#wouldn’t leave me alone

[wazzappp]

Stupid doodles completed I can rest in peace now

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

Behind curtain number one is!

[that-ghosts-art]

I put entirely too much effort into this xD

[maglorthecrab]

🌅 rainbowmiku Follow

Ok so who was going to tell me not ONE but TWO chief prosecutors for my district have been arrested for murder

💿 makosharko Follow

Hey op do you live in fucking night vale

🕰️ athelas Follow

I did the research for y’all in the notes going wild wanting to know where op lives (and also bonuses of being a law student yay) so the only area I can find where a chief prosecutor has been arrested for murder is L.A. then I reckon they said two because the present chief prosecutor for L.A. is Miles Edgeworth, who has been accused of murder twice but cleared of both charges

🔮 ghosthunters Follow

fellow LA denizen here, fun fact! chief prosecutor edgeworth is married to a defence attorney

🌅 rainbowmiku Follow

He’s WHAT

🎈skyrensics Follow

said defence attorney has also been accused of murder before.

🪜ladderhosen Follow

Oh yeah that defence attorney is Phoenix Wright btw- he defended me for a murder charge once

🎈skyrensics Follow

oh nice! he defended my sister once :) she got accused of murdering someone in her offices parking lot lmao

🛒guiltylove Follow

@skyrensics wait is your sister fucking Lana Skye

🫧 pearlescent Follow

The former chief prosecutor’s sister uses tumblr????

🦔 wrongbird Follow

*opens door of reblogs to whisper* the current chief prosecutor also uses tumblr folks

🐚 demaskmasque Follow

WHAT

🍄 magisteel Follow

apparently he likes the samuraiverse! I wouldn’t be surprised if he was lurking in fan circles on here. Evidence btw- he has a steel samurai figure on his windowsill + a signal samurai keychain.

🌅 rainbowmiku Follow

these updates just get wilder and wilder. I’m learning more about my city’s lawyers than I ever thought I would.

🔮 ghosthunters Follow

everyone really skipped over the fact that it seems like half of LA’s legal system is on tumblr. god forbid they find this post

⚖️ calidistrictattorneysoffice Follow

hey

🛒 guiltylove Follow

NO. THEY HAVE AN OFFICIAL TUMBLR???

🌻 wrightandcolaw Follow

Is this a good time to say hello?

🌅 rainbowmiku Follow

never did I think one of my tumblr posts would attract the literal state of California prosecutors office or the wright and co law officef ashnduhjsjkkshg

342,107 notes

[loveinhawkins]

For a few weeks, Claudia thinks that she’s collecting her son from the hospital after he’s visited Max Mayfield.

Then she finds out that’s only partly the truth.

Usually Dustin’s already waiting in the parking lot for her, Steve by his side. They chat, Steve insisting that he could drive Dustin home, it’s no trouble, and Claudia thanks him for the offer, kindly refuses; the poor boy looks run ragged these days.

One day neither of them are there, so she heads inside. There’s still a long line at reception, the aftermath of the earthquake, so she finds a nurse in a corridor, describes Dustin—my boy, about this high, curly hair (smiles like the sun, she wants to add)—and the nurse smiles, says, “Follow me, ma’am.”

She has a passing thought that this isn’t the direction to Max’s room, but reasons that she must’ve been moved. The nurse leaves her at the door before being called away.

Claudia opens the door quietly.

It’s not Max who’s in the bed.

She recognises him from the posters—his eyes first, then his long hair. He’s holding a battered copy of The Hobbit, the spine broken, and he’s reading so softly that she can’t quite make out the words.

And there, lying so peacefully against Eddie Munson’s shoulder, is Dustin. He’s fast asleep.

Eddie’s got an arm around him, and he’s slowly running his fingers through Dustin’s hair the way she used to when he was little, to help him drift off.

He looks up from his book at the sound of her entering the room, and his face goes as white as the bedsheets.

