#i was pretty nervous to post it

[okartichoke]

i do not have a name for this au yet but, hey ! look ! listen ! i drew some more :3

(gregory is a red kite too, forgot to write that in)

next set will probably be about DL-6 (more manfred with that one too) and how it is different in this universe. cuz like, a bunch of cases change if (almost) everyone can fly, and i’m real excited to dig into that

link to masterpost || explanations below cut

okay i didn’t know how to make this concise, so i wrote an essay 💀💀💀

Explanation for kestrel Fran: (to clarify first: i went off the behaviors of an American kestrel, but the coloration of a banded kestrel because it fits her better)

Originally, I planned to have her as a peregrine falcon because of her whole “speedrunner” vibe, but peregrines have to really commit to their dives yknow? franziska commits but she can adapt and retry faster than a peregrine, so i switched it (but as always i’m indecisive as hell and everything is subject to change LOL)

i liked the peregrines pattern for her though,, the banded kestrel looks pretty similar. also kestrels are small and i think that’s cute sue me :3

i also struggled a lot (A LOT) to come up with something i liked for Miles, but i ended up pretty happy with the kite ! ( not all prosecutors are birds of prey btw, these 3 just so happened to be lol )

thanks for reading if you got this far :33 hope you enjoyed my ace attorney bird wings au ted talk

[ghost-proofbaby]

twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"THE FIRST DATE"

EXTRA CONTENT - "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 7k+ → a/n: the very long awaited first date. this was requested by several people. wahoo! also, fair warning for second-hand embarrassment. i think eddie munson is the only person who drag me dancing around a bowling alley and i wouldn't smite them on the spot.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

EDDIE: What about a fancy dinner date?

YOU: boring.

YOU: and too traditional. when were you even born, Munson? the 60s???

EDDIE: Ha. Ha. I don’t see you making any worthwhile suggestions, sweetheart. 

YOU: i don’t have to make any suggestions, old man. YOU’RE supposed to be wooing ME 

God forbid anyone walked in on you at this moment. 

You were like a high schooler, lying on your stomach with your feet kicking up into the air as you stared at the screen, happily bantering with Eddie over text. All the butterflies, all the blissful jitters, all that dopamine rush that comes with school girl crushes – every single cliche was present and was in full force as you discussed the details of your first date with him. You used to scoff (albeit with hidden longing) at all the romance movies that you truly believed had overplayed all the giddiness, but now you got it. It was disgusting, the way he had you wrapped around his finger so easily, the way he had turned you into a heart-eyed shell of the woman you once were in the matter of a week. 

EDDIE: So you have a thing for older men is what you’re telling me.

YOU: i NEVER said that.

EDDIE: Didn’t have to, sweetheart. I can read between the lines. 

Over the last week, since the two of you had won the bet and you had won over with insistence on him properly asking you out, Eddie had been tossing around date ideas as he tried to plan this very first occasion. The only time you had even seen him was when your entire group met up, the latest outing having been for brunch on Saturday under the guise celebrating the one week anniversary of you and Eddie surviving twenty four hours together without killing each other. 

Didn’t stop him from calling and texting you. And it clearly hadn’t deterred him from losing his mind over doing right by you with this entire first date ordeal. 

YOU: i don’t even have the energy to explain to you how many times you have proven to not do that in the past. 

EDDIE: I’ve read between the lines in the past! 

YOU: you most certainly have NOT

EDDIE: I was able to read when you wanted to kiss me that night. That’s reading between the lines.

And so the giddiness rears its head, full fledged as heat swarms your body and your cheeks ache from your smile. 

YOU: i hate you 

EDDIE: No, you don’t

YOU: i do. i really do. 

EDDIE: You’re such a shit liar

You nearly jump out of your skin when there’s a knock on your dorm’s door, annoying and persistent as it taps out some random rhythm that must be a song of some sort. But whatever song it is, you can’t recognize it as you stand, walking over to answer. 

“Did you forget your key aga-” you begin, assuming it was just your roommate. You’re shocked to see Robin and Steve standing there, “What are you guys doing here?” 

“We had a study date, in case you had forgotten and not seen our hundreds of texts,” Steve huffs, quickly crossing his arms. 

You hadn’t seen their texts. Most of your screen time had been a bit preoccupied with a certain metalhead. 

“Oh, shit,” your face falls as you open the door wider, side-stepping and motioning for them to come in. 

“Yeah,” Steve snarks as he comes right in, Robin hot on his trails and seeming in a far more pleasant mood as the boy mocks you, “Oh, shit.” 

Robin stops beside you as Steve helps himself to a seat in your desk chair, “Don’t mind him. He’s just cranky because he has to get A’s on all his mid-terms to keep his 3.0.” 

“I am not cranky-”

“You are!” 

“Am not!” 

“You so are,” Robin continues to egg him on, choosing your bed as her resting place. 

Your phone bounces a bit from the way she throws herself down on the sorry excuse for a mattress, and you recall how you had yet to reply to Eddie. Fuck.

“When did we even make these plans?” you ask, genuinely confused as you shut the door. You already miss the peace and quiet of being alone, free to preen at your phone and giggle to your heart’s content at the world’s worst flirt over text.

“Saturday,” Steve groans, throwing his head back. 

“It was after brunch,” Robin clarifies, lifting herself up from how she was lounging amongst your blankets, “I mean, you seemed a bit distracted when you agreed, but… We did text you about it.” 

You had been distracted. Eddie had managed to quietly ask the waitress to include your tab with his so he could pay for it without your knowledge, and you’d spent the entire time torn between being upset with the boy and absolutely fawning. It was a bit pathetic, looking back at it – the fact that those were the only two options your mind had presented you with. You’d scorned him over the phone later that night, and he had only laughed. You swear you can still hear it now, having heard it several times since – a low chuckle that rattled into the caverns of your chest, that bounced amongst vines of affection and willed open blooms of adoration just a little bit wider. 

Part of you was still waiting for the wilting. For the other shoe to drop, for all of what had been exposed and had been planted to vanish from your grasps. That first Monday morning, you’d even woken up worried it had all been a dream. 

“I’ve been busy,” you lamely try to excuse your radio silence. 

“Busier than normal?” Steve’s brows quirk up, leaning back in your chair that emits a squeak of protest, “Or have you just been busy with new friends?” 

Your lips twist and your nose twitches in confusion, “New friends? What the Hell are you going on about, Harrington?” 

Robin fully sits up now, watching with piqued interest.

“Eddie,” Steve gets straight to the point, his previous sour mood finally melting slightly, “You can’t honestly tell me that nothing changed after that night.” 

It was something neither of you had really discussed. Steve had seen you two, knew that a lot had truly changed based off of the way you’d tossed him right into the middle of the mess there at the end, but you and Eddie had never said anything about being together. Not to your friends, and not even to each other. 

“Just because I don’t want to tear his head off his shoulders anymore doesn’t mean we’re spending every waking moment together,” you force your best scowl, as if that wasn’t exactly what you had yearned for all week. 

Eventually, it had to wear off. That’s what you told yourself – at some point the initial rose tones would fade less vibrant, and Eddie’s intense occupation of your mind would lessen with the hues. 

“I can’t believe it, but I am siding with Stevie on this one,” Robin finally contributes, “I mean, you guys won’t even tell us what happened that night.” 

“Nothing exciting,” you’re quick to lie, “Just… I don’t know. Boring stuff. Getting on each other’s nerves, sitting around on his couch,” that gets a bitter scoff from Steve that almost makes you freeze up. Damn Eddie for teasing him with the truth about the couch, “Nothing worth making a big deal over. Like I said, we just learned to… to… tolerate each other.”

Tolerate was an interesting way to put spending hours on the phone together each night, sometimes falling asleep while still on the line. 

Steve still looks as though he’s recalling all of Eddie’s annoying taunts from that night while Robin only grins salaciously. 

“Tolerate each other?” she mimics you, leaning forward and pressing her palms into the edge of the mattress beside her knees, “Babe, have you two even said a single mean thing to each other since that night? I think he even smiled at you on Saturday. You’re practically married with two and a half kids already.”

He had smiled at you – multiple times. And each one had struck the most delicate of daggers right into your chest, lighting you aflame under his attempted clandestine attention. Every time those big, brown eyes had met yours from across the table, the ache you’d started to hold for him had only doubled in size. By the end of that morning, when the day had technically started to bleed out into the afternoon, you were nothing more than a vessel of pining for the boy that you hadn’t even gotten the chance to brush against amongst your friends. 

