#I always thought I had this really selfish streak that I needed to fight against

[asynca]

If you get the opportunity, I highly recommend the healing power of spending time around your parents when you’re all adults. Not because of familial connection, but because with the perspective of being an adult yourself you can witness your parents display all the behaviours that fully fucked you up as a child and you can finally acknowledge that none of how you are is your fault

[wanderingblindly]

lestappen + 12?

grief is such an interesting one. I tried not to go the obvious route (character death, trauma, etc etc) and instead tried to think of like. What would feel like loss without being something tangible? Anyways, here's Max struggling with his 2024 dry spell. Thank youuu!! Prompts!!!

Faithless

For all that he's been in Max's shoes – and maybe he hasn't, really. Maybe he hasn't been as close as he'd like to think – Charles doesn't know what to say. Laying together on the sofa, legs intertwined and Max's face pressed into his chest, Charles isn't sure there's anything to say.

Max doesn't either, hand gripping Charles's shirt so tightly that it makes him wonder, passively, if the wrinkles will ever come out.

His tears are hot and cold against his skin, seeping through the cotton, but they're not easy. Max fights them, breaths coming in ragged gasps and teeth clenched so tightly that each exhale sounds like a hiss.

Charles's hand strokes Max's hair in lieu of words, waiting until he figures something out. He stares ahead, uncertain. A little useless.

"It's over." Max's voice shakes so hard that the words are almost unintelligible, so lodged in the back of his throat that it's like he's choking on the admission.

"It's never over," Charles whispers, hand continuing its gentle passes. "The season, it's not even halfway –"

He's never heard Max's laugh sound so cold, haunting like a death knell; he grips Charles's shirt tighter, more urgently, as the tears continue. "Not the season, everything. It's all over, they're not…"

The air goes still again, Max fighting himself for the words, Charles fighting his shaking hands. He can't force himself to look down, can't handle seeing Max look so unlike himself. It's selfish, really.

Max takes another shuddering breath. "They don't think I can do it."

Now Max doesn't sound like himself. Charles's hand pauses. "Since when are you caring what others think?"

He moves quickly, letting go of Charles shirt, shifting to sit up and look at him with red-rimmed eyes – a red-tipped nose.

He looks, somehow, reduced to a single thread. Worn thin.

"I never needed to care, Charles, it's…" Charles reaches for Max's hand on the sofa, resting his on top. He's running hot. "I always knew they believed in me, so I never even thought it could – I never had to consider –"

His voice is crumbling as he pushes on, tears streaking down his cheeks and catching on the corner of his lips. And Charles makes himself look, makes himself take in the nearly childlike blotchy red on his cheeks, the fearful set of his brow. It eats at him, not because it's not the Max he knows; it eats at him because he understands, at least a little.

The feeling of being faithless in a sport built on some indominable human spirit to defy the odds.

Spiraling from the loss of it all, Charles knows that feeling.

Charles moves, untangling their legs and sitting to face Max; with steady hands, he grabs the sides of his face, feels the impossibly wound-tight tension in his jaw as he tries to keep himself together.

"You will win without them." Charles says with a hushed fervor, like it's imperative that Max not misunderstand him. "You are always proving people wrong, Max. Because that's who you are, a winner."

Max tries to jerk his head away, tries to hide his tear-stained face from Charles's fiery eyes. But Charles doesn't let him, filled with the urge to speak to some amalgamation of their present and past – young and isolated Max, the version of himself that almost let Ferrari break him, the Max shaking in his palms. Their lines are blurred.

"It's…" Max stops fighting it, looking deeply into Charles. "They gave up. On me."

"But I won't." Charles pulls Max's face closer, their foreheads touching. He can feel Max's pulse, blood running close to the skin. "You may lose them, they may come crawling back. But I'm here. And you're here."

Max's eyelashes are dark, nearly black, as he blinks rapidly at Charles's desperate words.

"You'll never lose me, ok?"

Max nods, the gesture small in Charles's hands. "Ok," He moves slightly, lips seeking Charles's; seeking the comfort of home, seeking the comfort of family that – for once in his life – isn't conditional.

Max's lips taste like grief, taste like anger and sorrow and betrayal. And, as Charles hesitantly glides his tongue against tear-wet lips, he tries to wash it away – if not just for a moment.

[wolfsbanemanor]

So, how did they become vampires anyway? (Part 2)

