ever felt before, şehzade clearly considered it merely a figure of speech, part of an overly polite manner in which courtiers talked to the members of the dynasty. Doubtless he had heard such talk many times before and had learned since an early age to disregard it – which saddened Taşlicali somewhat, since for once, a courtier in question was completely sincere. On the other hand, he was honored by şehzade’s keen interest in his past despite the fact that he himself assessed it as at once bleak and mundane. Mustafa even seemed to express some sympathy towads him, a soldier of little renown whose primary claim to fame – his poetry – şehzade wasn’t even that impressed by.   Taşlicali spent the entire evening gazing into Mustafa’s face, and the more he looked, the more impressed he was by the symetry of his features and his lively, intelligent eyes. That morning, he woke up before şehzade, and couldn’t help but visit his tent under the guise of Mustafa’s safety, only to spend several minutes studying what little he could see of his beauty in the dark room. He did come to his senses soon and left with neither Mustafa nor his guards the wiser, but the glimpse of şehzade’s peaceful visage and rose-tinged cheeks and lips kept coming back to him at the most inopportune moments.   Regardless, the hunt didn’t seem to mean much to Mustafa at first, and even its soul-rejuvenating effects didn’t last long. In but a week, he was suddenly of even worse disposition than before, and when Taşlicali suggested another small hunt, his face lighted up with something sinister. „Why, of course, Yahya! A day and a night almost alone, solely in the company of my dear friend, must indeed lift my spirits. Go tell captain of the guard to pick four of his best men; we’re leaving tomorrow.“   This time, Mustafa suggested they sneak away from the guards to pursue a roe deer. He did not seem in mood for a lark, but Yahya thought it is perhaps just that the tension his regular existence in the palace was arousing in şehzade hasn’t quite left him yet. Surely, being alone (with Yahya, apparently) should let him enjoy the beauty of nature in peace and relieve this tension, no...? As they were sneaking behind the bushes, watching the roe deer intently, Mustafa suddenly said. „If I remember correctly, we have both been wearing a scarf on our last adventure together.“ „Indeed.“ Taşlicali suddenly winced. „Oh, heavens! I remember now taking one that looked similar, but now that I think about it, not quite like mine. It must’ve been yours, Your Majesty, was it not...? Allah, this is horrible, I swear I did not...“ Mustafa shut him up with a stern glare. „No matter. You’re not to blame for this, I’ve taken yours by mistake first.“ „Oh. Well then... I suppose you wouldn’t want me to disturb our entertainment? I will keep in mind that when we return to the palace...“ „Actually, I wanted to return said scarf to you first.“ said Mustafa, loudly and pointedly, which made the roe flee – but şehzade payed no mind to it anymore. „So I snuck to your room when you weren’t there, hoping to avoid any awkwardness for both of ours sake. You have hidden my scarf very well, Taşlicali, and in searching for it I went trough many an interesting corner of that small space. Including the one bellow your coal basket.“ Yahya furrowed brow in confusion. „Did you find something there, Your Majesty?“ „Very interesting things, Taşlicali.“ He reached behind his belt and revealed a piece of paper he has apparently been hiding there. Mustafa then turned the text on the paper towards Taşlicali. Oh, how I wish I had some of your way with words, my dear soldier! Then perhaps I could’ve written you with the same delightful mastery about my feelings for you; truth be told, I am growing quite bored of repeating „I love you“ endlessly. Alas, this letter of mine will be short, as I have little news and even less thoughts worth sharing, but I know you will be happy to simply remember me, or at least I hope so. It probably would’ve been for me had it not been for your silver tongue and golden quill... Taşlicali went pale. During his relationship with Mihrimah, he doubted many times whether to continue risking his head for a mere courtly romance, and in one such fit of pessimism, he decided to end their flirtation and keep what he planned to be her second-to-last letter – so that it would later not seem like a mere dream that he, soldier and mediocre poet Taşlicali Yahya, was truly loved by sultan’s sun and moon. Next morning, he came to his senses and tried to find the letter with the intention to burn it after all, but could not find it even after hours of searching. Every day since, he alotted at least some time to searching for it, untill he consoled himself with the thought that if he could not find the damn thing in his own room, noone else could even by accident. This seemed to be an unforgivable error in judgement...   