“Whatever,” you murmur as you reach out to snatch up your phone, “I never even understood the whole half kid thing. Like, how the fuck do you have two and a half kids?” 

“I’m sure Eddie would be more than happy to show you,” Steve teases despite his still half-traumatized look.

You’re quick to reach out a hand to whack the back of his head, “Shut up. Are we gonna keep sitting here while you two try to pry something that doesn’t exist out of me, or are we going to go study?” 

Steve’s grumpy mood returns as he rubs the back of his head, him and Robin standing in sync to exit the room.

But before the three of you exit the dorm, you check your phone one last time, having to bite down on that girlish grin when you see two new text message notifications. 

EDDIE: It’s official. I’m a genius. 

EDDIE: Say, are you free tomorrow night? 

—

Tomorrow night couldn’t come fast enough. A shift at your job, one too many hours spent sitting through lectures, ensuring a night of studying with Steve and Robin — all petty distractions, roadblocks on your path to the most highly anticipated first date of your life. Eddie wouldn’t even entertain you with details, only telling you to dress fairly comfortably and to put on your best game face.

And you did. To some extent, you really did.

But you’d finished getting ready hours in advance, something you blamed on nerves, and having that much time to kill with such nerves was dangerous.

Simple makeup turned a bit more extravagant, you had tried on nearly every outfit in your possession, you’d even eyed your hair curler on more than one occasion.

Comfortable. What the Hell was that even supposed to mean?

Your only solution had been to text the man of the hour himself, something to busy your thumbs instead of twiddling them or involving them in taking your date night look several steps over just comfortable.

YOU: okay, so. can you define ‘dressing comfortably’?

EDDIE: According to Google, “dressing in a way that makes you feel at ease in your body” :)

YOU: fuck off. you know that’s not what i meant.

Still no clues. He wasn’t caving so easily to your pestering. You should have known better, considering he’d been professionally dodging any questions or inquiries you had regarding the date for the last twenty four hours.

EDDIE: Don’t overthink it, sweetheart.

That certainly didn’t help. Not even in the slightest. 

You don’t even reply to his text, already back to pacing your dorm before you finally cave to an impulsive decision you’d been grappling with for hours now. 

There was a newish, sporty skirt in the bottom of your drawers. It was comfortable, it had built-in shorts, and it looked damn good on you. The hem fell right around mid-thigh and always flared in an overly satisfying fashion when you’d spin while wearing it. The material of the pleats was nearly impossible to wrinkle. It wasn’t overly soft against your palms as you still nervously smoothed it down once you’d shimmied it on, but you still repeated the motion in hopes of soothing some of your nerves.

You’re sure it’s the wrong option until Eddie sees you in it.

He texts when he’s on his way and you find yourself bounding outside to wait for him far too early to be reasonable. He hadn’t even arrived until after your back had nearly become one with the brick exterior of the dorm building's front wall, leaning into the scratch of the clay on your shoulder blade a welcome distraction until you heard the roar of a motorcycle engine. 

You nearly grow dizzy from the sudden rush of nerves.

This is really happening. You’re about to go on a date with Eddie, the first time of what you hope will be many to come. 

“Took you long enough, Munson,” you snark loud enough for him to hear as he clicks the Yamaha’s kickstand into place right by the vibrant red curb. There’s a sign not even a full foot away from where he’s standing that clearly spells out NO PARKING. 

Oh.

Oh.

If you hadn’t already been riddled with nerves, your knees would have gone weak at the sight of him. 

Since when is that dressing casual and comfortable? 

“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I keep you waiting?” he shoots right back as he lifts the helmet off his head, and something inside of you clenched tightly at the sight with no plans to unwind any time soon.

Dark wash jeans plaster his legs, heavy combat boots smacking against the pavement as he walks to meet you halfway. The black shirt he’s donning isn’t extravagant, but something in the way that t-shirt material stretches across his chest has you burning from the inside out. He’s even gone so far as to tuck the shirt into the jeans, his black leather belt on show as he hugs the helmet below his bicep. And his normal leather jacket — you don’t believe you’ve ever seen it look better, ever seen it fit his shoulders so snugly. He’s dressed to perfectly match the all black bike, the image of a bad boy straight out of every cheesy movie you’d ever seen. 

The only thing that breaks the illusion is the boyish grin pulling the arrival of his dimples along with it as he watches you push off the wall. His eyes are sparkling as you approach him, a constellation of hope and new beginnings twinkling right before you. 

He’s not sorry that you waited on him. Not in the slightest. Especially when those starry eyes travel over your appearance.

You have to force yourself to tsk, because otherwise you might end up just another pile of ash for the poor landscapers to sweep up, “Haven't you heard it’s rude to keep a lady waiting?” 

You stop in your steps just far enough to catch the way his eyes take you in. Drinking slowly. Following the trace of the just fancy enough tank top that you’d chosen to balance the skirt. Lingering on the plush of your inner thighs, barely peeking out the bottom of your chosen outfit for the night.

You almost start to feel self conscious until he lets out a little sigh, nearly a whimper as his eyes trail back up to find yours.

“I’m sure I have,” he chokes out, composure momentarily vanished as you distract him so easily, “But aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” 

“I could say the same about you.” 

You’re like a shark. If you stop swimming in the upstream flirtations, you’ll drown instantaneously in his big brown eyes.

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” you swear you see a hint of a blush across the highs of his cheek bones and sides of his neck as he holds out the helmet for you, “At least with me, it will.” 

“Even the top secret location of this date?” you ask as you take the helmet, considering putting up a fight. You still hated him not wearing one for your expense, and you weren’t exactly eager for any sort of helmet hair, “Do I have to wear-“

He knows the end of your sentence before you even finish, “Yes. No exceptions; you have to wear it every time you ride.”

“Every time?” 

“It’s for safety.” 

“Isn’t it sort of unsafe for you to go without one?” 

“You’re wearing the helmet,” he sighs, nose twitching with indignation as he holds staunchly onto the position, “And to answer your other question, no. I guess flattery will get you almost everywhere, but it’s a surprise.” 

You fiddle with the chin straps, looking down as you feel his gaze burning the top of your head from this angle, “Fine. But we really should just get me my own helmet. You need to wear one, too. And…” you look back up, pausing before you properly put on the piece of safety equipment, “It’s a little oversized. You know, considering it was meant to fit your big head first.” 

He narrows his eyes, still lit up with a sort of playfulness you haven’t grown accustomed to being on the receiving end of. 

You like him quite a bit more than you bargained for. A lot more than five hundred dollars, or twenty four hours, ever would have summarized. 

“We can go helmet shopping another day.” 

We. Not just him, not just you. But you and him. A unit. A couple.

“It’s a date,” you whisper just before you slide on the helmet. You completely miss the wildfire that the ghost of a blush has finally become. You completely miss the way that your talk of you two together, you two as a couple with a future, affects him just as his has an effect on you. 

Helmet hair is worth it, you decide, once you’ve saddled onto the bike behind him and he revs up the engine once more. You’re not as shy as you had been on that fateful night the week before, quick to wrap your arms around his middle and let your chest press hard against his back. The leather crinkles against the contact, the heat of him radiating, and you think you could spend forever like that. 

You’re almost upset that you can’t smell his cologne through the helmet. That once terrible scent of boy. 

Every curve and every slow stop is another excuse to cling to him tighter, every red light a reason for him to turn his head and catch a glimpse of you with a small grin that never once falters. You swear at one of the lights, when he revs his engine in a particularly rowdy fashion right as the light turns green and takes off particularly fast, you can hear his laughter over the loud wind mingling with the roaring engine. You know you can feel it, vibrating in his chest right along with your own that gets lost in the chaos of the unusually busy Tuesday night street. 

When he pulls into the parking lot behind the older building, you catch sight of the neon sign out front and find yourself laughing again. 

“Bowling?” you question, yanking the helmet off less than gracefully as he stands off the bike you’d just swung yourself off of, “You’re taking me bowling?” 

He takes the helmet from you, suddenly looking a bit shy as he averts his gaze, “Not just any bowling. It’s… It’s the coolest bowling alley you will ever go on a first date at.” 

“You say that to every girl you bring here?” 

