#yeah I cried a little writing this

[puppyeared]

i think the reason why im so drawn to spirit tracks and pkmn scarvi is that having the legendary/princess as a companion rather than a goal that marks the games completion makes me feel satisfied the way i would after helping a friend

my brother always teases me about how I still havent finished botw after almost 7 years bc "id rather be out picking flowers" which i wont say is untrue. and yes i know Zeldas been holding off ganon for 100 years, yes i can get some sort of idea what her relationship with link was like by recalling memories and going through her diary. ive always loved botw for its unique storytelling and setting which makes it stand out, because it lets you get to know who you're saving.

but because theyre memories, it only works if theres something for the player to investigate that already happened. its retroactive (but effective nonetheless)

on the other hand, spirit tracks does something similar but instead of having the player try to piece together memories and interpret them as a spectator, you actually have an opportunity to get to know zelda yourself by talking to her and working together. besides making it a gameplay mechanic, giving the player control over how they interact with zelda makes it so much more personable.

and I find that making the goal feel personal instead of an obligation gives me more of a reason to work towards it. I know what kind of person botw zelda was but as the player, shes still very much a stranger to me. but spirit tracks zelda? thats my friend!!!! she invited me to go to the beach after we get her body back!!! i dont want to whip her to make her move faster thats mean :(

you know how hostage negotiators are trained to introduce themselves and get to know the person theyre negotiating with because its harder to hurt someone when you know what their favorite food is? its kinda like that, because it feels like im helping a friend than being told or led to do smth

and although i havent played scarvi myself, i feel an attachment to koraidon and miraidon even just watching playthrough clips because its like!! thats my weird scaly dog!! it loves sandwiches and we're friends!!! you know!!!!!!

[parkercore-69]

thank you J.R.R. Tolkien for writing the most devastating romantic subplot in your lotr books without even realising it

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

I'm very excited for more content of your lights out au, I'm so eager to see just how good you can get at writing/creating angst!

oh babey. thats where i Shine.

[sunsage]

He's in the kitchen, as he often is, making lunch for himself when the eclipse starts. It's hardly an unusual occurrence in this city (he's used to them too, despite sleeping through most). There shouldn't be a feeling of dread settling over him as the sky darkens or the oh so familiar pang of loss when it clears.

There shouldn't be. And yet.

He finishes lunch first. Eats, despite how heavily food settles at the bottom of his stomach. Then stares at the locked screen of his phone, finger hovering over it for a while. (His lockscreen is still a group photo from the New Years, with all of them waving awkwardy into the camera. It's kind of bad, objectively, but he likes it).

There's no point in dragging this out. And yet.

His list of favourite contacts is two names short. The chats he had both with Macaque and with Gabriel are gone as well. It feels almost cruel, that the Stars would take both of them at once, but he doubts it was personal. It's just bad luck. His luck. Just like that, grief settles over him in a heavy, suffocating blanket; though he is familiar with its weight by now. He knew it was coming, that it was only a matter of time before one of them (both of them) was sent back. They even talked about it, briefly, in hushed voices as if talking too loud might jinx them. And yet, Wukong still hoped it wouldn't be today. Hoped that somehow, this possibility will always stay somewhere in the far away tomorrow. Stupid of him.

(At least Macaque would still be waiting for him at home, but would he remember being here with him? Would he remember their late night texts, or how he held Wukong in his arms as he was slowly dying?

Would it be better if he didn't?)

Sun is still high in the sky when he pushes away from the table and heads out. There are things he left in both of their apartments that he'd rather check for before new residents show up.

(He knows what it sounds like, but he's not trying too check if they are still there. He knows better. He should know better.)

Fibonacci residential district is about as lively as it usually is, which is to say not at all. Wukong pulls the hoodie tighter over his head - doesn't want to be recognised or talked to right now - and heads to what used to be Macaque's house. Nezha's not home, which is probably for the best. The room, as expected, is empty. None of the clothes that Macaque "borrowed" from him are there either.

(Later he will find them in the back of his own closet, still smelling like Macaque, and find no relief in it.)

There is a dusty paper monkey in a corner of one shelf, the only off thing in an otherwise spotless room. Reluctantly, Wukong picks it up and puts it in his pocket.