Yahya tried to ignore the tremors of his hands and icy river replacing blood in his veins, reign in his panic and consider the options in front of him. He could not deny the authorship of the letter, not to Mihrimah’s own brother, and to beg for mercy would no doubt only compound Mustafa’s disgust with him. No, if there was any chance at all to come out of this alive, he needed to face the truth like a soldier. Mustafa’s eyes were two dark arrows, hitting the hard shell of his heart, cracking it open and letting the rot inside spill out of it. „Do you have a death wish, Yahya?“ Taşlicali bowed his head in shame. „Your Majesty... What I’ve done cannot be forgiven, and I would not dare ask you such a thing. However...“ „However what?!“ „...before my sinful soul leaves my body, I wish you’d hear me out, so that you know what exactly I am guilty of. I am not trying to make excuses, şehzade; on the contrary, I’d like to confess...“ Mustafa raised eyebrows, now as impatient as he was angry. „So have you, or have you not disgraced my sister?!“ He tucked the letter back into the belt and picked up bow and arrows. „You have nothing to gain by lying; just for throwing her honor into question, you have signed your death sentence, which I will execute here and now, as soon as you finally stop talking.“ And with these words, he took a few steps back and posed as if he was to about to raise his bow at any moment.   Taşlicali was suddenly gripped with a strange feeling – some fear, yes, but mostly shame and infinite sadness. Mustafa has given him so much over the past few months, treated him with such genuine affection and interest, and yet here it was, the proof that Taşlicali Yahya never deserved any of it. His sudden coming death was hard to come to terms with, and yet, it was the least Mustafa should’ve punished him with for his foolishness. It wasn’t even a bad death, he thought before opening his mouth for what he was sure were his last words. For how bad could any moment, even one’s last, be if he is graced with the look of Mustafa’s beautiful eyes? „I had reached for her heart with my tongue and quill many, many times, but my body had not touched even a tip of her little finger.“ Mustafa’s anger seemed to discipate somewhat. „You had not even kissed her?“ „No, my şehzade.“ „Why? You must’ve known it would not have made a difference.“ „It might’ve, had her handmaidens told Hürrem sultan. And I had not felt the urge anyway.“ „But you felt the urge to send her love letters?! What kind of a fool you are, Yahya?!“ Yahya lifted his head and shyly looked into Mustafa’s eyes, hoping şehzade won’t take his need to see şehzade‘s beautiful face at the moment of his death for any kind of boldness. „I am a poet, Your Majesty. Forbidden love of an artist to a sultana is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever beheld – the kind of event that the greatest epics were written about and most esteemed masters of our craft have used as inspiration. So what of it if I see nary a thing about Mihrimah that would’ve made me interested in her as woman, if her inner life remains as unknown to me as it is uninteresting and if I find her, from our admittedly brief and shallow aquitance, not that different from many other women I’ve known in my life? She is a sultana and I a poet. When a chance encounter brought us together and she was interest in continuing our meetings, I could not pass the opportunity should it kill me, regardless of what I might’ve felt or not. Let this be my final words, my şehzade: I did it for the craft.“ Mustafa seemed stunned at first, then burst out laughing. „Oh, and the poems you read me, for those Mihrimah was an inspiration, you say?“ Yahya slowly bowed his head, still in shock. Was he by any chance forgiven now? Mustafa started wiping away tears of laughter. „Then, my friend, I am sorry to say you are not, in fact, dying for the craft, since what I’ve heard from you can scarcely be called that.“ He then put the arrow back into the quiver and bow on his shoulder. „Oh.“ said Yahya, staring at şehzade. He never had the honor to see şehzade laughing, and that, together with seeing Azrael’s veiled face move further away from his and dissapear into the mists of unknown future, suddenly made him smile as well, regardless of the mockery he received. „I am not dying for anything at all, then?“ Mustafa’s laughter slowly discipated, leaving but a smile on his face. „For now... If you left nothing out of your confession and only told the truth, as all good muslims should before meeting our maker.