Phoenix Wright Kink Meme [Part Nine]
PHOENIX WRIGHT KINK MEME!
ANONYMOUSLY post a pairing and a kink. This meme is open to ALL pairings and ALL kinks. Yaoi, Yuri and het is welcome here. Fluffy kinks, gory kinks, gross kinks what have you. It's all welcome here. It. Doesn't. Matter. Just post it, Anons!
After that, your request will be filled out by ANONYMOUSIf you make a request, ( Read more... )
ANONYMOUSLY post a pairing and a kink. This meme is open to ALL pairings and ALL kinks. Yaoi, Yuri and het is welcome here. Fluffy kinks, gory kinks, gross kinks what have you. It's all welcome here. It. Doesn't. Matter. Just post it, Anons!
After that, your request will be filled out by ANONYMOUSIf you make a request, ( Read more... )
He sat, dazed, staring out the window. It wasn’t often that they had a sunny day - especially one where the sky was showing.
“Wright.”
Head in hand, he blinked, lazy. There was something about that sky. It made him want to…want to do something. He couldn’t think what, but it was something. Something…good? His mind frowned with thought. Well, plenty of things were good. Neatness was good. Order was good. Father was good. The boy paused, head tilting slightly, at a fault of trying to think of what else could be considered ‘good.’
A hand in front of his face brought him forcefully back to Earth, and the boy stammered, looking flush and clutching the pen in his hand. Vision torn from that glorious shade of-oh, Father, what was that color called again?-he blinked, gaze settling on a woman. He gulped, a shade of pink touching his cheeks as he recoiled away from that stern expression.
“Wright, what were you looking at?” The woman turns, looking outside the window where he had been, and when she sees nothing - she sees nothing? - her attention is back on him, mean. “Get back to work, otherwise I will report you.”
Nodding, he says nothing but turns his attention back to the task on hand.
And fails.
Swallowing, his hand makes a swipe at the page, a smooth line drawing down and around, and he must pause, glancing at his reference, before turning it to the left, curving it up. After several beats, the woman finally leaves, and he can breathe a sigh of relief, blinking harshly and rubbing at his forehead with his free hand. Sparing a glance upward to assure himself that the woman had indeed left, Wright exhales again-this time slower, enjoying the sensation.
He scratches at the back of his head lamely with his free hand, idly twirling the pen in his other. He glances all around the place: to his paper with a few marks on it, to the picture he’s supposed to be recreating, to the window, back inside the room, where there were a dozen of other people, bent over their station, doing what he was supposed to be; and Wright can’t help but sigh inaudibly, and return to his former thinking.
What was ‘good’?
Drawing his pen over the paper in a crisp stroke, he outlines the stage in the reference picture, slowly recreating the image, because that’s what he did. He recreated things. He took pictures that were false, and made them true-it was as simple as that. A difficult task, one that Father had given him personally, and one that Wright accepted with an honor. And while he would admit it to no one, because admitting meant he did something against Father, and if he did something against Father, that was just begging to get taken away-Wright didn’t particularly enjoy being a worker that merely copied another. He had ideas. He didn’t know exactly what these ideas were, per se, but he knew that they were there. Like ‘good.’ ‘Good’ was there; he just couldn’t put ‘good’ and ‘ideas’ into the right kind of words.
Wright sighed again, this time with an actual noise, and crouched down close to the synthetic wood of his station, forcing himself to concentrate. Tonight, he promised himself. Tonight, I’ll come up with something that’s ‘good’ and ‘ideas.’ Maybe I’ll come up with something that’s ‘good’ and ‘ideas’ put together…ah, but what would that look like? Unbeknownst to him, the boy began to drift off again, his head tilting to the side and gazing out the window.
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His insides warmed, and he smiled at the thought. Father told him that he was special, each night. It didn’t matter where Wright was in the world; Father would always tell him gently, with such pride, that Wright was his favorite. And Wright would, in turn, tell Father thank you, because Father was so pleasant to him. He let Wright live, after all. A child on his own was something that a person did not come across everyday. There was one orphanage that Wright knew of. It was a dingy place, somewhere that he did not want to be. It was a very rare occasion indeed, if just the parents of a family were taken away.
Wright, apparently, had been one of those very rare occasions.