You’re just teasing him, trying to poke fun rather than succumb to all the fluttering that bruises your inner chest and stomach. But then he has to ruin your fun, strike a match and set you aflame so adroitly.  

“Only the prettiest ones.” 

You should continue the banter, challenge him on just who else fell into that category, but you can’t. It’s in that glimmer of his eyes and the indent of his dimples, the way he looks at you as he slowly rises and somehow softens his gaze all while keeping a threat of a bite beneath the tone. His eyes tell you that you are, without a doubt, the prettiest girl he’s referring to. That in this moment, you begin and you end his world, and not even the commotion of traffic or nip in the air that creeps up as the summer sun sets can deter his attention being set solely on you.

But his tone suggests something far more dangerous. He says it like you’re a prey, an unattainable catch that he’ll be chasing for the entire night. A wicked growl to that voice you’ve been falling asleep to over the phone far more than you care to admit in just a short week. 

He says it like he’s going to ruin you. As if he hasn’t already injected himself into your veins, as if he isn’t the gasoline drowning and raging the burn within you. 

But he keeps up the gentleman persona in the short walk up to the door of the establishment. Holds out his hand for yours to fit perfectly into, guides you to the inner sidewalk as cars fly past and the only thing between you and them is him. 

 The hunt is on from the moment he opens that door for you. 

“Ever the gentleman,” you muse, voice hardly above a whisper as you brush past him and finally catch that smell of boy. 

You think you’d drown in his cologne now if he gave you the chance. Bury your face in his chest, wrap your arms around him and press any inch of your own bare skin to his. 

“Always,” it would have been a weak response if he’d only said it and nodded his head, but he takes it a step further. Right as you pass him, entering the brisk AC, his hand ghosts over the expanse of your lower back. Fingertips nimbly brushing right above the band of that skirt, grazing your tank top just hard enough for you to feel it and shiver. 

It doesn’t stop there. The back and forth, the chase, the hunt.

The way he makes sure your knuckles brush his as he hands you your shoes, even more brushes of his palm flat against your lower back repetitively, the way he insists on a heavier ball that makes his arms strain and muscles display. Over the chatter from the bowling alley’s fairly nice bar and the music trickling out of the overhead speakers, you’re sure that your heartbeat has joined the ranks of audible noises to echo the nice haunt. You’re positive he can hear every thump, can pinpoint the exact moments that poor aching muscle inside your chest begins to race. 

You go for a smaller weighted ball. You don’t think you could handle anything heavier with your current case of weak knees.

“Only an eight pounder?” Eddie tuts at you as you approach your designated lane again, “Come on, sweetheart. You can do better than that.” 

No, I can’t. Your fault, really.

“I have weak arms,” you try to defend yourself as you rotate the red ball in your hands. 

His favorite color. It hadn’t been intentional, but the swirling shades of stark scarlet and deep maroons is a nice touch. 

“Poor baby,” he teases, leaning into you as you deposit the ball right behind his own ball on the track where it already rests.

A twelve pounder. A smoky quartz design, black base swirling with misty white and gold accents. Far prettier than yours by a landslide. 

And fitting for the pretty boy you’re faced with when you turn to watch him shedding his leather jacket onto the bench a few steps away. 

“Not all of us are some big, strong macho man,” you scowl insincerely, moving to sit beside him and follow his lead in switching out shoes, “I’m betting now that by halfway through the game, you’ll be caving and begging to use my ball, Munson.” 

You’re looking down as you casually say it, one shoe already half off and unaware of just how close he had gotten until his hand reaches over. Not even a second later, he has your chin pinched between his fingers, gentle as it guides you and forces you to look at him, “Careful. Bets seem to be awfully dangerous when it comes to the two of us.” 

Damn him. Damn him, damn him, damn him. 

The graze of those fingers against your jaw leaves a trail of ash, burning that lingers and thrums beneath your skin, heart officially skipping beats rather than merely speeding up. You’re coming to realize that when it comes to keeping up with Eddie Munson in his element, in all his charm and flirtatious banter, you’re a bit hopeless.

He has you trapped under his thumb — metaphorically and literally.

“Are you always this flirtatious with all your dates?” you spit out against your better judgment.

Why do I keep bringing up his previous flames? Do I really care? Do I really want to put myself through the torture of hearing about all of the girls, or guys, he’s wooed before me? 

The same glittering eyes, the same hidden smirk from earlier. “Only the prettiest ones.” 

“You keep saying that,” you mumble, chin pressing into his fingertips against their hold, “Just how many pretty dates have you had?” 

The pride softens in an instant. His gaze is less sharp, grin less predatory as he raises his eyebrows. 

“Does it really matter?” 

You can’t help it. Your mind races ahead of you before you can stop it; you’re plagued in an instant with images of how many dates, how many other people he had indulged in over the year you two had wasted hating each other. You try to recall overhearing him describe any of those dates, try to remember if Nancy ever mentioned Eddie passing up one of the hangouts for a romantic endeavor.

You come up empty handed, but it doesn’t stop the overthinking. 

“I guess not,” you feebly answer, unable to tear your eyes from him. 

I guess not is really code for it matters so much more than I care to admit. An impossible riddle you can’t even expect him to pick up on. 

His hand falls from your chin and finds home on your bare knee, warm palm swallowing it up. He gives it a squeeze, and you wonder for a moment if maybe he can read your secretive language. Maybe he’s seeing right through your overconfident front, maybe he has felt every racing of your pulse. 

Maybe, he’s as nervous as you are.

He opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t think you can bear another moment of this new intimacy. It had been easier when the two of you were on a ticking clock, confined to his apartment and parameters of a bet that never really mattered. Vulnerability had less of an edge when you could yearn and pine to see it flourish in the real world — but now, here it was, twisting away within you both a week later and pricking away as the stakes at hand come to light. 

“Are you ready for me to absolutely demolish your ass at this game?” you joke.

“Demolish me? That’s some big talk for someone using an eight pound ball, babe.”

“It’s not about how much you’re packing, pretty boy,” you scoff, “Just that you know how to use it.” 

He smiles slowly, but the quick squeeze of his hand tells you the vulnerability is here to stay. He feels that cutting edge too, and he’s not shying away. 

He leans right into it, just as he does your personal space, “Bring it on.” 

—

“You’re cheating!”

“I’m not!”

“You are! Who the fuck gets three strikes in a row?” 

Eddie strolls back towards you, self-satisfied smirk curling his lips and his hips swaying with arrogance as you continue to pout at his sudden show of sportsmanship, “I believe the answer is me, sweetheart. Wanna see me make it four?” 

“I hope you just jinxed yourself,” you scowl as you hop up off the couch and Eddie swaggers right past you, hardly affected by the palm you smack into the center of his chest for good measure, “I hope you roll nothing but gutter balls the rest of the game, you prick.” 

“Like you have been?” 

“Burn in Hell.” 

Eddie’s cackle echoes through the fairly busy alley. It wasn’t overwhelming, the lanes of either side of yours staying empty, the only other groups several ways down. So far, the date has been good. Even if Eddie was wiping the floor with your severe lack of skill. 

Both of you had opted for Cokes rather than alcohol, Eddie had ordered some sort of platter with onion rings and mozzarella sticks that the two of you had easily been devouring between turns. Playful banter had been kept up easier than breathing, barking words without bite being snapped back and forth loud enough for the entire establishment to hear the two of you being exceptionally childish. 

At some point, your nerves had melted. And you didn’t even need a lick of alcohol in your system for it to happen. 

“Try to aim for the pins this time,” Eddie continues to taunt you from where he’s spread out on the brown faux leather bench you’d been taking turns warming the seat of. 

Your fingers slide into the holes of your ball with ease, courtesy of the grease from all your snacking, “Try shutting the fuck up.” 

More of his laughter sounds off, and you nearly trip on your walk up to the markings on the linoleum wood flooring. It’s a nice sound; a beautiful response to words that could easily read identical to how the two of you used to fight. But these aren’t fighting words, they’re words passed between two… two… friends? 

Is that how you should continue to classify this? Were you and Eddie really still just friends? 

The sound of your ball stuttering in hops across the beginnings of the lane replaces his laughter 

No. Easy question – there wasn’t a doubt in your mind that the two of you were definitely not friends. Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken. And for the remainder of this date, you could live with that. 