“ He came to Taşlicali and gave him a pat on the back. „I shouldn’t have doubted you. I shouldn’t have...“ His gaze suddenly trailed off into the distance. And Taşlicali, overwhelmed by the prince’s beauty, simply had to say something. „I shouldn’t have given you a reason to doubt me in the first place, my şehzade. I wish I would’ve gotten to know you sooner, so that my esteem of you would’ve prevented what my feeble mind could not.“ „Would it, truly?“ said Mustafa, surprised. „I earnestly think so, my prince, though of course only the allmighty Allah knows for certain. In any case, throughout this spring and summer, my adoration for you has risen a thousandfold and hopefully my ability to resist romantic tomfoolery with it.“ Mustafa was back to his usual, somewhat humorless self, as if his previous fit of mad laughter never happened. „Why? Am I some kind of good influence on you? If you must know, I have done my share of mistakes in this regard...“ „I ended my relationship with Mihrimah sultan out of love for you, my prince.“ said Taşlicali somewhat more impassionately than he perhaps intended. „How come?“ „The matter became known to people outside of us two, and I couldn’t risk getting entangled in some sort of dirty game because of it. So I told her farewell and we neither spoke nor wrote to each other no more.“ Mustafa seemed thoughtful, and somewhat softer than a few moments earlier. „I might’ve been touched, Yahya, had you not admitted earlier that it was all just a lark to you.“ He suddenly turned away from Taşlicali and started walking back to the tent, with Taşlicali in tow. A few seconds later, he added, seemingly deep in thought. „Of course it was. You poets wouldn’t know love from... Ah. Have you ever even been in love, Taşlicali?“ „It’s hard to tell, my prince. Comrades in arms can develop bonds as deep as any marriage, but I don’t think the character of these can be described as akin to romance. It certainly lacks certain... Aspects, but then so does courtly love, if I am not mistaken. Other than my fellow soldiers, I have never loved anybody – maybe my parents, but both died too young for me remember if I did, or anything about them, really...“ Mustafa bared a soulful gaze into Yahya’s eyes. „It is a sad life you led indeed. But somehow I don’t think you missed much, with romance in particullar. I have been in love before and did not find the sweet worth the bitter, though it might well be that I had simply gotten unlucky. Though, mayhaps if I had gotten too lucky, I would’ve ended up like my father, and that also wouldn’t have been good.“ „Well... It seems to make His Majesty happy, at least.“ Mustafa let out a chuckle. „I wish, but even then, I am not sure whether she is worth the trouble she causes to everyone, including our sultan.“   They looked at each other and saw in each other’s eyes such profound understanding that Mustafa, seemingly unable to help himself, pulled Taşlicali into his arms, head leaning against the poet‘s shoulder. Taşlicali, first stiff and frozen in surprise, eventually relaxed and realized how pleasant the feeling is. Even disregarding the peculiar, but undoubtedly precious honor of being hugged by the member of the dynasty, Mustafa held him so tight and yet so gently it made Taşlicali at once fully comprehend the very concept of tenderness – something which he so far have experienced very little of. „I appologize for scaring you like that, Yahya, but you must understand... There was no other way to make you tell the truth. God, I am so sorry. You did not deserve this. You did not deserve my doubt.“ His words made Yahya want to kiss him, somewhere, anywhere, everywhere... But once again his feelings did not get the better of him, and when they went back to the tent, they were able to pretend nothing happened a little longer.   The bubble burst that night. Mustafa invited Yahya over to sleep in his tent, in a cot right next to his. That alone made Taşlicali giddy with happiness – what better music to fall asleep to than prince’s breath? But as soon as they lied down and the tent fell into darkness, Yahya heard a collection of sounds alltogether different from what he expected: first, the shuffle of blankets, then quiet knocks of legs falling onto the floor, another shuffle, then something nigh imperceptible (which, in hindsight, were probably steps of bare feet on the floor of the tent) and finally the same collection of sounds backwards. Before Taşlicali realized what was happening, Mustafa was lying down right next to him, touching him, then embracing. Yahya froze in shock, which seemed to give Mustafa pause. „Yahya?“ he whispered. „Should... Should I move away?