She takes one step forward.

Eddie inhales, breath stuttering, and it’s a fragile, heartbreaking sound.

Dustin stirs. “Hmm? Wha’s wrong?” He lifts his head up from Eddie’s shoulder, and his eyes meet Claudia’s, and he’s suddenly wide awake, scrabbling upright. “Mom.”

Eddie’s mouth keeps moving, like he’s desperately searching for words. “I-I’m not—” His breathing catches again, eyes wide; Claudia realises, with a heavy heart, that he’s deeply afraid of her. “It’s just a stupid board game, I swear.”

“Mom,” Dustin says again. Pleading.

And of course, Claudia never once believed the frenzied cries about Satanic rituals. Still, throughout that awful Spring Break, knowing that her son was lying to her, all she could think was that she was once a teenager, too—remembered how easy it could be to get caught up in something scary, something beyond your control.

She looks into Eddie Munson’s eyes, and knows deep in her bones that she has nothing to fear from him.

She beckons Dustin over, hands him the car keys.

“There’s a pillow on your seat, hon,” she says softly, because there’s a sleepy haze returning to his eyes despite his obvious concern for Eddie.

Dustin blinks, so unsure.

She smiles reassuringly. It’s okay. I promise.

“Okay,” Dustin says slowly, and he looks back at Eddie, raising his eyebrows like he wants to convince him of something. “See you tomorrow, Eddie.”

Eddie nods, but doesn’t speak.

He lifts his hand in a weak wave as Dustin leaves. It’s shaking. Claudia sits down by the bed. Puts her hand in his.

Eddie stares at her.

“I’m so sorry,” she says. “I’m so sorry for what we did to you.”

Eddie shakes his head, like he can’t believe what he’s hearing. “You didn’t—” He clears his throat. “It wasn’t you.”

Claudia shakes her head, too, slowly—prays that he can really hear this. “No, no, please. Listen to me. I’m so sorry.”

It would be an easy thing to say, that the town of Hawkins wronged Eddie Munson. But that would make it sound so impersonal: like it was inevitable, just one of these tragic things that happened, nothing to be done about it. Like earthquakes.

But that wasn’t true. People were behind this, and Claudia knows that they are all the town, every single one of them. And what did it say about them, that the fear and mistrust and cruelty spread like wildfire? That not one adult in the town hall stood up, begged people to stop, to think again?

“Th-thank you,” Eddie says. It sounds so uncertain, almost like a question.

Claudia squeezes his hand. “You were with Dustin, weren’t you?” she asks. “When the earthquake…”

His hand is shaking again.

“Yes,” he whispers. “I-I’m sorry, I—” He swallows. “I didn’t want a-anything to happen to him.”

“Oh, honey.” She reaches out cautiously, and when he doesn’t freeze up, she cups his cheek; her heart breaks at the rough indent of a scar beneath her palm. “You’re not God.”

Eddie reaches up, pressing her hand further against his cheek. He’s crying.

Claudia wipes his tears away as much as she can. She keeps up a steady murmur: “Shh, shh. I know you kept him as safe as you could. I know, I know. Shh.”

When he starts to calm, she thanks him again, but for something lighter.

“Dusty… he was so nervous, starting high school. But his first day, when I picked him up, all he could talk about was getting invited to have lunch with… well, a club.” Claudia smiles. “Oh, he was talking a mile a minute, I could hardly keep up. But I… oh, Eddie, I understand now. That was you.”

Eddie grins back. His cheeks are still wet.

“I didn’t do much,” he says. “You’ve…” For a moment, his eyes fill up again, but they look like happy tears. “You’ve got some kid, Mrs Henderson. He’s—he’s a real gem.”

She laughs. “Oh, I know.”

It’s one of the many things she loves about Dustin: that he’s always been so unashamedly, so joyously himself.

And Eddie had clearly seen that in him, had taken him in and nurtured everything that made him so.

