yes, yes i know edgeworth’s big wet eyes and loser boy personality have captivated us all, but listen. listen.
phoenix wright
phoenix “genuinely unable to reconcile the girl on the stand with the girl he dated for eight months, a cognitive dissonance so profound it’s ultimately explained by them being literally two different people, but which he first sits with for five years and does not talk about at any point to anyone” wright
phoenix “don’t mention that name to me. i don’t want to talk about it. i don’t want to think about it. i am just going to keep myself in this state of perpetual crisis mode focus on other people’s problems until eventually i die and get to hang out with mia on the astral plane and never have to deal with any of these emotions ever again” wright
phoenix “overnight loses his career and reputation and sense of identity while gaining an adopted, probably pretty traumatized eight-year-old daughter, and rather than leaning on his friends for help, or getting therapy, or taking any time to process any of this, he *checks notes* spends seven years dedicating all his free time and energy to investigating the weird fucking circumstances around it and maintains a friendship with the guy he suspects was behind it all” wright
phoenix "runs across a burning bridge and falls through it, half a day after the game establishes that he is terrified of heights, because his friend is on the other side of that bridge" wright
phoenix “i sure felt surprised. maybe i had my poker face on” wright
phoenix “looking back on it that was actually a pretty dark period in my life” wright
phoenix “don’t ask me how i got started. i don’t remember” wright
phoenix “only you stood still, your eyes calmly watching” wright
phoenix “sometimes, life just sucks” wright
just
phoenix wright
crunchiest man in the world
and all i wanna do is chew and chew and chew on him
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this disability pride month, stop making jokes about people in wheelchairs standing up or walking.
can I stand and walk? sure, for a short while and with pain. the consequences for trying to be out all day without a wheelchair are that I'll be in bed for the rest of the week, too tired and in too much pain to move.
but the government won't give me my own wheelchair because they have the same attitude as these jokes - I can stand up, so I don't need one. exercise is good for you, you should walk!
it keeps me trapped in the house, unable to do anything more than short stints anywhere without borrowing or hiring a wheelchair - one that causes me pain to sit in and relies on someone to push me (usually with difficulty), because they're not going to have a high-end chair for that sort of thing.
it's not a miracle that a wheelchair user can stand or walk. it's something we should aspire to see more often.
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"How come you never talk to me about sports?"
It's late in the afternoon on a lazy Sunday, and they're just curled up on the couch together. Eddie's got a book in one hand, and he's carding the fingers of his other through Steve's hair. Steve's got the sports pages from the morning paper in his lap, and he's looking through it idly.
He stops when he hears Eddie's question, though, cranes his neck back to look at him.
"Huh?"
"How come you never talk about sports? I just realised I don't even know what teams you support." Eddie dog-ears his book and sets his book aside as he asks.
Steve frowns. "But… you don't care about sports. Like, at all. Why would I bore you by talking about it?"
"Are you bored when I talk about D&D?” Eddie asks, hand stilling in Steve’s hair. Steve shakes his head. “I tell you about my sessions all the time. I tell you about the books I'm reading and music shit, and you always listen to me. You don't really care about any of that stuff, either."
Steve shakes his head. "Yeah, but that’s different,” he tries to argue.
“How so?”
Steve wracks his brain for the words to describe it. “I like listening to you talk about D&D because you get so excited. I like hearing you talk about something you care about."
Eddie smiles and kisses Steve’s forehead. He looks almost smug, like he’s won a debate Steve hadn’t even realised he was part of.
"So let me ask again. Why don't you talk about sports more?"
Steve is quiet, staring at nothing in the distance as he puts the pieces together.
"I never... Nobody ever.... I mean, except Lucas, but Robin and Dustin always rolled their eyes when I made references to it, so..."
Eddie cups Steve’s face and looks him in the eye. "Tell me something."
"What?"
"I don't know. What's the drama right now? How's your team doing in the league or the championship or whatever it's called? Tell me about the last game you saw on TV! I wanna hear you talk about your interests, too."
Steve feels warmth burst in his chest as he sets the newspaper aside.
Eddie leans back against the couch, watching fondly as he listens. Steve is hesitant at first, stumbling over his words. A little voice in the back of his head keeps tripping him up, telling him Eddie doesn't care about any of this and you're boring him, wrap it up.
Every time he lets the voice win, though, every time he stops talking, trails off, or tries to change the topic to something Eddie might enjoy more, Eddie asks him a question.
"What does that rule mean?"
"How does team selection even work?"
"What would your dream line-up look like right now?"
And Steve answers. And Eddie listens.
When Eddie finally runs out of questions, Steve's surprised by how happy he is.
"You're really cute when you talk about sports, you know that right? Your face lights up with it."
Steve leans in and kisses Eddie. "I love you."
"Love you too, babe. I really do."
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