He didn’t remember what they had done to get the police angry. His Mother and Papa seemed like good people. They let Wright watch television all he wanted, and said nothing when he interacted back with the contraption. Whenever they would get something sweet, he would always be the one who ate it.
Though, the more he thought about it, the harder he concentrated, the more Wright realized he didn’t remember much else. Were his parents criminals? The boy frowned, well, of course they were, otherwise the police wouldn’t have taken them in the midst of the night. The police were always right. Right?
Right. The boy thought, shaking his head in order to focus himself back onto his work - if he didn’t finish this recreation by the end of the day, he wouldn’t get paid. It was just silly to think otherwise. Isn’t that what Father told them, anyway? ‘Thinking only leads to false flaws in a perfect society.’ Wright hummed a little in his mind. That was right. They shouldn’t think - Father was doing everything difficult for them. All the rest of them had to do was smile and go along, because they should be thankful for everything Father has sacrificed for their sake.
A few hours later, a loud clock struck once, twice, three times, signaling that the day work shift was over. Setting the pen neatly in the holder he kept at the workstation, Wright looked over his recreation. In one sitting, the boy had drawn a scene of Father giving a speech, down to the very last details - and had it not been for the person that was missing on Wright’s paper, and was present in the photograph, the two would have been identical.
Wright smiled. Yes, he was very talented.
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Slipping the folder into an organizer, Wright wiped his hands on his shorts, adding to the mess of blank ink stains and graphite smudges that were already there; showing just how old the clothing was. It wasn’t something that the boy was particularly fond of, he really truly wished that he had enough money to purchase new clothes whenever he wanted to, and really, he didn’t like it when people asked him if his parents were neglecting him.
Wright didn’t talk to those people. They didn’t need to know about his parents, nor his business.
Walking swiftly back to his station, he took the back of his hand and wiped down the ink marks that he could, pushing in his chair afterward. He needed to clean up his space before he left-making sure that it was properly neat, because neatness was good. And Father was good. With that line of thinking, who wouldn’t want to make things neat?
Once satisfied, the boy moved to the side of his workspace, pulling his coat out of a small compartment and slipping it on, buttoning it with ease, and despite the sunny weather he saw through the windows. He sighed again, dreamily staring as a cloud passed slowly, leisurely.
Still gazing out the window, Wright stuffed his hands into his pockets, checking to make sure all of their contents were still intact. A small amount of money, his key, a crumpled piece of paper that had, in scrawl, a list of things that would probably be good to pick up at the grocery store soon.
Nodding to himself, he took one last look at the sky, then began to make his way out of the building. Following the current of the much taller, much older people - though there were a few younger beings here, but, they all outdated him by at least seven years, he walked down the corridors, body moving out of simple repetition, as his mind was back with the clouds. He wondered what it would be like to touch one. If it were soft, feathery, just like it appeared. Wright pursed his lips at the thought - did that mean, when it rained, they were squishy and hard? Hmm. He supposed he’d never know.
Standing in the elevator, he shrugged the collar of his coat up higher in anticipation; and as he walked out of the elevator, through the corridor, and pushed the door open to the outside, sure enough, it was nothing like he had seen through the window. Dreary and cold, Wright didn’t bother looking upward, knowing already that there was a thick overcast. It was always cold and clammy outside - which was why, he thought, many people didn’t stay outside. Not when they could go inside, and look out the windows to see a sunshine-y day.
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Thank you, not-OP-anon. <3
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“Remember to drink your water!” The image of Father laughed, smiling warmly at everyone-no, just at Wright. Only at Wright; and he nodded. “After all, water is healthy! Do you want to contract cancer, Alzheimer’s, or even AIDS?” The boy shook his head. Those things sounded so beastly, he would never survive if he became ill! “Then you must stay healthy.” Another nod. “Have a good day; and never forget, drink your water, and Father loves all of his children.” Wright felt his face go red, and, unabashed, spoke quite loudly that he loved Father, too.
And he wasn’t alone, a few other people in the crowd repeated Wright’s action, staring up at the orange-clad, white-haired man that everyone had deemed ‘Father.’ He had no other name, no other alias: just ‘Father.’ And what else did they need to call him? The man took on everything that the ideal parent would do. He prevented war, prevented disease by making sure they stayed healthy, and took such good care of everything. Though, they had sometimes fallen on hard situations. Wright remembered once, that they had not had enough bottled water in the home, and his parents had gotten in trouble. Thankfully, Father had sent them nearly eight more cases than they needed!