“ If anything sinful happens later, Taşlicali thought then, and I say yes to what he’s doing right now, I am going to be complicit. It was a short thought, and very weak – it was easy for it to be suffocated by another, much more prominent one, a rebuttal his conscience had no answer for. He didn’t want to say yes. He wanted to shout it. „Of course not.“   Mustafa breathed out a warm, heavy sigh, burrowing his nose into the nape of Yahya’s neck. Yahya in turn touched Mustafa’s hand, which landed on his belly when he wrapped his arms around Yahya’s waist, and caressed it, so that Mustafa knows he can and should move forward. It truly seemed to have emboldened him, as Mustafa soon planted a first shy kiss onto the bared part of Yahya’s clavicle. He continued up his neck, slightly higher and deeper each time, untill Yahya couldn’t handle it anymore and turned in his arms to kiss him on the lips, deeply and passionately, holding Mustafa’s face with one hand. After a while, all of that kissing, touching and grinding against each other grew from a series of gentle, loving gestures to something darker, as Yahya felt in both his and his new lover’s trousers something truly heinous and unbearable, yet sweet – a rotten fruit of a tactile sensation, truly. For a moment, a little cloud ran trough this unnaturaly bright heaven – to put it simply, fear of being sodomized, but thankfully no such thing occured even at the height of their passion. Instead, Mustafa’s hand slithered down Yahya’s trousers, baring his penis, then touching it so softly and lovingly it made Yahya burrow his head in Mustafa’s embrace and sigh into his chest. Then sighs turned into moans, which then became louder and louder, so much so Mustafa had to turn Yahya on his back like a woman, then cover his mouth (which he did not do with women, hopefully). With the one way trough which it could be even slightly eased blocked, the pressure inside of Yahya rose incredibly quickly, and a few minutes later, only Mustafa’s coarse breath and his own quiet „ah, ah, ah“ underscored the deep, sinful extasy he let flow trough his entire body.   He then suddenly rose, firmly turned Mustafa on his back and did the same his lover did to him, devoid of all the residual shame that might’ve stung him beforehand. They did not talk during (there was no need – as soon as they were established to be in a mutual agreement, there was nothing to add), and afterwards they fell asleep soon after Yahya gave back the pleasure Mustafa had given him. That morning, facing the bright light of day and sanity that came back with it, Yahya felt so ashamed of the previous night that he simply couldn‘t talk about it, and Mustafa seemed satisfied with silence as well. Slowly, it was as if an unspoken understanding was built between them – of what they did, what they felt for each other and their need not to tell a living soul.   From then on, they only ever made love in the woods. Their encounters sometimes differed in the position they found themselves in and the time of day; they actually seemed to do it during the day more often than in the night, sneaking away from the guards into some isolated corner that even wild boar never roamed into. Otherwise, however, each of these cases resembled one another to an unusual degree: few stolen kisses, quick movements of hand, a moment of pleasure and back to reality you go, boys, the reality where you are but a prince and his favourite companion, without any trace of euphemism in Yahya’s aforementioned title whatsoever. Mustafa still visited his harem – infrequently and seemingly with some distaste, but after his second child turned out to be a girl, he needed a son more than ever. He came back to Nergisşah’s mother more often than the others, and for a while seemed charmed by one Rumeysa hatun, but he never liked any of them enough to be called a favourite. After a few years, he stopped spending nights with Ayşe altogether, and Rumeysa ended up dying of smallpox, with Mustafa strangely giving that name to another woman, a girl of low status that had the fortune to get pregnant from only a night or two spent with him. Taşlicali never thought of these women as his competition – Mustafa needed an heir from them and companionship from him, and for a while he thought they could not gave him the latter any more than Taşlicali could’ve given him the former.   But it was a foolish thought. Obviously, a woman need not share a man’s interests in manly pursuits to be a good companion whom he loves and respects – but also, just to prove Yahya wrong further, there was indeed a lady just around the corner that was, in fact, eager and capable in manly pursuits. And that’s when things got interesting.