Eddie sucks in an audible breath, letting the air whistle between his teeth as your ball veers at the last second and misses the pins entirely. Again. 

“Th-”

“Don’t,” you interrupt him, spinning on your heel and holding up a warning finger. It’s harder to hold in your own grin when Eddie’s already smiling into his fist, leaning his elbows onto his thighs as his big eyes peer at you, clearly amused, “Don’t say a word.” 

His knuckles dig further into his mouth.

“I meant to do that.” 

His eyebrows shoot up, still not speaking.

“It takes real talent to avoid pins like that.” 

He leans over a bit further, and you swear you hear him emit a snort from behind that damn fist. 

You open your mouth to continue with the bit when the clattering of your ball returning to the ball rack comes from behind you. Eddie only shrugs cheekily as he finally drops his fist to grab for a mozzarella stick, his smile contained but those damn dimples still flashing you brilliantly. 

Without taking your eyes off him, you hold up a warning finger for emphasis once more, trying to bite down any signs of your own amusement as you take a few steps back in the direction of the rack and repeat yourself, “I meant to do that.” 

“Sure you did,” he muses before taking a bite of the mozzarella stick smothered in marinara sauce. 

“I did.”

“I believe you.” 

“I-”

It seems the Universe is in the business of interrupting you two. As if it seems all that hope and potential flourishing in the space between you two and decides that simply won’t do. As if it’s too much. 

Maybe it is. But maybe, just maybe, you’re enjoying too much. 

Suddenly, before you can even finish your sentence or grab for your ball, the lights of the alley have dimmed. A few spotlights over the alleys themselves light up, erratically waving patches of light over the shining floor as the music that had been playing overhead cuts out to be replaced with some poor employee’s voice. 

“Alright, ladies and gentlemen-” you and Eddie share a confused glance, “-The time is officially ten o’clock, meaning nineties night has officially begun! Have fun, and enjoy yourselves as we throw you back to the decade of Nirvana and Beanie Babies for the rest of the night with these straight jams.” 

Your face scrunches up in a comical cringe before the buzzing static of the speaker can even cut out and the beginning lines of Say My Name by Destiny’s Child begins to play. 

You aren’t entirely sure of how it happens. Maybe it’s all the playfulness in there, in all that electric teasing at the tip of Eddie’s tongue and all that hopelessness bubbling up in your chest as it dawns on you of the fact you were finally on a proper date with Eddie. Maybe it’s simply a good night for you to continue to make a fool of yourself, and Eddie sees it as a chance he’ll always be right there with you, prepared to make a scene as he follows your lead. 

He stands up to approach you where you’re still rooted beside the rack, matching your own grin that blooms genuinely at the sound of the song. 

It was one of your favorite’s. A small fact about yourself you don’t think you’ve ever told Eddie – that you can remember. 

It’s small, at first. Just mouthing along to the first verse as he moves towards you, recognizing that excitement lighting up in you, shimmying his shoulders ever so slightly. He looks like an idiot – he’s absolutely your idiot. 

“Did you know it was nineties night?” you mumble as he gets closer, shaking your head slightly.

“Stevie might have mentioned something about you enjoying nineties nostalgia,” he drawls, still taking sure steps towards you. 

“Did you ask him for advice for our first date, Eddie?” 

“No,” he scoffs quickly, finally close enough to grab you gently by your hips. He’s nowhere near manhandling you, but it’s still reminding you of the game, of the hunt, at play. You’re his prey and he’s officially making his move. Carelessly, nonchalantly. “He mentioned it ages ago. When they were trying to convince me you weren’t all bad.” 

Your smile widens, “Was this around the time I threw a glass at your head, by chance?” 

“Maybe.” 

The dulcet instrumental of the song continues on overhead, beginning to pick up in beat, making you nod your head along as Eddie finally starts to tug you closer. 

You’re in public, and you both should know better than to make absolute fools of yourselves, but it doesn’t seem to matter when all you can really see is him. 

Your friends had also spent ages trying to convince you that Eddie wasn’t all bad, but you’d always known that much. You’d seen glimpses of the good in him from that very first night. When he’d made you feel welcome, when he’d given you a life-preserver to cling to when you’d felt most out of your element. You knew that Eddie Munson was one of those people who had a hardwired habit of trying to make people feel welcome.

Even in a room full of people, when you’d be non-stop embarrassing yourself endlessly. 

All his jests had been further proof, but when he sees your rock on your heels as you enjoy the music, he takes it a step further. He grabs one of your hands with his free one, keeping a hold of your waist, encouraging all your giddiness over the song. Every single person in the establishment could be staring at the two of you – you didn’t care. 

When he starts dramatically mouth along to the chorus of the song, swinging you around slightly, it takes very little provocation for you to join in with him. 

You both could’ve taken a step further, and properly sang along in the most obnoxious voices possible, but you don’t. There’s still the slightest blanket of security there as Eddie keeps the antics mostly silent, reserving his dramatic reenactments of vocal runs for your eyes only. Even yanking your hand up close to his mouth, as though it was a microphone, as he swings you around again. You quickly become a giggling disarray, hardly able to keep up your own footing, eyes squinting with joy and what must be the messiest and ugliest smile possible showing off all your teeth. The type of smile and laughter you’d normally try to hide on instinct. The kind of smile you cover up. 

But you can’t, because Eddie is keeping his sturdy grip on your hands with his own, and he’s drinking in every second of your joy. He’s vibrant as he watches the way he’s entertaining you. Shamelessly staring, making his antics falter. 

“Baby, say my name,” he purposefully sings along dramatically, quietly but terribly off-key.

You can’t help but let out a snort, “Eddie, you’re an idiot.” 

He ignores you, and continues to give you your own private concert, switching rapidly between singing the main song and the backup vocals, which only makes your stomach further ache with laughter. 

This is what you’d been yearning for the last year. This silly side of him, an absolute fool who couldn’t care less about the stares of others. 

The seductive side of him was enticing. The honest version of him nice. But this side of him? Carefree, rowdy, indiscreet? It may be your favorite yet. 

Only the sound of a nearby teen couple mocking you two break the moment, just as you’ve begun to jokingly whisper-sing back into Eddie’s pretend microphone made of your joined fists. They make what must be vomiting noises, and you catch the tail end of one of them jokingly poking a finger towards their outstretched tongue as you finally sigh deeply. 

You should probably feel embarrassed. Later on, when you find yourself in bed later tonight and attempt to find some rest, you’ll probably ruminate and burn yourself alive with all the embarrassment. But not right now; not with your boy still in front of you, smiling just as desperately wide as you were. 

His dimples would probably consume him if you let him go on any longer. 

“Eddie,” you choke out through residual laughter, tugging your hands free as the song starts to fade out. You make no move to remove yourself from him, though. Your arms find home around his shoulders, hands splayed just below the nape of his neck, “People are staring.” 

“Good,” he snipes back, finally dropping the act but not the glee, “Probably entranced by how pretty you look right now.” 

“Pretty? I probably look like a loser. They’re probably already engraving a trophy for world’s ugliest smile-”

“Oh, don’t do that,” his forehead falls against yours, rolling his eyes, “Shut up and take the compliment. I love your smile.” 

There’s something unspoken there. He loves your smile, yes, but he’s also been denied of it for a very long year. It’s the first step of making it up to you, making up for lost time. 

Making a fool out of himself, just to see that goddamn smile. 

With your arms around his neck, his forehead pressed against yours and the tip of his nose bumping yours, the game of bowling is all but forgotten. Even the teens, still side-eyeing the two of you, can be pushed aside in your mind. 

All your insecurities of the night that have crept in the shadows become insignificant. You don’t care how many dates Eddie has been on before you, you don’t care that you’ve clearly become a prey caught in his web. You don’t even care about the way you’re losing. 

It’s the perfect first date. When one of his hands wander, playing with the hem of your skirt, knuckles and rings brushing against bare skin, it’s perfect. 

“Hey,” you whisper, “I’ve got a question.” 

“I have an answer.” 

“You sound very sure there, big guy.” 

“I am sure,” he pulls his face away just a bit, but his gentle touch against your thigh lings. The other hand stays warm against your lower back, keeping you pressed up against him, “What’s up, sweetheart?” 

Not enemies, not friends – something different and something unspoken.

Hearing him say it out-loud will still be nice, though. 