Moving on.

Gabriel's house is farther out than most. Wukong is pretty sure the ones that are past it are currently vacant, and Gabriel himself didn't have any roommates, other than-

-He hears her before he sees her, the desperate meows as she claws at the front door. There is a box of all her things and a pet carrier with an open door sitting on the porch next to her but Curry ignores them, trying instead to get inside a house that used to be hers. Wukong swears and hops the fence, startling her into a hiss and an arched back.

"It's okay, Curry, it's just me." Her fur settles (she still doesn't like him much but she knows, at least, that he's not a threat) and she turns back to the door, looking between it and him again expectantly. Wukong inhales, ignores the ache in his chest. "He's not here. Come on, you can stay at my place until we find you a good home."

He crouches, opening his arms for her. The cat stares at him for a moment and turns away, pawing at the door and meowing insistently. He tries again. "You can't stay here, he's- he's gone."

His voice breaks at the last word. Wukong takes a deep breath- tries to, though it stutters on the way in. Not now. Not here. He just... he needs to take her with him and go.

Curry wails, high-pitched and desperate, and presses her face against the door as if that might make it open.

He gets it, really. She's young, unused to loss, and she lived here for the most of her life. She doesn't understand yet that her home was the person that lived here, not the house.

She doesn't understand yet that sometimes people just leave, and don't come back.

"Alright, if I open the door for you and you make sure there's nobody in there, will you go with me?" She looks at him and meows again. Fair enough. That's probably the only response he's going to get.

Wukong doesn't have the key but that hardly matters. With one strong push and quick pull, the lock breaks and the door opens. Curry runs in immediately, bounding up the stairs to what used to be her room.

(It's not, anymore. And it never will be again).

Wukong lingers on the first floor for a moment. The place is spotless. And empty, in a way that houses that have people living in them aren't. The little tells that someone uses the space (dishes sitting in the drying rack days after being used, a single winter coat hanging near the entrance, little paper figurines he left around the house) are all gone.

Wukong swallows past the lump in his throat and follows the cat.

The room is clean as well, almost sterile. Gabriel was never one for making messes or having too many personal items, but compared to how it looked before it feels almost barren now. Curry stands in the middle of the room and sniffs the air, looking lost. (It doesn't smell like him either). She turns back to Wukong and meows a question that he has no answer to.

"I'm sorry." He says, and adds, "It's not your fault. He didn't want to leave you."

She looks around the room and cries again, nothing like her loud meows before, just quiet and sorrowful in a way that almost breaks Wukong's heart (if he could, he'd cry out too). She doesn't resist when he picks her up now, tucking her face into the bend of his arm. He wonders if she can smell Gabriel on him.

"I'm sorry." He's not sure what else to say. How do you comfort someone who just lost the most important person in their life? (He wouldn't know.) "I should have some of his stuff back at my house. You can have it while you're there."

He can't keep her: doesn't know how to take care of her, doesn't think she'd like his house. But he won't leave her here alone either. Finding her a better home is the least he can do.

It's the only thing he can do.

He shuts the door behind him for the last time, hand lingering on the doorknob for a moment too long. He will never come back here again. There is nothing here to come back to.

He hopes, despite how little he knows about Gabriel's world, despite all the things he does know being so profoundly sad, that his the angel is happy where he is now.

He hopes, though he will never know.

He doesn't turn around for a last look as he shrinks all of Curry's things and tucks them safely into his pocket. It's just an empty house, after all. Still, he lingers, unsure if he should say something.

(He doesn't want to. He wants to go home and sleep for a very long time.)

Words stick to his throat, unwilling to be said when there is noone here to hear them other than a cat that doesn't understand. Wukong turns his head, looks up at the sky. The day is sunny and way too warm.

Sun Wukong holds the cat with no owner a little tighter to his chest, and flies back home.

[echo-goes-mmm]

Ambrose and Elliot #14

Masterpost

Previous

Next

Warnings: brief murder, offscreen sex

Once upon a time, a hundred years ago or more, there was a temple boy. The title was a bit of a misnomer, really. Ambrose was a grown man at 21. But he was no priest, and if you lived at the temple and weren’t a priest, you were a temple boy. Or girl, or assistant. 