[wildfey]

It punches me emotionally that Phoenix either doesn't have motivation on his own or that he lets motivations inspired by other people push away things he likes, like his art degree. There's so much issues to unttangle there, like lacking direction in his life, depression, self-worth issues, identity, and so on. Also, for Kristoph's trap, it's possible that Phoenix just. Wasn't surprised that it happened. Even without potentially disassociating, he's eeriely calm.

(continued) Like Phoenix seemed to expect it could happen that he was set up. It would have been possible to prove his innocence. He didn't. Did he fear only more attacks against him would follow?

ooh, now this is a deeply fun ask to get on my day off, thank you very much anon.

I'm gonna assume this is a reference to this post where I did some tag rambling, so I'll continue some thoughts from there.

100% agree in regards to motivation. Trilogy Phoenix is fascinating to me, I know Takumi said that Phoenix tends to be something of a self-insert for the player, as the "detective" in a mystery plot he's there to solve, not act. But when you take away that doylist perspective, and go inside the text to look at him as a character, things get interesting.

The way I always saw it, the Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney games aren't really about Phoenix Wright. AA1 dedicates its largest and most significant character arc to Edgeworth, AA2 mostly has Phoenix being pushed through cases by others (all the games do this but it's really noticable in AA2) and AA3 finishes the Fey family's 3-game arc, which is more about Mia and Maya. Phoenix has very little backstory, and very few personal goals, but that's complemented by the fact that Phoenix's characterisation explains why. His motivations, his sense of self, identity, etc. all seem to exist as projections from other people. He's Edgeworth & Larry's friend because they saved him, he becomes a defence attorney because of Edgeworth's childhood beliefs, and the turnabout terror because he's emulating Mia (this is so obvious that Godot points it out). He dates Dahlia because she tells him he's her boyfriend now, his friendship with Maya begins because Mia told her to take care of him, he's Trucy's father because she casts him in the role... this is a repeated pattern for pre 7yg Phoenix. Even in terms of one of his strongest trilogy motivations - saving Edgeworth - he's still to some extent repeating the pattern that Edgeworth unknowingly set at 9 years old.

And when there aren't people around... well that's when the inverse kicks in. When Maya isn't around, Phoenix won't take cases for months (this... has always sounded like depression to me, and I think there's a really good argument for Phoenix having some form of depression. It's how I tend to write him.) He talks about Trucy "being his light", and implies that without her, he would have given up post-disbarment. Phoenix has a VERY obvious savior complex, and it's repeatedly taken advantage of; he defines his worth by how good he is at rescuing others. Examples of this off the top of my head include apologising to Lana for not fully aquiting her when she very much did commit a crime, how upset he is during AA2 because he tried to save Edgeworth and couldn't (even though it's clear that Edgeworth needed to save himself), and wanting to defend Iris even though for all he knows, she's his evil ex (at the point he decides to defend her, he has 0 evidence this isn't the same woman who tried to kill him.) But when it comes to himself? Well, he can get injured or threatened (and he does! a lot!) but Phoenix will NEVER defend himself in the same way he does other people (there's a whole tangent I could go into about how he's a very non-violent character and the few instances in the series where he's physically violent are extremly indicative of this protective streak. But I digress).

So we come to the Zak Gramarye case - Why doesn't Phoenix react? Well, he does. But to defend Zak, not himself. I think this case would have been different if any assistant had been there, whether Maya, Ema, or Pearl, because they wouldn't have accepted it, would have taken it as a challenge to themselves, and by extention motivated Phoenix. But with Phoenix alone... he's only fighting for his client. And when his client disappears... well then, he'll take it passively (If Zak had stayed, would Phoenix have pulled a turnabout? Possibly, there may have been some way to fix the situation if he'd been motivated to do so. He's arguably fought worse.)