The door abruptly slams open.

Steve’s in the doorway; he must’ve been running, is still gasping for breath as he says, panicked, “Claudia, I can—”

“Steve,” Eddie says softly, and that’s all.

But it’s clearly enough, because Steve’s shoulders drop in relief, and then he’s shutting the door, coming to Eddie’s bedside like he belongs there, and Eddie’s smiling at him, so tenderly…

And oh, she was young, once. She knows what she’s looking at.

Of course, she doesn’t mention it, can still sense some residual anxiety radiating from them.

Instead she looks around the room, spots a pile of laundry in the corner. It’s been stuffed into a bag; she recognises that as belonging to Steve, but there’s some shirts in there that are definitely Eddie’s, entwined with Steve’s things.

She stands, but before she can even pick up the bag, it seems like Steve’s read her mind, because he’s stepping forward, stopping her with a touch to her forearm.

“Oh, you don’t have to—I’m taking care of it, Claudia.”

She pats his cheek, lingers there until he smiles. “I know, sweetheart. But… would you let me? It’s the least I can do.”

Eddie reaches up from the bed, squeezes Steve’s elbow. Steve sighs, briefly leaning into him.

“Okay,” he says. “That’s… thank you.”

“As long as you do one thing for me.”

“Of course,” Steve says immediately. “Anything.”

Claudia brings out a notepad and pen from her bag. “Write me a list? Anything you’d like, I’ll be shopping anyway.” She looks Steve in the eyes, adds firmly but with a smile, “It’s no trouble.”

Steve takes the notepad, twirls the pen hesitantly.

“Anything you’d like,” Claudia repeats. She glances at Eddie, says, “You know, if you want a different shampoo than what they have here, things like that, or—”

“Oh, uh, it’s okay,” Eddie says quickly. “Whatever’s on sale is—”

“I know, honey,” Claudia says patiently, “but what would you actually like?”

The last extended hospital stay she’d had was fifteen years ago; Dustin had been a preemie, and one of the few things that kept her calm was the familiar: scents, food, people…

Steve chuckles. “I’ve got it.” He writes on the notepad, and Eddie must be able to read it, because he suddenly turns a little pink.

“How did you know that?”

Steve shrugs, smiles. “I notice things.” He writes down just a couple more things, then hands the list back. “Thank you so much, Claudia.”

“Any time, sweetie, I mean it.” She hugs Steve goodbye, then reaches one last time for Eddie’s hand on the bedspread. “It was lovely to meet you, Eddie. Hope you can go home soon.”

“Yeah, me—me too. Thank you, Mrs Hend—” Steve squeezes Eddie’s shoulder, and Eddie stops. Smiles. “Thank you, Claudia.”

She looks back once to shut the door behind her. Steve’s pulling up a chair, as close as he can get, and as the door closes, she hears him tut softly, gently swiping at the remaining trail of tears on Eddie’s face: “Hey, what—?”

They look like they belong together. Dustin’s boys.

Dustin’s asleep in the car, pillow pressed against the window. Claudia puts the bag of laundry in the trunk before quietly slipping into her seat.

Dustin wakes anyway as they drive out of the parking lot. “Eddie… okay?”

“He is, honey. Steve’s with him.”

“Mm… good.” There’s a pause, and Claudia thinks he’s fallen asleep again, but then he says, tentative, “Mom?”

“Yes, Dusty?”

“If I tell you something… d’you promise to keep it private?”

“As long as it’s not hurting anyone.”

“It’s not,” Dustin says firmly. “Um. Steve and Eddie, I think… I think they’re…”

Claudia smiles, nods encouragingly. “Oh, that’s lovely.”

Dustin hums in agreement. “They’ve not told me. Did I… do something wrong?”

“No, baby. You just keep doing what you’re doing.” Claudia feels a lump in her throat. “You’re a good friend.”

Dustin makes an uncertain noise.