Ambrose’s job was to keep things clean and tidy. To sweep the polished floors, launder the tapestries, water the plants, and secretly open the windows when the priests used too much incense in his opinion. That last part wasn’t in the job description.

It was monotonous, but it was a job. It allowed him some anonymity anyway, his parents wouldn’t think to look for Ambrose here. No one paid attention to the temple cleaners when there was a chance to run into a god. 

Ambrose wasn’t a worshiper but he knew better than the fanatics. He’d peeked and seen the serpent god a few times, and he was certainly divine, but also he was kinda just… a man? A very handsome man with pretty brown-and-gold slitted eyes and lovely black hair and a sharp smile that made his stomach do some interesting maneuvers and-

Still. Not exactly the mind-meltingly powerful image some followers claimed to see. Their offerings usually went unnoticed, and Ambrose bet they hadn’t actually met him.

He was wandering the upper floor of the temple, looking for the rumored records room, when the tell-tale flash of golden light appeared behind him. He whirled around. And yup, the serpent god was right behind him. Shit.

“You’re getting closer,” said the god, in a sing-song voice. Fuck, his teeth were sharp.

“Hm?”

“The records room,” he said, stepping forward, and holy shit he was tall, “you’re getting close to it.”

“Oh, uh, you know about that?” 

“Of course. It’s my temple after all, and secrets are in my domain,” said the god. Right. How could he have forgotten?

“So you know what’s in it?”

“I’ll do you one better,” the god moved to face the wall, pressing on a stone, and a part of the wall creaked open.

Unfortunately, the records were just a log of offerings over the centuries. Incredibly uninteresting, and the serpent god laughed at the face he made.

___________________

Apparently he was the god of a lot of things. Sure, most people knew the “secrets” aspect, but there was much more to the serpent god than most were aware. Self-confidence, Generosity, Indulgence. The list went on.

"How are you the god of all these things?" Ambrose asked. "They're all so contradictory."

“We can stretch our natures. Some of my kin pick up and put down titles like toys. As long as we can connect them. A friend of mine branched from logic to knowledge to science because it interested him,” he explained.

“So how do you connect yours?”

The god smiled at him. “You’re a clever man. I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

Ambrose learned he was also the god of Revenge when he came to the temple with blood up to elbows, cheerfully informing Ambrose that his abusive parents were now dead. Or was it Justice? It certainly felt like the latter when Ambrose was planning the funeral.

___________________

They were on the grassy hill outside the city. They’d had some pastries, and split a pot of chamomile tea between them. Ambrose wasn’t a tea person, but it was growing on him. Now, though, they were just watching the clouds go by.

“Why do you visit me?” asked Ambrose, after picking out a bird-shaped cloud. “Surely I'm not that interesting.”

“Hm? I don’t know what you mean.” Jay fidgeted with a flower stem. For a god of self confidence and secrets, he was a terrible liar.

Ambrose rolled over, propping himself up on his elbow. “You know exactly what I mean. You could see anyone in the world, do anything you want, but you come see me. Why?”

Jay turned towards him. “Maybe you’re just pretty.”

Terrible liar.

___________________

“I have a gift for you, darling.” Ambrose examined the golden jewelry that Janus presented to him. It was gorgeous. A golden arm cuff in Janus’s signature animal, complete with emerald eyes.

“It’s beautiful, honey, thank you,” said Ambrose, pulling it on. It fit perfectly. He kissed Janus’s cheek, and the smile he got in return was as radiant as the sun.

___________________

Ambrose had never been so happy. The past few years had been sheer bliss.

They were in Janus’s bedroom, in the divine realm. The smell of sex still lingered in the air. Janus was exactly a head taller than him and Ambrose (who had always been taller than his previous partners) laid on his chest with his head tucked under Janus’s chin.

Janus had one arm around his waist, and the other was stroking his back. He hummed, nearly purring as they cuddled. 

“I love you," he murmured. He kissed his forehead. Ambrose's stomach dropped.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted. Janus tensed underneath him. Ambrose rolled off, sitting at the edge of the frankly massive bed.

“Wha- Rosey, why would you say that?” Ambrose could hear the hurt in Janus’s voice. He couldn’t stand to look back at him.

“I... I just,” Ambrose sniffed. “I’m going to die someday. And I love you too, and I’m sorry.”