“Does this mean we’re official?” you breathe out, trying to cling to all your bravery and not let it slip away, “Like – God, I sound like a high schooler right now – does this mean we’re… you know…”

“Dating?” he’s grinning, unable to hide his giddiness. 

“Yeah. Dating.” 

The hand tracing circles on your exposed outer thigh rises up to your cheek, brushing along it as he tucks a bit of your hair back. You swear you see it shaking out of the corner of your eye. 

“I sure would like to be,” it was shaking. You know it surely, because his voice is as well. Vulnerable and honest, just how you like him, “We don’t have to tell the others, we can take it slow, but-”

“But we’re dating.”

It’s not a question. It’s a statement – an affirmation. You and Eddie Munson, the man you swore you hated just over a week ago, were dating. 

He only nods, and you consider the way that his dimples might just swallow you whole instead of him. 

Not enemies, not friends – lovers. It has quite the nice ring to it. 

“Well, in that case,” you finally pull away, dropping your arms slowly and letting your fingers catch on the chain of the necklace he currently wears. A red guitar pick, something you’ll surely learn the story behind soon enough. “Better go and roll that fourth strike, boyfriend.” 

His head rolls back, and a joking groan falls from his lips as his neck stretches and nearly distracts you momentarily, “Don’t say it like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re making fun of me, you little shit.” 

Another laugh falls from your lips as you step around him, quirking an eyebrow. Perfect first date, indeed. 

“Get used to it, Munson.”

“I plan to, Sweetheart.”

eddie's taglist: @capricornrisingsstuff @thisisktrying @hideoutside @vol2eddie @corrcdedcoffin @ches-86 @alovesongtheywrote @its-not-rain @feralchaospixie @cheesypuffkins87 @thebook-hobbit @babez-a-licious @eddies-acousticguitar @aysheashea @kellsck @cosmorant @billyhvrgrove-main @micheledawn1975 @eddiesxangel @siriuslysmoking @witchwolflea @tlclick73 @magicalchocolatecheesecake @mizzfizz @nanaminswhore @mikiepeach @ali-r3n @hawkebuckley @alwaysbeenfamous @darkyuffie-blog @vintagehellfire @lilmisssiren @elvendria @loveryanax @stylexrepp @princessstolas @fangirling-4-ever @eddiesguitarskills @babez-a-licious @josephquinnsfreckles

join my taglist!

[xoxogirl]

tell me im your favorite 🩵🤍

[cosmicdreamgrl]

𝗆𝖺𝗉 𝗈𝖿 𝗍𝗁𝖾 𝗌𝗈𝗎𝗅: 𝗌𝖾𝗈𝗄𝗃𝗂𝗇 𝖾𝖽𝗂𝗍𝗂𝗈𝗇 𝖿𝗈𝗋 @cordiallyfuturedwight 🩷

[jinxedshapeshifter]

Why Kristoph Gavin Is Like That: An Essay

Alright so common sentiments I've seen regarding Kristoph are "Why is he like that" and "I want to study him in a lab" and I am a psychology nerd, so I decided to analyze Kristoph. Obligatory disclaimer: I am not a psychologist. Wanting to analyze Kristoph's behavior may or may not have gotten me interested in criminal and forensic psychology but I am not a psychologist. I am simply a guy who likes to psychoanalyze fictional characters from the most clinical perspective I can get to without actually being a psychologist. So let's begin.

Part 1: Diagnosing Kristoph Gavin

The thing about Kristoph is I think to fundamentally understand him, you need to diagnose him. In fact, I haven't posted my analysis of Kristoph's black Psyche-Locks because of it. As I said, I'm not a psychologist, but I do enjoy looking through the DSM-5 every once in a while, so I'm going off of that.

When you first look at Kristoph's behavior, you would (understandably) say he's a narcissist. From a purely colloquial perspective, this is absolutely true. However, I also think he very likely has narcissistic personality disorder. To be completely clear, I don't think his behavior is inherently a result of this. I think his behavior is a result of realizing he has a problem (even if he doesn't realize it's narcissism, he does acknowledge that he's fucked up because the reason he gives for killing Zak is "I am an evil human being") and not bothering to get help for it. In fact I'd argue he embraces it. So let's go through the DSM-5's diagnostic criteria for NPD (I don't need to explain where most of these are applicable but I'm going to anyway).

Criterion 1: Has a grandiose sense of self-importance (e.g., exaggerates achievements and talents, expects to be recognized as superior without commensurate achievements) - While I don't personally think the examples provided by the DSM-5 are reflective of Kristoph's behavior (although I think an argument could be made about him exaggerating his achievements, depending on if you think he was forging evidence before the Gramarye trial, which I personally do but I'll get into that later) I absolutely think he has a grandiose sense of self-importance because he canonically has a god complex, which is implied to be why he became a defense attorney; by doing that, he made people depend on him and literally had people's lives in his hands.

Criterion 2: Is preoccupied with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love - I don't really know exactly how applicable this is, and it might've been more applicable when he was younger. However, he was so determined to get a win over Klavier in Klavier's first trial to forge evidence over it, so there's something to be said about him having a preoccupation with success not unlike Manfred I think.

Criterion 3: Believes that he or she is “special” and unique and can only be understood by, or should associate with, other special or high-status people (or institutions) - He literally says this himself. He literally says the jury is made up of "ignorant swine" and says they're soiling the courts, I don't know what else to say on this point

Criterion 4: Requires excessive admiration - I will once again point you to the implication that he became a defense attorney specifically to make people dependent on him. The judge calls him the best defense attorney in town so I think it's safe to assume he's never lost a trial (which I will bring up again later). The nanosecond it's implied Apollo is turning on him and losing admiration for him, Kristoph takes it as a fucking betrayal, specifically saying "Et tu, Justice? You would betray me, your teacher?" Reminder, this is because Apollo decided to listen to Phoenix's testimony.

Criterion 5: Has a sense of entitlement (i.e., unreasonable expectations of especially favorable treatment or automatic compliance with his or her expectations) - Can I say his cell is evidence of this? No? Alright. He seems pretty fucking upset when he's reminded he's not the defense attorney in Phoenix's case. What does this imply? He acts like he's entitled to acting as the defense attorney during the case. This in comparison to the other defense attorneys who have acted as co-counsel at some point (Mia, Diego, Phoenix, Apollo, Kazuma, Athena) who let the acting defense attorney do their damn job. Like it might even be that no other lawyer acting as co-counsel has ever acted as entitled as Kristoph does that makes it feel like Kristoph comes off as entitled in the first place (in which case, I very much think Kristoph is meant to come off as entitled during Turnabout Trump).

Criterion 6: Is interpersonally exploitative (i.e., takes advantage of others to achieve his or her own ends) - I'm not explaining this. Phoenix's disbarment hinged on this, I refuse to explain this. I already made a post about it in regards to Apollo, I'm not explaining this here

Criterion 7: Lacks empathy: is unwilling to recognize or identify with the feelings and needs of others - I think in order to be as horrible as he is, he would have to lack empathy. Idk. Like he obviously lacks empathy but I don't know how to explain it.

Criterion 8: Is often envious of others or believes that others are envious of him or her - Literally his motive for everything. He got Phoenix disbarred because he was upset over Zak firing him.

Criterion 9: Shows arrogant, haughty behaviors or attitudes - I will once again direct you to him calling the jury "ignorant swine" in Turnabout Succession.

That is 8 out of 9 criteria he definitely meets and one that's debatable. You only need to meet five of the critera to be diagnosed. The only reason one is debatable is because we don't get into Kris's head. Conclusion: "Kristoph has NPD" isn't an unreasonable assumption. Kristoph having NPD is actually why I haven't posted the analysis on his Psyche-Locks; I didn't think I could explain Kristoph having NPD well in that post and having that explanation is crucial to understanding that analysis (which will be added to this one instead of it being its own post).

As I said at the start, I do not think Kristoph having NPD makes him a horrible person. I think he knows he has a problem, and instead of getting help for it, he embraces it. He chooses not to get help and that choice and him borderline embracing his narcissistic traits is what makes him a horrible person. This is yet another thing that makes Kristoph and Klavier so interesting; Klavier exhibited similar narcissistic tendencies at 17 (although not near as bad as Kristoph) but it feels like he recognized that he had a problem and got help for it. Narcissistic personality disorder can be caused by trauma, and it wouldn't surprise me if Kristoph and Klavier had very similar yet very different responses to whatever traumatic event they experienced. In Kris's case, this resulted in NPD that he didn't get help for and arguably embraces.