Nodding once more at the telescreen, Wright trotted across the street, and took another left, coming into a more residential area. Everywhere he looked were posters of Father, smiling, smiling - always smiling, such a contrast to the weather that was so dreary. Such a contrast to the dreary buildings, and yet, they were in far better condition in the apartment that Wright lived in. While Father was kind and forgiving, he was strict, and had told Wright that the lesson of money was a very important one - he had to learn what was affordable, and what wasn’t. So the boy afforded his one room home, while he gazed at the apartments that contained several rooms, and perhaps a loft or two. Or maybe even their own washer and drier. He sighed, but flicked his vision back to the sidewalk, checking the streets and picking up his pace when he began to notice that he was getting closer to his destination.
After all - he should be very, very thankful that he hadn’t been taken away, like his criminal parents.
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Also, did you by any chance name this fic after a song by The Hush Sound? Because if you did, I love you even more.
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Woken from his musings by the large double doors opening, Wright blinked, searching through the swarm of children for the person he had been expecting. He kept his head tucked in his collar, pretending not to notice as a great majority of the children purposefully avoided him. Well, of course they would. He and the rest of the people his age were too entirely different; he had few beings to hang onto in this world. Beside that, his eyes wandered on a particular girl, watching as she and someone who looked exactly like her-save their hair, one was a redhead, while the other hard dark hair like him-crossed the street and giggled, apparently most children his age, most people did not think like Wright.
He thought of colors and ideas-what was ‘good,’ what was ‘not good.’ He thought it was queer that they didn’t think of those things; because if they didn’t, what did they think of? And, apparently, it were even more queer to ask someone what they were thinking, and the boy had quickly found that it was in his better interest to keep those thoughts to himself.
“Nick!” Startled out of his thoughts again, the boy turned back toward the school, expression brightening noticeably as finally, finally, the person he had been waiting for appeared. Walking down the steps, he trotted to meet Wright at the gate-Larry Butz. Another boy that Wright had found thought of the same things he did, was considered just as strange as Wright was, the boy was all too thankful that he had a tie to the normal life of a child through him.
“Larry,” Wright nodded, pressing his hands firmly in his pockets and shuddering against the sudden gusts of wind. He paused, and then turned to the other side of the street again, pointing to the girls that were now some way down the sidewalk. “What are their names?”
“Oh, them?” Larry paused for a moment, zipping up his own jacket. “I think it’s Iris and Dahlia. M’not sure.” He, too, shoved his hands in his pockets. “Why? Do you like them?”
Wright’s face quickly became pink. “N-no! I mean, I don’t even know them, Larry!”
The taller boy made a face, put a finger to his lips in a gesture to hush. “Quiet down, would’ja?”
“S-sorry.”
Larry shrugged. “Just lookin` out for you, dude. I don’t think you want to get teased again about wanting to get to know a girl.”
“Yeah,” Wright took a last glance at the twins. “I’ve never seen girls that looked alike, before.”
“I think they’re the only ones in the school that are,” Larry nodded, scratching at his nose. “But I heard that the redheaded one started a revolt in her class. She got the teacher arrested, said something about being a criminal and trying to get her students unhealthy.”
The smaller boy’s brow furrowed. “Doesn’t that make her a criminal?” He pursed his lips, though it was invisible underneath his coat. “I mean, from what you told me…teachers are s’posed to make sure their children are healthy.”
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“Oh. Sorry.”
Larry made another gesture, then returned to their conversation, leading the two to the other side of the street. “Anyways. Yeah, they are; but I guess that this one didn’t want to give her students their vitamins. Or something like-“
“-Butz!” A voice called from the direction of the school, and the pair stopped. A boy with gray hair trotted toward them, looking up and down the street - which Wright found odd, because cars never came down the residential area - before crossing. “Larry Butz?”
“Yeah?” Larry raised an eyebrow, making the slightest shift to put some of his body in front of Wright. “Hey, Edgey. What do you need?”
“Edgeworth,” The boy panted, brushing some of his hair out of his face. “I would appreciate it if you spoke with a formality sometimes, Butz.” He took a sharp intake of breath before rummaging through one of his pockets, producing a small ID card that Wright immediately recognized as the school’s card. “You really should learn to look after this more carefully.”