The bed dipped behind him, and Janus’s warm arms wrapped around his waist. He brushed a kiss to Ambrose’s cheek. 

“It’s okay.”

“It really isn’t,” sobbed Ambrose. “I don’t want to do that to you. I don’t want to die, and I don’t want to leave you! I’m so sorry, Jay, you should go, it’s not fair to you-”

“I’m not going anywhere. It’s alright. We can fix it.” Janus tucked a piece of Ambrose’s hair behind his ear.

“We- we can?”

“Of course, darling,” Janus gave him another kiss, this time to his temple.

“You could live forever, if that’s what you want.”

taglist: @cupcakes-and-pain @secretwhumplair@paintedpigeon1 @whump-blog @whump-em @thingsthatgo-whump-inthenight @starfields08000 @littlespacecastle @mylovelyme

[dailyeca]

INLAND EMPIRE [Legendary: Success] — A rosebud, more stem than petal. A teacup, with a steeping sachet of lavender. It will take time. But they will wait for each other.

portrait on its lonesome (disco elysium style is so. difficult hkjh i blend colors too much and am too cautious about palettes to be able to pull it off, does not help im a warm colored art kinda guy)

Dialogue: AUTHORITY — Don't let this perp get the last word! Who does he think he is, talking to you like that? RHETORIC [Medium: Failure] — Who *do* you think he is? PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Trivial: Success] — Someone with a permanent frown. LOGIC [Easy: Success] — Someone who's a criminal. CONCEPTUALIZATION [Formidable: Success] — Someone who's an artist. HALF-LIGHT [Medium: Success] — Someone with two brass knuckles and the know-how to use them. ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Hard: Failure] — Someone who doesn't seem a lotta fun to be around! VOLITION [Heroic: Success] — …Someone who fell through the cracks. SHIVERS [Godly: Success] — Some 20-odd years ago, a kindergarten runaway is herded into the metal belly of packed public transport and emerges reborn in a new city, baptized and spitting up the holy water in the wake of an identity you could barely say was remade as much as it was, simply, made. SHIVERS — He drowns again at age 7, at age 14, and every year thereafter, water filthier and colder every time, treading without a shore in sight. Even as his limbs grow leaden, come hell or high water, he maintains that stepping foot on land after so long will doom him. INLAND EMPIRE [Legendary: Success] — He doesn't even know who he is anymore; he just feigns indifference. He is a ladybeetle inversed - in the same way there are dots of yin and yang. Stiff belief that there will always be bad in the good. Living proof that there is good in the bad. He will never shed the former, nor acknowledge the latter. EMPATHY [Heroic: Success] — Not now, at least. Not with you, and not without time.

[sukugo]

So as a fellow sukugo shrine sweeper, I feel like I have to share this with you first:

That's it. It was over. They all watched as Gojo fell to the rubble beneath his feet. Shallow, raspy breaths and the gurgling of blood would only be poetic in a moment such as this.

"You fought well, my sorcerer." Sukuna's words weren't a verbal sneer. He stated it as fact, therefore it was so. He walked to the highest pile of former buildings and sat down. "I will give you a choice, Satoru Gojo. You die here and now, or you can crawl to me. After all, it would be a shame to lose you. You've taught me something that no one else could."

Everything was shaking. It was too much but nothing at all. Gojo could only cling to the voice in front of him, to the eyes of the god before him. Crawl, Sukuna had said. What did he have to lose? The world was fucked either way, and he had caused so much destruction.

The refuge in his audacity had run out.

The refuge ahead was still here. Just a few steps away.

Stumbling was something he didn't think was possible when crawling. He never had to worry about it before.

A clawed hand raked through his blood crusted hair. If he wasn't using the king of curses as a bedrock for his sanity, he might have been startled.

"There we are, Satoru. I'm glad you made the right decision. Come here, and I will tell you what you taught me." He pulled Gojo between his legs and the sorcerer laid his head on the other's leg. He felt Sukuna healing his wounds right under his fingertips, and gasped as it overflowed into his bones.

Not quite healing, but more a brand. A mark of victory, pouring into his cracked cup of a body. He felt Sukuna filling every empty space, not just his mind, but his physical form as well.

