#please excuse this

[sucker4kidcore]

alt style that i hope can get me to draw a lot more than i usually do🥲🥲 ft. victim!!!!

[ilovenarumitsu]

Dazed

NaruMitsu / WrightWorth — short crackfic

In which Miles Edgeworth does not reply for two days and Phoenix Wright grows incredibly worried.

Phoenix was worried. Miles hasn't answered his texts for... how long? Weeks? Months?

"Two days, daddy." Trucy said, trying to calm him down. "I'm sure he's just busy in the prosecutor's office, him being chief prosecutor and all. No big deal."

"But it is a big deal, Truce." He sighs.

Life in the Wright Anything Agency was tamer, to say the least. Normally, Phoenix wouldn't mind if Miles hadn't replied to his messages, he'd be too busy catching up on his workload and bills to care. But now that he had Apollo and Athena to distribute the burden, Phoenix has some uncomfortable downtime that he's not particularly fond of.

Trucy rolled her eyes. Phoenix always liked having a big workload. Not that it didn't stress him out at times, considering the deadlines and all, it just gave him no time to think about other things like life, or, Edgeworth. But all these days, all Phoenix knew to do was to think about the prosecutor. He couldn't understand why he couldn't just get him out of his head! It's like– like he's in love with him or something! No, no. That's a silly conclusion.

Phoenix put down his hands on the table, firm and unmoving. "You know what? I'm going to go down to the prosecutor's office and show them who's boss."

Trucy looked at him, perplexed. "I'm not sure that's the greatest id–"

"Well I'm doing it anyways!"

"Daddy, are you drunk?"

Disregarding any words and protests from Trucy, Phoenix walked out the door, still in his wrinkled suit that Miles will oh so very much disagree with. Trucy's jaw dropped when she realized that he was actually going to do it.

–

Walking into the prosecutor's office unannounced was something that Phoenix liked doing. It was always a surprise for Miles, but usually he'd entertain the company.

Eyes traveled towards Phoenix with the terrible presentation of his suit and his hair! All messy, disorganized, and unpleasant to look at. But Phoenix had his eye on only one man and one man only. The man that stands different from the crowd. And that man stands in front of him right now.

"Edgeyyy!" He wailed, making sure to extend the y and giving Miles a hug from behind.

Taken aback, Miles froze in place but was ready to fight the threat behind him under any circumstances.

Slowly, he turned, and saw a disheveled Phoenix Wright; half-kneeling on the ground while his arms are around Miles' waist. Miles looks down at the defense attorney, puzzled and concerned.

"Wright. This is highly inappropriate. We are in a workplace, please, behave properly."

"Aw but Edgey," he began tearing up, "I missed youuu!"

Miles stood frozen as everyone in the office looked at the two strangely. A red flush creeped up on his cheeks.

He let out a cough but quickly came back to that voice, stern as ever. "Let's discuss this in my office, Wright."

–

"What is the meaning of this?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Phoenix teased.

"Are you well?" He asked, putting his palm up against Phoenix's forehead. "You're burning up, Phoenix. Do you have a fever?"

Phoenix grinned. "Ha– you called me Phoenix."

Miles snapped. "What does that matter, Wright? You are extremely unwell. How did you even get here? You are not fit to drive."

His answer was a simple word, "walk."

His eyes turned bloodshot. "Walked?! You walked here? You stupid, idiotic, imbecile. I am taking you home and telling Trucy to make sure you get some rest."

"Milesss." Phoenix teased.

Miles' eyes sharply turned to Phoenix as he quickly took his coat.

"I love yo–"

"Daddy wake up, you'll be late." Trucy poked and then crossing her arms.

"Huh? What? Truce?" He asked, completely dazed.

Trucy rolled her eyes. "I knew I shouldn't have let you go drinking with Uncle Larry on a work night. Now quick, Mr. Edgeworth is waiting for you in the living room."

That was... a weird dream. A weird, strange dream.

[lover-of-skellies]

Half asleep and currently imagining Sans Classic doing this lil "mwehehe" laugh, and jsjsnxnzmnsjsjs I can't, he's too cute, what is this-

[i-am-thornqueen]

Hard day today. It feels like half the staff in my hospital are out with covid right now. We're missing a bunch of pharmacy techs and pharmacists due to sickness. It's getting really nerve-wracking going into work to see who's gone next. We're cutting every possible service we can to keep basic pharmacy services running. If we lose anymore, the pharmacy won't be able to function and the hospital will be forced into a stand still. My department is the one that dispenses all those necessary life-saving drugs keeping everyone from falling apart, so without us, nobody is getting their meds and it sucks.

On days like these, I wish I didn't live alone so someone could hug me.

[thehumming6ird]

Tom Hiddleston demonstrating how his Betrayal character, Robert, takes out his anger on a plate of melone and prosciutto during the meal with his best friend during AOL Build Series, 7th November 2019

[nachtkatze]

Just a super quick Choso doodle~

The butterfly was meant to be from manhwa I was reading (can't remember the name rn) , they're poisonous butterflies that feed on poisoned blood to hatch and grow.

Will probably redo / play around with this idea/crossover when I get longer than 5/10 mins to draw 😩

[smallmediumproblems]

The Last Question

Martin wished that he had something clever to say as he and Jon stepped out of the Lonely. His head was filled with a hundred little mundane observations that suddenly seemed to matter so much more than they had a moment ago. If he opened his mouth, they would all come spilling out. Surely there was no need to point out how warm Jon’s hands were, and Jon must already have known how tightly he was holding Martin. Martin settled on one that was, if not very indicative of where his focus was, perhaps the most relevant to their situation.

“You’re still here,” he said to Elias. He made no effort not to sound disappointed.