“And you should learn to make up funnames, Edgey,” Nonetheless, the tallest boy reached for the card, flashing a smile. “Thanks! I don’t know what I’d do without this!”
“They wouldn’t let you in if you didn’t have it, Larry,” Wright mumbled quietly, eyes attached to Edgeworth.
Edgeworth quirked a brow at Larry, then pointed at Wright in a silent question. Stuffing his card into his pocket, Larry grinned, moving aside and ushering his friend closer to the new boy. “Oh! Sorry, sorry, where are my manners?”
“In the trash, with yesterday’s vitamin bottles?” Edgeworth smirked, still looking over Wright with what had to be mild disgust; and, Wright, in some fit of an emotion he hadn’t experienced before, felt himself blush. He wished then and there, more than ever before, that he had newer, cleaner clothes; that his hands weren’t so darkened with years of ink and graphite; that he didn’t have smudges of dirt and probably cold sweat lurking on his face and hair.
The boy, Edgeworth, was such a polar opposite. His clothes - and his coat, even, Wright mused - looked brand-new. His hair shiny with cleanliness, his face having no signs of gunk.
Larry brought Wright out of his musings again. “-this is my friend, he works down at MISHCO.”
Edgeworth swiftly outstretched his hand, and, in an unsure, unfamiliar gesture, Wright matched it. “Phoenix Wright,” He mumbled, far too caught up in how clean and soft the other boy’s hand felt.
“Miles Edgeworth,” Miles nodded, retracting his hand and, out of pure nature, produced a hankerchief out of his pocket and wiped his hand on it. Despite himself, despite his conditioning to know that the working class of his level were lower than those who could afford an education, he felt his insides twinge. “Now if you pardon me, Butz,” Directing his attention back to Larry, Miles nodded. “I’ll be taking my leave, now. Try to keep a closer eye on that, would you?”
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BTW, I love Phoenix's thoughts about "good" and "ideas" and not being able to really formulate them. Well done.
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“Yeah, yeah,” Larry waved it off once more. “Try to learn to be happier, Edgey. Being so stressed out won’t keep you healthy.”
He grunted a little, and turned on his heel, following the rest of the waves of children in the other direction-and even after Wright and Larry had made it several blocks away, and were reaching another, poorer, residential area, the smaller boy’s face was still heated.
“Do you think I should talk to those girls tomorrow?” Standing on the stoop of his apartment complex, Wright looked sheepish. “The dark-haired one, at least…”
Sniffling, Larry shrugged. “I donno, you can if you want to,” He paused thoughtfully. “Maybe if you get finished early tomorrow you could draw her something.”
“Girls like pictures?” Wright inquired. “What do I draw them? I can never think of anything except the pictures that they give me…”
“You remember a picture that included Uncle?”
“Yeah…”
“Just don’t draw him. Girls like Father better.”
“Thanks, Larry,” Wright sighed, taking his hand out of his pocket to wave slightly. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Father loves you,” The taller child called over his shoulder, waving as well.
Wright paused with his hand on the door, looking curiously at the other boy before calling out the same response.
The building was small, somewhat cramped, and much more humid than it probably should be. Divided into seven floors, the child had taken immediate notice that, the farther up one was in the building, the worse condition one’s home was in. Thankfully, he was on the fifth level, and didn’t need to worry about the leaks in his roof, as the people on the seventh level had to. Instead, in the winter, at times his space heater would give, and, lacking the money, the boy would wrap as many comforters around him to compensate.
Halfway down the hallway to his room, Wright heard a small creak. Unperturbed as this was an older building, he kept moving and walking, until small sounds of giggles reached his ears. He had stopped, turned around, and a few yards away from him had stood an older girl - perhaps just by a handful of years. She was dressed in strange, purple clothes, with her hair much longer than most of the girls Wright had seen in his lifetime.
She smiled, and Wright noticed the large charm around her neck. “Hello,” The girl said, trotting over to him. “How are you today?”
He stared, and then looked over his shoulder to confirm that she wasn’t speaking to anyone else. “Are you talking to me?”
She giggled again. “Of course! Who else is here?”
“Father,” Wright nodded rather confidently. “He’s always there for us.”
Putting her hands on her hips, the girl looked around. “I don’t see him. How can He be here if I don’t see Him?”
Easily, Wright pointed upward; and on the ceiling was a large, black orb. He stared at it for a moment, watching his reflection in the smooth, ebony glass. “He’s always watching. He needs to make sure that we’re healthy and neat.”