He didn't know when his eyes had closed, but Malevolent Shrine was kinda hard to miss.

"Why so quiet all of a sudden?"

"It's not empty anymore. It's quiet." Was it always this dark?

"Your six eyes caused that void. I removed the problem. Made you whole. You were born rare, but also broken. Empty. I suspected that was what was wrong with you, but... you don't have to worry about that now."

"Explains why everything is so fucking dark."

A barking laugh came from above him.

"A small price for me filling your void."

"Careful now, I'm already on my knees." Gojo wise cracked. "But what did I teach you?"

"Love." That's... not what he was expecting. " You and I are very similar. That is the reason why our fight was as fulfilling as it was destructive. We fill and heal the void that makes us restless... but only you can give that to me. Just as I will be the only one for you."

The curse lifted him up onto his lap, and Gojo gently examined his remains of his eyes. Gone.

"When they regenerate, they will be no different than normal eyes, little sorcerer."

"When??"

"I would prefer if my love could see me." Gojo parted his lips to speak, but an insistent press of lips took the words from him.

When they parted, Gojo could only formulate one solid question:

"What would I see, Sukuna?"

The god holding him, his grin unseen, leaned back into his throne.

"That I alone...

...am the exalted one."

Sorry if this is really long or seem ooc, I was vibing to Neoni and things happened. I hope you enjoy though!!

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHFHJASHDKJASHJDSHGKLFHGLKSDHFKLDHGLKHGSDKLHFASKLJFKLHSKDFJAKLJASKLDJGLSHDLFJAJFASKFA

sorry i just. i need a fucking moment. IAUGHKDGAJFHKJLJASDLAJFKADKASÑ IM SCREAMING

THANK U SO SOSOSOOSOS MUCH FOR SHARING THIS IT'S SO GOOD AND IM NOT OKAY FUCK

[ehszter]

just what i needed thank you

[l0rd-0f-c0ws]

I frequently feel completely isolated no matter how much I talk to people. So that's fun

[youssefguedira]

happy still saturday everyone. had more feelings (companion to this)

Rating: General

Summary:

Nicolò is born when Lucia is thirteen years old.

-

Or, Nicolò di Genova, through his older sister's eyes.

[wowowwild]

@izabella95 humored me and now I’ve made this. It’s another forbidden hospital scene but plot twist! It was me who wrote it this time.

RIIING... RIIING...

Who could that be at this time of night...? He picked up his phone, squinting, but unable to read the screen.

“Yes? Edgeworth speaking…” Ugh, his voice sounded awful. Where’d he put his water glass? “Edgey! Get up! It's an emergency!” “...Huh? Larry...? Do you know what time it is?” What time was it, actually? Too early, anyway. “It's not "Larry"! It's "Laurice"! Laurice Deauxnim!” “... This is nothing more than a terrible nightmare…” he began grumbling to himself out of habit, “I'll just roll over and…” “W-Wait! Don't hang up! ...It's an emergency! It's Nick! H-He... He took a really nasty spill!” “Well, it wouldn't be the first time, so…” He was such a klutz, honestly. “I'm not joking! His life is in danger!” “Wh-What...!?” His life?! Edgeworth sat up with a start, now fully awake. “What happened!? Tell me!” “Talk about a guy with bad luck! He may already be dead! Anyway, you've got to come back! You're the only one that can help! My Iris... My beautiful Iris! She needs help...!” Well if Larry was worried about a girl, it couldn’t be that bad… still, he’d better check it out. “Alright. I don't know what's going on, but... I'll be there as soon as I can.” “I-I'm at the detention center! Please! Hurryyyyyy!”

He hung up the phone and drew himself out of bed. It had been a year since he’d left, but he still wasn’t ready… He thought he’d have more time. And it didn’t sound like it would be a pretty reunion, but could it ever have been? Enough of that, he’d need a plane, a private jet, ASAP.

The only available jet wouldn’t be leaving for another hour, and that was after he dropped his name and money and anything else he could think of. He was able to pack (if you could call shoving three outfits in a carry-on packing) while he argued with the worker, he did feel a bit bad about it, but the longer he was in Europe, the more anxiety gnawed at him. Larry had said it was a nasty spill. He said that Wright’s life was in danger. That he could already be dead. That had to be an exaggeration, right? Larry wouldn’t leave Wright alone and dying for a girl, right? Right? He needed answers.