“And so is my Archivist,” Elias replied.

Martin made a skeptical noise. “I’m pretty sure he’s my Archivist, at this point.”

“Is he?” said Elias.

Jon shuddered against him. Martin pulled back to look him over. His eyes were glassy, and his face was startlingly, deathly slack.

“Hey, stay with me,” Martin prompted him. His voice seemed to bring Jon back to his senses. Jon blinked hard, trying to reclaim his eyes.

“I can’t... “ he muttered, “It won’t stop. I can’t make it stop.”

“Jon, slow down,” said Martin, “You’re going to be alright. I’m here.” Martin said it because he wanted to, not because he thought it was true.

Jon was trying to smile, but his expression kept slipping in and out of focus, like he was struggling to stay awake. “I’m sorry,” he said.

“Don’t,” Martin pleaded, “No, don’t be, you did so well, you- you saved me. I- I can save you, too, just give me some time to figure this out.”

“I love you,” said Jon. It was very nearly enough. Martin hoped impossibly that it would be. Instead, he felt all of the tension slip away from Jon’s body piece by piece. He watched him drift out of focus one last time.

“Jon?” asked Martin, although he knew it was not.

“Oh,” the Archivist sighed, “That’s better.”

It very gently disentangled itself from Martin’s arms and fixed him with a stare that would have been apologetic if Martin thought that it actually cared. “I’m sorry for your loss, Martin Blackwood. I’m afraid I don’t need him.”

“Finally,” said Elias, “After all this time.”

“What did you do?” Martin demanded. Elias smiled nastily.

“Very little,” he said, “In the grand scheme of things. Jon did the vast majority of the work to make this happen, though you can rest assured that this wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

Looking back, Martin assumed that there must have been something in between that exchange and the moment when he had his hands around Elias’ throat, but he didn’t know or care what it could have been. Just as quickly, the Archivist had one hand on his chest and the other on Elias’ shoulder. Both of them knew better than to fight back as it pushed them apart.

“That’s not necessary,” it stated. “I’d like to get this over with. I’ve been waiting for quite some time, as well.”

“For what?” Martin asked desperately.

“My ritual, of course,” said Elias. “The Watcher’s Crown. Decades of preparation, and we are only just ready to begin.” He held out his hand to the Archivist, which studied it with such blank disinterest that Martin almost had to laugh.

It looked up at Martin.

“Do you want to come with me?” it asked.

There was no question as to whether Martin would answer, or how. “I don’t want you to go,” he said.

It nodded. “I wouldn’t either.”

Martin’s mind raced as it turned and headed towards the tunnels with Elias in tow. Towards the outside world. There had to be something left, something he could change. If he really wasn’t meant to fix this situation, it was cosmically unfair that he was left alive to witness it.

"Wait-" Martin called out, "Wait, I have questions."

The Archivist came to a dead halt. When it turned back to him, Martin saw a look of greedy joy on its face - Jon's face - that made his stomach turn.

Elias frowned. "We really don't have time for-"

"There is always time for questions," said the Archivist. "You will know everything, Martin Blackwood. Perhaps when you do, whatever you become will change its mind."

Martin knew that whatever was going to happen next would be very simple no matter what he did. If he found the right question to ask, something that only Jon could answer, he could save both of them. If he didn’t, he would doom the entire world to an apocalypse built on the corpse of the man he loved. Worse than that, he would probably be made to stick around and watch.

So he asked the Archivist if it loved him.

It smiled, and Martin knew that it did. It loved his curiosity, and his secrets. It loved him because he was a creature of delicate lies to be unraveled. He was both a challenge and an immensely beautiful prize. The Archivist's gaze clawed out from behind Martin's eyes, carving a space inside of him that longed to be filled with terrible power. It loved each hidden piece of him, and it would love him until it tore open the very last one and made him a part of itself.

It was not how Jon loved him.

"I can show you that, too," said the Archivist. Its voice was eager, insistent. It knew how close Martin was to breaking. He couldn't afford another question, not one that had an answer like that. "Do you want to know how he loves you?"

Hearing it said out loud like that brought Martin back to some semblance of reality. The Archivist's answer had washed away all sense of where and when and who he was, and it was a struggle to center himself in the basement again. This was something to focus on in the endless noise. He loves you, he thought, He loves you, he could not stop thinking. Not ‘loved.’ ‘Loves.’ Jon was alive, and he needed him. He focused on those words, drawing them away from the Archivist, making them his own. He memorized the lines of Jon's face across from his. He watched Elias grow clearly and substantially worried as he opened his mouth to respond.

"I trust him."

The Archivist looked confused. "But... I can show you, you don't have to-"

"Do you trust me?" Martin interrupted.

The Archivist thought. It really did try to come up with an answer, and it did not seem to like what it found.

"That isn’t something I can do," it started to explain. Its voice was halting, empty of the power that had reverberated around the halls of the panopticon until this moment.

"That's not what I asked," Martin said sharply. It flinched, and it looked so much like Jon that Martin almost wanted to apologize. He tried to make himself angry rather than sad for it.

"Do you," he repeated, "Trust me?"

The Archivist hadn't been lying; it couldn't trust him. And yet, it did. It trusted Martin, and the only thing it had to show him for it was Jon. Martin was drowned again in a flood of answers, a barrage of memories and terrible secrets. For one brief, terrifying moment, he held everything that was Jonathan Sims in his hands. Take it, the Archivist's voice appeared to him, He will be yours, and you will be mine, and we will be forever.

"No," Martin insisted, "I want you to say it."

The Archivist could not. It found something inside itself that could.

"I trust you," said Jon.

[winchester-reload]

Castiel as The Moon and Stars

~ a tribute piece to Alphonse Mucha