Part 2: Evidence Forgery & A Perfect Trial Record

The judge explicitly refers to Kristoph as "the best defense attorney in town" when he asks about Apollo's status as the acting attorney and Apollo refers to Kristoph as a "top-notch defense attorney" when he asks Phoenix why he wanted Apollo to be his attorney. In my opinion, both of these statements would imply that Kristoph has never lost a trial. Even Phoenix has lost trials, and he basically had Kristoph's reputation before being disbarred (which has some super interesting implications actually). This is where Klavier comes into play.

For Kristoph to forge evidence to guarantee a win, he's either not as good a defense attorney as his reputation would have people believe, or he was confident Klavier had a chance to win the trial. If we really think about it, I think the first option, that Kristoph just isn't as good a defense attorney as people think, is more likely, and this also leads into the evidence forgery discussion. He had no qualms about spending $100k on forged evidence. This implies one of two things; either he's forged evidence before or he's von Karma levels of rich. I think it's much more likely that Kristoph forges evidence to make up for the fact that he's not actually as good a defense attorney as people think he is.

He's a year younger than Phoenix, so if we assume he became a defense attorney at the same age as Phoenix (24), he'd already been a defense attorney for two years at that point. Going a bit further, if we assume he became a defense attorney at the same age as Apollo (22) instead, then he'd been an attorney for four years by the time Zak's trial was happening (and he had been an attorney long enough by Zak's trial to be well known, as Klavier says "Ah, figures my bro's more famous in this part of town" when the judge asks if Klavier and Kristoph are related). There's plenty of room for him to forge evidence there, as long as the decisive evidence doesn't require replication of something that would be unique, like handwriting. He could (probably) easily forge a murder weapon or a bloodstain. This would explain why he's so willing to pay $100k for a forgery too. If we keep with the assumption that he forged evidence his entire career but never had to do anything with something like handwriting, he'd probably pay an arm and a leg to get the evidence he needs.

Considering Kristoph is also willing to murder people over a seven year old case, I wouldn't be surprised if he defended people he knew were guilty. Depending on the case, he would probably have to forge evidence at some point.

Part 3: Black Psyche-Locks

Kristoph having black Psyche-Locks when he's asked about why he killed Zak is interesting. It makes a lot more sense if you keep in mind that he is a narcissist. To fully explore Kris's Psyche-Locks, we need to go back to something Spark Brushel mentions in Turnabout Succession's MASON system section.

Spark says that Kristoph started stalking everyone who could conceivably be involved in Zak's case out of paranoia. In Kristoph's brain, this was probably completely justified. His paranoia was specifically rooted in the belief that Zak would appear to someone involved in the case and expose Kristoph's forgery. Kristoph stalked Spark, he stalked Phoenix, he stalked the Mishams, I wouldn't be surprised if he (attempted to) stalk Klavier. If the fact that he forged the evidence that got Phoenix Wright disbarred ever got out, his reputation would be tarnished beyond repair, and to him, his reputation is the most important thing he has. He was so careful about how he handled the forged diary page that nobody suspected anything was even wrong with it except Klavier. All of this adds context to his Psyche-Locks being black instead of red.

I think it's incredibly likely that whether through paranoia-fueled delusion or just not being able to consciously acknowledge that he did kill Zak (which, if revealed and then investigated, could absolutely expose all of Kristoph's wrongdoings, something I think he would've realized), he genuinely didn't realize he killed Zak. I 100% think it's possible that Kristoph genuinely thought he'd killed some random guy on impulse. "But Jinx," I hear you saying, "why would he have gone after Zak if he didn't realize who he is?" As I said, I think it's possible that Kris thought he killed a random guy on impulse. He didn't plan to kill Zak. If he had, he would've been more prepared for it. I think some part of his brain recognized Zak which is what gave him the impulse in the first place, but he didn't become consciously aware of it until Turnabout Succession. Alternatively, he got so far in denial that he managed to delude himself into genuinely thinking he hadn't killed Zak, and he had just killed some rando named Shadi Smith. Phoenix didn't even recognize Zak when he introduced himself as Shadi. If Phoenix, who played poker with and defended Zak and has a picture of him in his office, didn't recognize Zak immediately, why would Kristoph?

It's also not impossible that there are multiple other murders Kristoph's committed that we don't know about. Hell, he tried to poison the Mishams after Zak's trial. At the very least I don't think that was his first time attempting murder. Kristoph's not an idiot, he's just careless (which doesn't surprise me, considering he is so convinced that if he ties his loose ends he won't get caught that he doesn't even tie his loose ends all the way, nor watch what he says in regards to murders he committed). That's not to say he's some kind of mastermind either, but he is intelligent. I don't think he could pull Simeon Saint levels of bullshit but he's very much capable of successfully and skillfully manipulating people. My point here being, if he has murdered other people before he murdered Zak and after he attempted to poison the Mishams, he probably wouldn't be surprised about having the impulse to kill some random guy, making him more inclined to believe he did just kill some guy.

I also think it's worth it to compare how Athena's Psyche-Locks broke in Dual Destinies to Kristoph's behavior. Athena was able to be eased into her Psyche-Locks breaking. She didn't have any reason not to trust the things Phoenix was saying. Kristoph is so paranoid that he doesn't trust anyone. He wouldn't have been able to have his Psyche-Locks broken because he would just deny everything that's being said until he can't deny it anymore and breaks down, something at least directly related to his paranoia, if not also his NPD. This is why I mentioned in this post that breaking Kristoph's Psyche-Locks would always be a bad idea. He'd never get to a point where he'd be able to mentally handle the truth. Kris's trust issues run so deep that he'd never trust anything anyone's saying until the damage is already done and the Psyche-Locks are broken. In Kristoph's case, there's no way to break those fuckers without causing the damage Pearl mentioned as something that'll happen if they're broken when they're not ready to be. I wouldn't be surprised if this is why Kristoph's breakdown in Turnabout Succession is so intense.

Part 4: Kristoph's Personal Relationships

For this section, I'm going to discuss each of Kristoph's relationships separately, then go into what his relationships say about him in general. So let's start.

Kristoph & Klavier

Kristoph and Klavier's dynamic is genuinely one of the most interesting in the Ace Attorney series to me.

Klavier doesn't really talk about Kristoph much, and the same sorta seems to apply to Kristoph. We don't learn anything about Klavier and Kristoph's dynamic until Turnabout Succession, and we know Kristoph didn't talk about Klavier because Apollo didn't even know Kristoph has a brother. When we do see what their dynamic was like in 2019, it's Klavier being used by Kristoph. Kristoph used Klavier to get Phoenix disbarred, and it weighed on Klavier's mind for seven years.

I also think it's worth noting the following exchange from Turnabout Succession:

Klavier: Let's clean out the family closet, eh, Kristoph? Kristoph: You're spinning out of control. Calm yourself before you say something you'll regret. Klavier: Spinning out of whose control? Mine? …Or yours?

Which implies that Kristoph exhibited some kind of controlling behavior towards Klavier. It doesn't surprise me because Kristoph's a control freak. I'd also be more surprised if Klavier wasn't afraid of Kristoph killing him at some point. Additionally, something I mentioned in my Klavier analysis is that in the 2019 section of Turnabout Succession, Klavier does have a good view of Kristoph and even seems to look up to him. He takes Kristoph at his word that Phoenix is going to present forged evidence despite (by 24 year old Klavier's account) finding it weird even then, and keeps him anonymous when he brings up the fact that Phoenix presented forged evidence. Another thing I mentioned in the aforementioned Klavier analysis is that based on Klavier's behavior, he didn't realize Kristoph was manipulating him until sometime after the 2019 section of Turnabout Succession. Something made Klavier realize he was being manipulated. Could be age or that Kristoph did something that made Klavier realize Kristoph was a piece of shit, but no matter what it was, something happened that made Klavier's view of Kristoph shift.

Kristoph & Phoenix

Kristoph and Phoenix are also really interesting to me because Kristoph's end of their friendship is fueled by paranoia, and Phoenix's side is fueled by a desire to keep Kristoph close and basically investigate him. It's toxic on both their ends, and that makes it really interesting. Their dynamic also has a really good example of "Kristoph will lash out if someone even minutely slights him" in both Phoenix's trial and Vera's.