After calling a cab, he made another call. He’d been prepared to make several, but he lucked out on the first.

“Hello, I’m calling about a possible patient. His name is Phoenix Wright, he’s about 5’10”, spiky black hair, and a propensity for bad luck.” “And who is this calling?” “Miles Edgeworth.” “Yes, we do have a Phoenix Wright here and you are listed on his patient profile.” “I am?” That was news to him, and rather impractical, too, considering the continental distance. “Oh, um, yes, well, I heard he ‘took a nasty spill’?” “That’s one way to look at it. Are you familiar with Dusky Bridge on Eagle Mountain?” That name… “Dusky… Bridge… ! He fell off of that bridge?!” “More accurately the boards beneath him broke due to the fire.” “Fire?!” Larry, you couldn’t have mentioned that?! “The bridge was on fire when he attempted to cross.” “Why would he do that?!” What was that man thinking?! “I’m afraid don’t have the answer to that.” “Is he going to be alright?” “We are still unclear as to the extent of his injuries and the freezing temperatures of the water were quite the shock to his system, but being found alive after a fall like that can certainly give us hope.” “Thank you, I will be there as soon as possible.” “We will be expecting you.”

He hung up. He hadn’t even thought about the water. Wright didn’t do well with cold in the first place… What was he doing anywhere near that bridge? A fall from Dusky Bridge… It wasn’t impossible to survive, but it was highly unlikely. Was he burned from the fire? Did he have scrapes and bruises from the rocks? Would the hypothermia get him? What if Wright died before he got there? That couldn’t… He couldn’t…

This line of thought would not be helpful to anyone. Better to focus on things that could be done than things you can’t control. Ok. Deep breath in. Out. He’d be there in 12 hours. A lot could happen during that time, but falling off a bridge wouldn’t kill someone as stubborn as that man.

Maybe he should take the time to come up with an explanation for himself. Would Wright even want to see him? He had just barely forgiven him for his first disappearance before he’d had to tell him he was leaving again, that he wasn’t really back in the first place. He’d have to do that again, once he determined that Wright was ok.

Why did the thought pain him so? It was inevitable. He had work to do in Europe. In fact he’d be perfectly content to live his life there and never return to the states… except that wasn’t true, was it. If he was content not to return, then why was he doing so, now? It’s not like he could do anything stateside that he couldn’t from Europe. He wasn’t a doctor. He was barely a friend… no, that wasn’t true either. After all those years spent apart… And after what had happened then… It was clear that they had a bond.

Normally he hated being on a plane with many passengers, they were noisy or nosy or both… but the isolating quietness of the private jet… He’d do anything to have to listen to a crying baby or a neighbor chewing too loudly. Being alone with his thoughts was never his favorite pastime, but now if it wasn’t anxiety, it was the gnawing disquieting uncertainty paired with a feeling of not truly knowing himself.

He couldn’t articulate why, but this felt right. It felt right to run back to that man. Being near him brought questions he didn’t have answers to, but it felt natural. Like he was supposed to be there and no matter how far he went or for how long he would always come back. So he had been right, really. He might have been content never to return to LA, but only if that man was by his side wherever he did end up. Still, he wasn’t done with his work yet, they’d have to part again, all too soon. But this realization meant he’d truly have something he wanted to come back to.

He nodded off for the majority of the rest of the trip, waking only an hour before they landed. It was disorienting, sleeping his way through most of the time change. He readjusted himself in time to navigate the airport and call another cab. It was far warmer there than it had been in Germany, but still chilly. Wright must have been freezing on that mountain.

He was being impatient and he knew it, but it still took every ounce of self control he had not to burst through the double doors at the front of the hospital and run to the reception. He settled for a brisk pace and glare neutral expression.

This was it. The moment of truth. The next few moments would mean everything to him, and he knew it.