“You are, baby. They love you very much, you know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Dustin sighs. “I know.” His eyes are closing.

“Sorry, baby, just before you sleep—are there any candies Steve and Eddie like?”

Dustin nods. “Eddie likes anything sweet. An’ Steve…” He yawns. “Anything w’peanut butter.”

“Great. Thank you, honey.”

Dustin’s already asleep.

Claudia knows that even with what she’s learned today, she still only has half a story, if that. That there’s something more to Dustin’s exhaustion, to just how Eddie ended up in a hospital bed.

Today, she’ll do all she can. It’s not a lot, but it’s something. Laundry and shopping, reading the brand of shampoo Steve wrote with a careful eye. She’ll fill her cart up with treats, things that won’t solve anything; they might make staying in that hospital room just a little easier, though. Make it feel a little warmer, a little more like home.

But first, she’ll take her boy home; she’ll park the car as close to the front door as she can get, and when he doesn’t stir, she’ll run a hand through his hair, gently put him to bed.

[eightcure]

Some Danny phantom sketches for the void

[thenotsofantasticlifestory]

He’s angry now

[jellydragons]

been watching a lot of hermitcraft recently and am happy to report that i am hopelessly endeared by these little goobers 💕 they’re like bugs to me

close ups under the cut!

gonna be real this was absolutely just me taking the opportunity to get my grubby lil mitts all up in their character designs lol i heart interpreting mc skins

[improbably-luminescent]

DP x DC prompt idea

Danny’s space powers are coming in. Because those are something he has, apparently.

He just moved to a new city for college. According to Frostbite, setting out from one’s initial haunt/deathplace long-term, to train or learn, is an important developmental stage for ghosts who are strong enough to do so. Which means his core has now developed enough to be clearly identifiable as a space core.

And also to give him new space powers, of course. Can’t forget that.

Thing is, of all the challenges he’s facing trying to make good first impressions at college while going through New Powers Puberty Part 2: Electric Boogaloo, Danny really thought the newfound ability to see whether someone’s been to space would be pretty low on his list of concerns.

Like, how often is that even relevant in everyday life, right? Hopefully he’ll meet astronauts through his Aerospace Engineering program, but it’s not like it should affect his ability to act normal around people day-to-day, right?

So how, exactly, did he manage to pick a regular study spot in a café also frequented by a group of random people who somehow each have more hours in space than literal crew members of the ISS?

And, more urgently, how long can his sleep-deprived brain resist asking them if they have any insights that will help with his homework?

[fistfuloflightning]

Mistakes… were made.

[letternotekisses]

Gabriel Reyes who treasured you so sweetly even during the toughest times of Overwatch. Gabriel Reyes who cooked you hearty homemade meals and twirled you around to music in the kitchen when the sun came down.

Reaper who follows you home in a wisp of smoke at night - making sure you’re home safe but not being able to tear his eyes away from the empty space in the bed beside you. His space.

You must be so cold, without him there. But when he looks down at his freezing, clawed gauntlets - no longer the warm weathered skin they used to be - he surmises that you’d be safest away from the Reaper.

[here-comes-the-moose]

*in the middle of the night*

Crosshair: Echo?

Echo: *jolting awake in a panic* What?

Crosshair: Echo I threw up 🧍‍♂️

[soars22]

Missa knows souls.

He’s a reaper-of course he does. He may not be much of one at the moment, but that’s one thing that has never, can never, leave him.

Missa knows souls, and even though it’s been years since he’s had to use the talent, the knowledge sticks with him. They underestimate him on this island (not a lot, granted, but mortal bodies are hard to control and he’s more than a little out of practice) and he’s known Roier for long enough that whatever has taken root inside of his friend’s body can’t fool him.