This is why the 7yg is deeply, deeeeeeply interesting to me as someone who loves to fill in character development, because the character development that happens in the 7yg changes basically all of this. By the time we see Phoenix again in 4-1, he has gained a decidedly selfish streak, he's out for... something, whether justice, vengeance or just stopping Kristoph from hurting people, Phoenix is finally has his own goals, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to succeed. (Thus comes the reversal, Phoenix is to Apollo in AA4 what other people were to Phoenix in the trilogy, though I'd argue that Apollo has a far better developed sense of self)

Would love to hear other peoples opinions on this one though (anon you are very welcome to come back and talk more, would love to hear ur opinions on Phoenix expecting to be set-up)

[mycosylivingroom]

Me and relationships

So. 

In this post I will talk about a serious topic. Its related to my austism and how I handle all sorts of relationships. Its also a deep look into myself trough the years. I wanted to have this off my chest.

So. Lets start at the beginning. When I was small thanks to the lack of oxygen in my brain, my brain has developed slowly, so did my social skills. Till my 13th year I had no awarnes of my actions not even during my  young teen years, people had to tell me, still do but I am getting better. Sometimes I broke friendships because I said some stuff that I shoudn’t had said sometimes I didn’t relealize that these people never cared about me. I was naive, also was copien behaviour of the people where I hanged with and I my old school friend not very nice, I was paroting my bad friends behaviour. Also that ashole stole half of my pokemon cards and some games so he wasn’t a good friend and I kinda semi ruined the friendship with my old school friend. Luckely we were still friends, she follows me on fb. But looking back at it, I understand that most austic womencopy others, for me I will copy the people I care about.

When it comes to friendships I could be pushy I wanted to rush things, when I see friendship potential I want to trips with them, I tend to push myself, I never respected peoples boundries. Thats how most of childhood friendships didn’t last long. Also there were people who were only friends because there parents ask them too. There were also plenty of kidds who used me, they wanted that I brought them snacks or that I used my finest marbles knowing that I might lose. Or called me ableist slurs when I wasn’t able to do stuff that I didn’t dare to do.

During middleschool years I first hanged out with a bully, I thought that she could be my friend, and even during her friendly moods I would do anything to please her. That was my weaknes, I always try to see the best in people and for a while I was a people pleaser. I also had fake friends. one of them also was later diagnosed with austism. There were moments where she would hang out with me and then when a new group of people arived or when a new person would arived I wasn’t in the picture anymore. After middleschool I tried to call a couple of times but she rarely picked up, she didn’t called me either. In 2016 I followed her on fb, we had short chats but that was short lived.

In my havo days I did the same, I had a short friendship and I pushed myself to be her friend. I did the same with some other people who I had a short nice friendship with but my pushy nature and lack of boundries tore it apart. At least I have a good aquitance from that time on fb.

The same with friends I made during vacations.

During my Zierikzee periode I had a sence where I finaly started to reflect on my own behaviour. I had a nice coleage who was realy nice to me, I wanted to start a friendship, she was my age group, but the moment after my periode there when I asked, well hows your family and such, no responce, that where I knew yea she doesn’t want to be friends so I left her alone. 

even with my ex I was  bossy and pushy but he was also the blame for this relationship break, He in the beginning was also claiming me, so I had to set boundries, the more boundries and the pushier I was the more we broke apart, but that would be another topic.

In the archive I thought I made a new friend but again, I wanted to trips, meet his boyfriend, sometimes was a bit pushy even though he didn’t liek that but he also wasn’t a good friend, only contacted when I contacted him first, the text exchanges were mostly short from his part. Also I tend to say hey you shoudln’t say that. He would often make racists, sexist and sometimes awful remarks, turns out he didn’t had a good view of women and the fact that a woman was telling him that he was saying is wrong pissed him off, well he was kind about it but when the friendship ended, he used those things against me. I ended the friendship by blocking his number and removing the fr on fb

But party i was to blame, but also he was toxic at the end, saying that I was the one who was the evil one, that I thought that I was better then anyone else, while I only was correcting him for his bad takes, because if you know me I hate it when people say awful things about other people. I am against zenofobia, sexism,rascism and inner ableism, and when my friends have these takes I will call them out if I feel that I can do that.

Thats how I was, now I will be carefull what I say, carefull not to push boundries, not push myself into a friendship, end friendships when the person is going to be a fake friend.