“Miles Edgeworth to see Phoenix Wright.” “Ah, Kelly left a note here. I’ll show you to his room.” “Has he said anything about what happened?” “He hasn't said much besides a few things in his sleep. He’s still pretty out of it. He has a high fever that we’re trying to manage and a few bumps, but is otherwise ok. A couple days of rest and he should be as good as new.” “Th-thank you.” Why was he stuttering? Oh. Those might be tears. He took a second to school his face and manage his emotions. She was saying something else, but he couldn’t hear it. “Here we are. If you need anything, feel free to come ask one of us at the desk.” “Right.” He nodded, bracing himself.

Edgeworth pushed the door open gently. There he was, drooling in his sleep, a cool cloth on his forehead. He looked so young and peaceful. His cheeks were flushed, likely from the fever, and he had some bandages in various places, but Wright was alive and would be ok.

Maybe he should leave before Wright woke up. It could be like he was never there at all. But that hurt to think about. He didn’t want to do that. He found himself walking towards the cot and sitting in the chair. Should he wake the man? He noticed one of Wright’s hands was bandaged. He put his hand over it. It was so cold. What if he hadn’t made it? What if Miles Edgeworth was forced to live in a world without Phoenix Wright? That didn’t seem right at all. The world needs that man. And what if Larry hadn’t called him? Would he have ever known? He couldn’t…

It was his own fault. He should have been better at communicating. Even if he sent an email once a week. He’d start doing that. Even if it said nothing of importance. Even if he never got a response back. He needed that channel to be open. An unspoken acknowledgement that Wright could contact him anytime for even trivial matters.

He was soon shaken out of his guilt addled stupor by something… shifting. A sound.

“-les? Miles is that you?” “Wright.” “It is. I must be dreaming again.” “No! No, I’m here. I’m really here.” He placed his second hand under Wright’s, sandwiching it. “But you’re in Europe.” “I was. But now I’m here. At least until you get better.” “... And then you’ll leave again.” “I will.” “Then I’ll just stay here and then you’ll have to stay here, too.” “Wright, you can’t possibly be suggesting that you spend more time being sick and injured just to keep me in LA.” “Well why not? You said you’d stay until I got better.” “Wright… I have work to do in Europe. But it’s going to be different this time. I’ll keep in contact.” “You said that last time.” “I know. But I’m really going to do it this time. I know I don’t deserve it, but could you put your trust in me, one more time, when I promise you this?” “I always trust you.”

The unwavering sincerity created a pang in his heart. What was that emotion? He couldn’t put his finger on it.

“... And I will always trust you.” From the moment that man saved him, his fate was sealed.

Miles took a moment to examine Phoenix’s waking face. He looked tired and sweaty. Without thinking, he pulled his hand from atop the stack and brushed aside a piece of hair that was sticking to Phoenix’s forehead. The other man leaned into the touch. Miles could feel his face heating up and his eyes widening. He hadn’t meant to do that.

“Uh oh. Did I get you sick?” Phoenix used his unbandaged hand to feel Miles’ forehead. “Ah, no. It’s just a little warm in here.” “Hmm… !!!!! Maya! Where is she?!” “I don’t know where Ms. Fey is.” “She was in the inner temple! I have to get to Maya!” “She was on Eagle Mountain with you, correct?” “The killer! Maya could be trapped with the killer! I have to go!” “Wright, don’t be ridiculous, you need to rest. You’re not going anywhere.” “Please! I have to get to Maya, you don’t understand! I have to get to her! She’s my responsibility!” “Wright, calm down. There was a murder, correct? That means there will be officers all over the place. What Maya needs is for you to rest and get better.” “... You promise?” “I-” Its’ not really something he could promise, but Phoenix looked so hopeless… that wasn’t right. “I promise. Is there anything you can tell me about the situation? Larry wasn’t very helpful when he called me.” “There was… There was a murder… Dollie- no Iris. Iris! You have to help her! She didn’t do it, I know she didn’t do it. My Dollie could never do something like that. Why would she do it? She didn’t do it.” “Wright, you’re not making much sense. Do you need more medication-” “No! I’m telling you she didn’t do it! She couldn’t have been there! Why was she there?!” he wailed. “Wright, I need you to calm down. I can’t understand what you’re saying to me. Take a deep breath. I’ll do it with you. In-”

Phoenix mimicked him, but it brought on a bout of coughing. Miles patted and rubbed his back.

“Do you need some water?”

Phoenix nodded in between coughs. Miles picked up the glass that was on the table next to them.