During Phoenix's trial, Kristoph gets so upset over the trial even slightly alluding to the potential for him being present to kill Shadi that the judge has to remind him that Phoenix is his client. Phoenix is also so determined to get Kristoph caught that he forges evidence (technically twice) and revamps the entire justice system (and this was exclusively to get Kristoph caught). They're both incredibly petty with each other. I'm not really sure what to add here, they're just so toxic they should come with a radiation warning.

Kristoph & Apollo

Apollo looks up to Kristoph. Kristoph uses this to his advantage during Phoenix's trial, using the fact that Apollo is loyal to and looks up to both Kristoph and Phoenix to emotionally manipulate him. He then probably tries to use "You would betray me, your teacher?" to further manipulate him, but Apollo's desire to find the truth overrides his loyalty to Kristoph (something Apollo literally tells Kristoph).

Kristoph has one final instance of trying to emotionally manipulate Apollo; he gets Klavier to the point where he essentially shuts down then blames Klavier shutting down on Apollo. This doesn't work of course, and Apollo bulldozes on through anyway.

In general I think we can come to a pretty solid conclusion that Kristoph will either manipulate and gaslight people to get what he wants or stalks them out of an intense paranoia that's directly related to how he sees himself as a result of the NPD he didn't get treatment for. Instead of coping with things like a normal fucking person, he resorts to both physical and psychological violence and stalking.

Part 5: Conclusion

So here we are. Almost 3k words later. I do not want the takeaway from this to be "Kristoph's a manipulative, violent asshole because he's a narcissist" and if that's your takeaway you need to rethink literally everything I said here. The fact that Kristoph could be diagnosed with NPD has nothing to do with him choosing violence. NPD has nothing to do with him choosing to stalk everyone involved with Zak's trial instead of getting help for his paranoia. I want that to be perfectly clear. The thing with NPD is it can be hard for the person suffering from it to realize they have it and subsequently get help for it. Kristoph's problem isn't exactly that he has NPD. It's that he never got help for the thinking patterns the NPD caused. Had he gotten help I don't think he would've ended up stalking and murdering people. He'd still have NPD, but he wouldn't be near as fucked up.

It's why Klavier and Kristoph are so interesting as characters. Klavier has narcissistic traits but he evidently got help for them, as he's nowhere near as egotistical at 24 as he was when he was 17, although he does start exhibiting those traits again under high stress situations. He's still not completely okay mentally (otherwise he wouldn't regress like that), but he's also better than Kristoph at managing his symptoms when they do show up. Kristoph doesn't even try to get help for his symptoms, which leads to his downfall. Had he gotten help for his narcissism, he might've ended up a bit more like Klavier.

I hope Ace Attorney's prison system has a proper therapy program. I hope Kristoph's able to get help when and if he decides he wants it, because I am personally of the belief that everyone deserves help if they want it, and Kristoph's no different. I don't think he deserves to have Phoenix, Apollo, or Klavier back in his life, and I wouldn't blame any of them for never talking to him again, but that doesn't mean I don't think Kristoph deserves help. He would just have to realize he has a problem first, which I doubt happened soon after Apollo Justice and I'd frankly be surprised if it ever happens. But I hope the offer for help is there if he decides he wants it.

So why is Kristoph Like That? Untreated mental health issues that he's implied to realize is a problem.

*Again, please do not act like I'm saying Kristoph having NPD is an excuse for his actions. He chose not to get help. He chose to stalk people. He chose to kill people. Him having NPD isn't an excuse for that. My goal here was simply to answer "Why is Kristoph Gavin like that?" Do not misconstrue my intentions here or what I'm saying. Kristoph's NPD isn't what drove him to do what he did. Him choosing to embrace symptoms that hurt people did.

[prettymediocrewizard]

OMG hear this request please 🙏🏻. Tenma and Grimmer getting interrupted in the middle of a sloppy kissing session, like, I’d love to see them getting all flustered and annoyed that somebody interrupted them lol

Alright, bear with me... If you want to skip to the part where the prompt kicks in it's on page 4+5. I was once again possessed by something and couldn't shake this lead up into it~

(In my head this is in an alternate timeline where everything is fine but Tenma still goes to work for MSF and ends up being gone on long trips)

[alpacacare-archive]

good lord

[yhwcomeback]

Hii! I'm a HUGE fan of your art!

I'm a beginner in digital art and I wanted to ask: How do you draw hair and eyes?? And colour them in?? I'd love a speedpaint along with an explanation if it's not a struggle! Have a nice day :)

This is funny because I think those two are the worst parts of my drawings LMAO

Eyes... usually I don't draw them really detailed, normally I go with dark on the top (inside the dark I add the inbetween color for contrast) very light on the bottom.

for expressions, believe in the power of eyelids + brows

for hair I just break down into "blocks" (I do with this with the entire drawing tbh) this way it can be consistent and also easier to color, of course sometimes I change the shape a bit but usually just follow the mold and go from there

for coloring I usually focus on the shadows first, but it depends on the persons hair, like for lloyd it's red, I make the blue very subtle inside the red

or in sora case

some very dark red with blueish and yellow highlights, her hair still looks pink but now it looks more... vibrant?

[r0tting-rat]

DCA PROMPTOBER 2024

I might have decided to join last minute (I say after finishing crying my eyes out) cuz I'm very brave and confident (I'm not.) I know it's late for day 1 but pls gimme a break :<

Day 1 - Best Friend!

Pairing: Sun & Gender Neutral Reader, can be seen as both platonic and romantic! Warnings: None Words: 1900+ Summary: It's a special day, and you're in for a treat!

Like many other days, you couldn’t understand Sun’s enthusiasm. The daycare attendant had scooped you up the moment you stepped foot in the daycare with your cleaning cart—as you always did every night before closing—then hugged you so tightly you feared for your ribs. As usual, he began to ask you questions about your day, asking if you had eaten anything new or if you had any new pics of your pet to show him, but he completely threw you off guard when he proceeded to beg you to put on a blindfold and follow him out of the daycare, which you refused with a decisive shake of the head. 

-Nuh-uh,- you replied.

-What do you mean “nuh-uh”?!- Sun crumbled to the floor, on his knees, with his hands joined together in prayer and his big, milky eyes staring at you in despair. 

-I mean nuh-uh! I’m not coming with you, not yet at least.- You waved your cleaning rug in front of his face, pretending to wash dirt off his flat head. -I have a job to do! Remember?-

Your “job” consisted of slipping inside the pizzaplex after everyone had left, cleaning off all the gunk children and adults alike left on tables and inside the attractions, then slipping back out before closing time. Very simple, very stressful and equally tiring. You were one of many, your assigned areas were the Daycare and Monty Golf, but the former always took you more time to clean despite having less work to do. The reason behind that? The animatronic before you. You had befriended the daycare attendant, a few weeks before, mainly because you pitied him. Always so lonely, left with nothing to do, with no children to care for and no friends to play with. You didn’t regret becoming his friend, not at all, but it was true that you always spent much more time with the robot than you should have. “Do not talk with the animatronics” was kinda company policy. 

Okay, fine, maybe it wasn’t, but your employment contract did say to not stand too close to the robots and interact with them as little as possible, so you were breaking the rules just the tiniest bit, by letting Sun pick you up, hug you, spin you around and etcetera.

Letting yourself be blindfolded and dragged around was way too much though.

-Friend, please! All you actually have to clean is the security desk!- Sun protested, pouting like a child. He was right. The sunny jester was a bit of a cleaning freak, so he always did all the work for you by scrubbing and tidying the entire play area by the time it took you to finish with Monty Golf, leaving you to clean just the area he didn’t have access to.

You crossed your arms over your chest, indecisive. You didn’t want to be blindfolded, at all, and not because you didn’t trust Sun, the idea of it simply made your skin itch. 

…Shit, but he looked so sad! Oh, curse you and your kind heart! With a sigh, you relented, finally giving the jester a small nod. 

-Okay, I’ll come with you,- you agreed, and Sun literally jumped in the air, as bright as his namesake. 

-Yes!- he shouted, ecstatic.

-But,- you were quick to interrupt him, -You let me clean the desk first. Deal?-

You offered Sun one of your hands, which he shook with so much passion your entire body trembled. All the while, a wide grin had opened on his flat, yellow face. 