The girl eyed it curiously, then folded her arms in a huff. “I don’t believe it.”
“Don’t believe what?”
“That He can always be watching. He can’t be like Santa Claus!”
Wright’s brow furrowed, and he folded his arms with just as much frustration. “Who is ‘Santa Claus’? He can be like Father!”
“Well, it’s sounding like Father copied Santa Claus.” She huffed, pursing her lips and giving Wright a ferocious glare. “And there’s no way he can be watching all the time. Doesn’t he have to eat and sleep?”
“Father is always watching,” The boy spoke adamantly. She was trying to poke holes in Father! Father! The man who had always taken care of her! “If you keep talking like that, the police are going to arrest you. You’re a criminal.”
The girl blinked. “Are you…threatening me?”
“Maybe. Father says we need to tell the police about criminals. They’ll hurt us.”
“Well, I’m not going to hurt you,” She paused, rolled her eyes. “I just think you’re kind of weird.”
The words poked an extra hole into Wright. “Why am I weird? You’re the one talking about Father and some ‘Santa’ guy!”
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The girl said nothing more, but, he swore he saw some pity in her eyes. She smiled, and trotted over to him. Taking a quick glance over her shoulder, the girl bent over and whispered in his ear. “Try not drinking your Night Water tonight.”
“Wh-why not?” Wright stammered. “Father says we must, otherwise we may not make it through the night.”
She paused again, looking sad. “Okay,” Nodding she swayed, and then turned. “Good bye!” And with that, the girl ran down the hallway and into the lift; giving Wright a playful look as the metal casing closed as a door, and she began to descened.
“Good…bye?” The phrase sounded odd on his tongue. Never before had he heard such a strange wording, and, as he made his way into his own apartment, he was still saying the phrase quietly, over and over and over again.
“Good…buy?” He uttered as he unzipped his coat, setting it gingerly on the bed. He stopped and put a finger to his chin, then stopped, staring at his palms and recalling the so many differences between his hands and Edgeworth’s.
With that, he moved to the sink, standing on one of the chairs to properly get his hands under a faucet. And, despite himself and what would probably turn out to be his water bill, he spent the next hour attempting to get all of the marks off of his hands; then moved onto his face, wiping it clean. He hesitated for a moment, then dunked his head under the faucet, soaking it and running his hands through the spikes. Groping for a towel, Wright stumbled, eventually finding one and rubbing his head vigorously.
Keeping the towel on his head as it continued to gradually soak the water, the boy clambered onto the mattress. After searching for a few minutes, he found a remote underneath the pillow, and situated himself among the blankets, already feeling his body warm because of the comforters. Flicking on the television, Wright was greeted by a familiar, white glow, and soon the image of Uncle - an aged man with white hair, just like Father’s, except much thinner. He had frown lines, and a stern, cold look about him, dressed in a fine color, Wright cowered under the blanket for just a moment as the man stared.
“Perfection, my family,” He spoke in a crisp tone. “There is nothing like it. Perfect health, perfect housing, perfect education - we’re there. We are perfection. Crime rates are at an all time low: zero percent,” At this, Wright tilted his head slightly. Why would Uncle say that? There were criminals everywhere-wait. The boy smiled shyly, he understood. There wasn’t any crime, because they caught the criminals before they could do anything bad. “Now, my family, we must part for the evening. I do hope that you have a satisfying rest. Tomorrow, we keep the perfection going. Remember to drink to your perfection, we have certainly worked hard enough for it,” Wright nodded, glancing out to the kitchen. “Goodnight, and Father loves you.”
A sudden parched feeling crawled into the boy’s throat as he stared at the kitchen. What had that girl said? Not to drink the water? He gripped onto the towel that was still hanging on his head. She was so weird. Just like-just like him and Larry. He frowned. But Larry and him drank water, and took their vitamins, just like Father asked them to. Didn’t that girl know that they were supposed to take care of their bodies? After all, it was the only one that they had.
In the end, Wright had crawled out of bed and drank a glass of water, feeling his insides warm and his worries melt pleasantly away afterwards - and then drank another glass. He settled back into bed, content with his appearance, with his new cleanliness, with his insides just as warm as his outsides.
“What does she know, anyways,” The boy mumbled, sighing as he began to drift off.
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