“Here, let me help you.”

Phoenix was mostly successful at drinking the water, minus a small dribble that Miles wiped away with a paper towel. He looked much more drained than he had moments ago.

“It looks like you’ve tired yourself out.” Phoenix nodded. “Can you find Maya for me?” “I will make sure she comes to see you.” “Ok. Can you help Iris? She didn’t do it.” He always had such unwavering belief in others… That was something Miles… admired about him. “I’ll see what I can do. I believe Larry is with her at the detention center, I’ll be headed there next.” “Good. She shouldn’t be alone.”

Come to think of it… Larry seemed to have his eyes on this girl, but Phoenix had called her ‘his Dollie’ during his outburst… Miles felt a twinge in his heart yet again. Why did that feel so bad?

“We went to the temple. The girls wanted to train. I… Elise couldn’t find Pearls, Iris rang the bell, Bikini was with Maya but then she wasn’t. I heard a scream and stepped on Bikini and there was blood. I had to get to Maya. The killer could have gone over that bridge. Maya…” “I’m going to do what I can to help sort this all out.” “Miles…” “I have to go now. I’ll see you again very soon.” “Before you go, you’re going to need these.”

Phoenix’s words were coming out slower and fainter. He rooted around in his items before holding out a closed fist. Miles put out an open hand into which Phoenix dropped an odd shaped green rock and…

“Your badge?” “Mhm. S’most important thing I have, so don’t lose it.” “It is important, so maybe you should hold onto it-” “Nope. You gotta hold it now. S’important.” Miles figured he could humor the man who was only half conscious and feverish. “And the rock?” “Second most important thing. Magatama. You can see psychelocks when they try to hide from you. They can’t though. You can see into their hearts.” “Wright, that doesn’t make any sense.” He gave as much of a laugh as he could muster. “You’ll see.” “Wright… what exactly do you expect me to do with these?”

Miles didn’t like where this was going, and boy was it going there fast. Phoenix just smiled as he drifted off into sleep. He couldn’t have possibly meant what Miles thought he meant. That would just be ridiculous, and probably not very legal. Then again, that man was indecipherable on the best of days, let alone when his mind was in a fog as it was. It was time to go and get some more answers. At the very least he wanted to meet this Iris person and ensure Maya’s safety. He wasn’t sure if Phoenix had very bad luck for getting into these situations or very good luck for getting out of them mostly unscathed. He spoke to the front desk on his way out.

“Could you please update me on any changes to Phoenix Wright’s condition?” “Of course. Good luck.”

He wasn’t really sure why he was being wished good luck, but he felt he might need it, especially if Phoenix asked any more of him. That man made him irrational and made him feel things he didn’t understand. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing. For all the uncertainty, nothing had ever felt more right. He could just hear the joke that man would make in response. Off to the detention center, then, to fulfill his promises and find the truth.

[caroll-in]

I II III IV V VI VII VIII IX X XI XII

[seventh-district]

takes a 5 minute break in the middle of writing a scene to sob over Swan Upon Leda by Hozier

[wlw-mood]

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[fuwaprince]

...

[catcze]

?? Oh my god thank you for 4k on this !! 💕💕💕

Imagine being Boothill’s sweetheart before everything went up in flames… he didn’t think you survived, but you did somehow, and you managed to get away from the terror and the flames. And he meets you again, in some far corner of the galaxy.

He’s a galaxy ranger now, with a body made of metal and a core where his heart should be. But he still feels something click when he looks at you, even from the corner of his eye. He doesn't believe what he's seeing at first— he thinks that it must be some bug in his system. Some trick of the light. But despite his doubts he feels his feet move from under him, walking first, then running, until he's pushing other people out of the way and damn near sprinting to get to you before you disappear.

And oh, when he manages to reach you— manages to stop you with a hand on your shoulder, he almost can't believe his eyes. He takes his hat off and presses it to his chest, the same way he had done when he asked for your hand a lifetime ago.

If he could cry, he thinks, he’d be a blubbering mess. 

Because it is you. Because he'd recognize the curve of your cupid's bow and the shine in your eyes even from across a cosmos. Because you're here, against all odds and despite every nightmare he's had. You're here, and you're just as lovely as the day he lost you.