When Missa sees him for the first time since the island’s reset, he thinks he’s seeing things at first; the stress of starting over must have gotten to him because he has to be imagining what he’s seeing. It’s only after he’s spent a little time with Roier that he realizes that his first instinct was right: he may be looking at Roier’s body, but he’s no longer speaking with his soul.

He’s careful not to let the knowledge slip out, playing up the jokes and banter with the imposter like he normally would, but inside his mind is reeling. There’s no one he can tell who would believe him, except maybe Phil, but Missa doesn’t want to involve him in this. His partner may be a reaper in his own right, Angel of Death as he is, but he’s got enough on his winged shoulders without Missa’s problems adding to them.

He gets his chance eventually, with a slipped comment to Cellbit. He frames it as just another joke in a bantering argument, but there’s a little too much sincerity in the way he focuses on Cellbit as he speaks that lets the other man realize the truth of his words:

“There’s something wrong with Roier.”

And by the widening of Cellbit’s eyes as he speaks, Missa knows his message has been received. After all, above anything else, Missa knows souls.

[withclawandvine]

today i am thinking about helping hawks with those hard-to-reach pinfeathers 

it’s the ones closest to the base of his wings that get him; that tricky place where flesh meets feather, and his very human rotator cuffs can only twist so far. so despite the itchy discomfort, he can only wait for the protective sheath around the new feathers to chip away on its own, aided by the obscenely high water pressure in his penthouse shower. but that was before you. 

you, leaning against the doorjamb, arms crossed and eyebrows raised as you take in the sight of him —  still dripping from his shower, arm contorted awkwardly behind him, reaching up from beneath his left wing, falling mere centimeters short of the spot that was bothering him. as he turns to look at you, his frustrated grimace shifts into a bashful smile.  

your smile, meanwhile, is imbued with amusement. “need some help?” 

unsurprisingly, you’d never heard the term pinfeather in your life, but listen raptly as he explains that the white needles are new feathers, coated in a shell of keratin until they’re done growing. you catch on quick, gently pinching one between your thumb and forefinger, gasping a little when the sheath turns to dust with the slightest bit of friction and reveals a vibrant crimson feather. 

a task that had seemed so insurmountable to keigo takes you only a few minutes. he rolls his shoulders and ruffles his wings with a sigh of relief before turning around to thank you. that’s when he sees it, that melancholic look in your eye you get when he knows you’re thinking about him — his stolen youth and solitary existence. he also knows that no amount of it’s not that big of a deals or i’m fine now, reallys will ease your mind, so he opts for diversion instead. 

“you know,” he starts in a drawl, “in the wild, preening is a way birds bond with their mates.” 

it kind of works. at the very least, it gets you smiling again, “is that so?” 

“yeah. it’s a…” he trails off, suddenly shy. and he knows he’s trying too hard to sound casual when he continues, “it’s a show of trust.” 

you roll your eyes with affection, taking his aversion to vulnerability in stride and leaning in to kiss him. “i love you too, keigo.”

[themissingmango]

’The hell kinda mission is this?

[thiswaytwoinfinity]

it’s a bad idea, right? — a jake x reader story inspired by sleeping with other people

Jake Seresin doesn’t do commitment. He’s happy to love ‘em and leave ‘em, making it clear from the jump that he only wants something casual. But with his 35th birthday just behind him and a new, permanent assignment keeping him in one place, Jake is starting to chafe against the “playboy” label he used to embrace. So, he makes himself a promise: the next time he dates (or even hooks up with) someone, it’s going to be for keeps.  

Just after making that declaration, though, he runs into you — a former fling who has returned to San Diego after yet another agonizing situationship has left your heart broken and your pride wounded. Apprehensive of the dating scene and suspicious of Jake’s new vow of singledom, you decide to befriend him so you two can help each other on your respective journeys of self-discovery.

And despite your history, you both promise that everything will stay completely and totally platonic. Seriously. You mean it. There will be no funny business of any kind. In fact, you’re barely even attracted to one another …

What could go wrong?

Coming soon