-I can’t wait to show you my surprise!- he smiled.

You did the best you could to clean efficiently the security desk of the daycare, cleaning coffee stains, peeling away dried pieces of Chica’s Special & Super Elastic Bubble Gum from under the desk and chairs, throwing away pieces of papers and emptying bins, but to your big surprise you found yourself hurrying to get it done. Were you doing that because you were actually kind of curious of what Sun’s surprise could be, or because you wanted to go home as soon as possible? Maybe both, maybe neither. Who could say? Anyway, you finished with your job faster than usual, satisfied, but the moment you turned around all the color drained from your face. 

Sun had twisted himself in some kind of pretzel-like knot, tangling his limbs and lanky body together to create something which reminded you of a horrifying piece of modern art, but as soon as he noticed you looking at him Sun untwisted himself, returning to his usual height and shape. 

-All done, Friend?- he asked, excitedly, as you struggled to get your heart to start beating again. It wasn’t the first time Sun had done something like that, the animatronic liked to get into weird positions when he felt bored, but each time you caught him like that your heart froze. Sun was a very, very, pricey robot and you were constantly scared of management putting you at fault if something were to ever happen to him. Also, you were his friend, and you couldn’t let something bad happen to someone who was so precious—did I mention pricey?—to you.

-Uh, yes, all done,- you nodded, shaking your head to get rid of the bad thoughts, -We can proceed with the… Do you really have to blindfold me?-

At your question Sun nodded eagerly, stepping close as he took a red ribbon out of his pocket. You sighed but didn’t fight him as he began to place the ribbon over your eyes, making sure it was not too tight but tied firmly enough to not allow you to peek. Once he was done, you heard Sun giggle in delight, looking at his magnificent job.

-Wait,- you heard him say, -Something is missing!-

Before you could protest you heard the animatronic scurry off, leaving you in the dark with no reference points, confused and a little scared. You attempted to take a step forward but were quickly stopped by Sun immediately coming back. 

-Here!- he announced, grabbing one of your hands and turning your palm up, so you could hold something that resembled a box for him. You gently shook it and heard many small, plastic things moving inside of it. 

-Are those…?- you began to ask, even more perplexed than before. 

-Yep!- Sun replied, carefully attaching something to your blindfold, one over each of your eyes. -Googly eyes!- 

You wanted to collapse on the floor and stay there, becoming one with the colorful mats of the daycare, but instead you groaned and stood still, allowing the robot to have his fun.

-Can we just go? I don’t have all day, Sun,- you protested, and finally the jester put the little box away, grabbed one of your hands and began to lead you to the large wooden doors of the daycare, walking slowly and carefully.

-We’re gonna have so much fun, Friend,- Sun said, gleefully. You could almost see his beaming smile, ever the bright, despite the blindfold over your eyes. -I’ve made sure everything is simply perfect!-

Despite how tired you were of Sun’s constant cheerfulness, you couldn’t say he didn’t have any effect on you. In fact, you had been smiling a lot more during the last few days. even your coworkers had noticed your good mood. Just staying with Sun was enough to make you smile and laugh, his presence was good for your mental and physical health. In fact, the robot had been taking care of you whenever he noticed that you hadn’t eaten yet, and for some reason he always knew. You were beginning to think he could read your biometrics data. 

You didn’t walk for too much time, in fact you could almost guess where you were headed, which was probably one of the party rooms around the daycare. You decided to stay silent, just to see what Sun would do, and giggled when you felt the hand you were holding begin to vibrate in excitement. Having a robot for a friend was truly fun, sometimes.

-Almost there, Friend!- Sun told you as he began to open one of the doors to the rooms, careful to turn on the lights before entering—why did he always do that, anyway? Sun always refused to tell you where his fear of the dark came from, but seeing how uncomfortable the topic made him you had long stopped asking him about it. -Here, sit.- 

He guided you to a chair, where you gratefully sat, still obediently keeping your googly eyes-adorned blindfold on. You were eager to see the surprise Sun had planned for you, but something told you not to even try to peek. You felt like it would have made the robot rather mad. 

Sun moved something on the table in front of you, mumbling by himself, then stood back. You heard his steps coming to a stop behind your chair, then felt his hands resting on your shoulders. The cold touch of his metal body made you shiver. 

-You can look now, Friend,- Sun whispered in your ear, lacking the previous joy and sounding more… sly?

Excited to see, you quickly took off the blindfold and blinked, trying to readjust to the lights inside the room, and only after a few moments of total confusion you managed to see something. Before you, on the table, was a plate, and on the plate was a huge cupcake of your favorite flavor. You would have recognized those sweet treats everywhere, they were from the Cupcake Shoppe, on the second floor of the pizzaplex. Many times you had passed the area, looking with envy at the baked sweets being sold there, and even more times you had complained to Sun about the bakery not being on the list of places where you could eat your daily free meal, as per your employment contract. When he had asked you why you didn’t just go and buy one, if you really wanted to, you had laughed. 

“-Come on, as good as they look, they are not worth the price.-” You had told him. Yet there it was, the motherfucking cupcake you had been ogling at for the last weeks, right in front of you, with a little candle stuck on top. 

-I would have lit the candle, if my programming didn’t forbid me from handling matches and lighters,- laughed Sun from behind you. Honestly, you didn’t care one bit about the candle, you were just staring at the sweet treat in front of you, dumbfounded. 

-Wh… Why…? How… I…- You couldn’t speak normally anymore, your vocabulary consisted of single muttered words and syllables. 

-Guess what day it is, Friend,- cooed Sun in your ear. You tried to think, but doing so was hard, so you ended up just shaking your head, speechless. At your cluelessness, Sun laughed. 

-On this day, exactly one month ago, we became friends!- he explained to you, and as he bent over his smiling face entered your field of vision. He looked absolutely gleeful. -Do you remember now?-

Your wide eyes ran from his milky ones to the cupcake in front of you, from the big grin of the robot to the unlit candle, which was slowly slipping down thanks to the melting frosting. One month. You had been friends with Sun for just a month, but for some reason it felt like so much more, like, much, much more. Sun’s hands, which had been resting on your shoulders the entire time, squeezed you gently, and they felt oddly warm against your skin. You looked at the daycare attendant and couldn’t stop a smile from forming on your lips. 

-Happy one month anniversary, Best friend,- he said, and you nodded. 

-Happy anniversary to you too, Sun.- 

[pinetreespants]

Are you to be a vengeful false idol, or merciful coward? No longer can you blame your vile acts on me.

[threestargirls]

Within a split second, a deafening crack rippled throughout the forest as Jacob’s fist met Edward’s marble-like skin. I’m sure a scream escaped me as a strong arm pushed me off to the side- I couldn’t have been sure whether I made a noise, or even whose arm it was given my state of shock. Or fear? The stage directions from Romeo and Juliet kept repeating in my head. They fight; Paris falls.

All I managed to catch a glimpse of in the second that I was pushed back was Jacob’s furious face, his entire body practically convulsing, his knuckles bloody as he raised his fist again. I saw Edward’s face, his beautiful porcelain skin appearing cracked and his golden eyes dark with anger somehow even more intense than Jacob’s.

Edward’s arm raised to knock Jacob backwards, everything happening so quickly all I saw was the glimpse of russet brown fur and the shine of diamond skin disappearing out of the clearing and into the depths of the forest, as I was left by both Paris and Romeo, hyperventilating in my meadow with my hands shaking and twisted in my hair.

[as a birthday tribute to jacob black, here’s a snippet of him punching edward told through bella’s point of view. didn’t feel like writing a whole story so you get whatever this is.]

[askthenewritoelder]

Thanks. I’ve been practicing here and there when I’m not motivated to work. Hopefully I can improve moving forward.

[evignonita]

Guys loook guys look look she is so pretty and she is married with a pretty butch and they are happy and they are raising an alien baby together and and

She is the reason why lesbians exist

🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌🙌

[solargeist]

i always lose a few followers when i talk abt the kid xelqua au and i jus hope its not bc of misunderstandings or people thinking its creepy or anything like that

[bunnieswithknives]

Entomology fans feast!!!

[blindmagdalena]

Homelander & Yulia "Empress" Bellam. art for my planned homelander x oc fic, The Hand You Wanna Hold is a Weapon. 🖤 ( art by Toyryla )