Obligatory Link to Part 1

When Lilith brought him home from the hospital, Caleb wanted to take a long shower. It was all he'd wanted to do since the bartender found him passed out on the bathroom tile. (Before that, the thing he'd wanted most was to get away from his attacker. He had tried fighting her off, tried to run away, and he couldn't. He just couldn't.) He could still feel her hands all over him, and he felt so dirty. That invasive forensic exam hadn't helped, either. He had to remove every article of clothing he'd been wearing, even down to his earring. He had been photographed, swabbed, poked, and prodded everywhere imaginable for several hours, which was the last thing he had wanted. The nurse who performed the exam was as nice and gentle about it as possible, but there was no way it was going to be pleasant. It was almost worse than what had caused him to need this examination in the first place. He wasn't even sure if he wanted to go to the police. Would they believe him? He doubted it. Glowing green eyes, fangs, unnatural coldness, odd-tasting blood? Who could believe that? They'd probably think he was some Strangerville lunatic or something. Or they'd think he was a weakling. As far as Caleb knew, this sort of thing didn't happen too often in Simlandia (though precisely how often, he wasn't sure), but when it did, it usually involved a man forcing himself on a woman, not the other way around. And as far as Caleb knew, it didn't involve the man hypnotizing his victim with glowing green eyes, or forcing her to drink his blood, or cold...fluids that should have been warm. He had Lilith stand outside the door. Even though it was their home, he didn't feel safe alone. It felt like that woman was everywhere! And who knows, maybe she was? She had, after all, managed to get past a door that ordinarily only male Sims could get through, a door that Caleb was sure he'd locked behind himself when he'd gone in. (How that was possible, he wasn't sure.) Lilith obliged. When she heard the shower turn on, she sank to the floor, sobbing quietly. This was all my fault! she thought. If I hadn't been so selfish, if I had stayed with him, this wouldn't have happened! She thought back to when they were little kids. Caleb got picked on a lot. Mainly, he wasn't very good at sports, and he got really good grades. She would always step in and stand up for him. She got in trouble for fighting a lot at school. She had always protected him, but she couldn't protect him this time. (Of course, this always cemented in the other boys' minds that Caleb was a wuss, but Lilith was willing to teach them a lesson as many times as needed.) She had always been there for him, and the one time she wasn't, he'd been... In the shower, Caleb suddenly felt dizzy and unwell again. He sat down on the floor, letting the warm water rain down on him (something he almost never did, even as a teenager, when he would write sad poems, despite living a relatively happy and normal life) and leaned against the tiled wall, shower pouf in hand, waiting for that feeling to pass. When it finally did, getting up felt like a monumental task. And when he finally got out and into a fluffy bathrobe, the room started spinning again, and he sat on the lidded toilet with his head between his knees, waiting for it to stop. The last thing he needed was to take another header into bathroom tile. On the other side of the door, Lilith picked herself up, and dried her tears. She had to be strong for her brother. She couldn't let him see her like that. She made it look like she was concentrating really hard on a book, to hide the tear streaks, the smudged makeup, and the puffiness. When he walked out and into his bedroom, she went in and splashed some cold water on her face. She then got some bandages, and re-bandaged the wounds on his head and neck. When she shut the door, the emotion of the last 12 hours or so overwhelmed him, and he cried into his pillow until he was too exhausted and fell asleep.

[tripleaxeldiaz]

when you come home, i’d lift you up

read on ao3

It’s dark. Eddie never really wanted to end up in the dark like this again.

It reminds him of the other times — the damp darkness of the well, the weightless black of the in-between he was stuck in after getting shot. But it’s also worse, because it’s compounded on top of those times to make it suffocating. Before, he knew there were ways out. Before, he wanted to fight, like he always did, like he promised he always would. But now, he can’t remember what’s waiting for him in the light. Faint images of glasses and curly brown hair and birthmarks and crooked smiles, but none of it enough to pull him out this time. All he knows is nothingness. It feels like all he’s ever known.

There’s a jolt, and he’s briefly brought back to his body, enough to remember the power going out, the hospital, and that he decided to take the elevator because the stairs were on the other side of the floor. It’s worse now, somehow, because the darkness is still suffocating, but now it has physical confines. Four walls, a floor, and a ceiling that can’t be pushed through with his hands or force of will. He’s not stuck, he’s trapped, and he’s sweating and his hands are shaking and he swears he hears his heartbeat echoing around him. 

But his heartbeat gets louder and louder, and he realizes it’s not a heartbeat at all — it’s footsteps. Quick, heavy footsteps heading his way. They skid to a stop outside the elevator door, and a voice he’d recognize anywhere — in the blackest dark or the brightest white — carries through and lights him up, just a bit.

“Eddie? Eddie, are you in there? Are you okay?”

He swallows his panic enough to let “Buck?” fall from his lips, soft and shattered.

“I’m right here, Eds.” He shouts something else but it’s muffled, far away, like he’s projecting away from the door. “Are you hurt?”

Deep breath, focus. Take stock of yourself. He quickly scans from head to toe, flexing muscles and wigging limbs. “I’m fine. Think I twisted my ankle, but nothing’s broken.”

“Good, great, okay.” More shouting and far away footsteps. “We— we need jaws and some extra hands to get you out but they’re on their way, okay? I promise we’ll get to you soon.”

Ice crashes through him again. “Are you— can— please don’t—” The air suddenly feels too thin, too close to his skin and not enough in his lungs.

“Eds?”

“Please don’t leave me.”

He’d feel pathetic asking any other time, but they’d been in each other’s orbits more than ever the past few months, and not having Buck in his line of sight for this long is making him itchy, jittery nerves mixing with unwavering panic in an unpleasant cocktail. It had felt selfish, at first, always taking up Buck’s offers to stay over and cook and help with Chris, but the one time — the only time — he’d tried to say no, to give Buck a break, he’d looked so wrecked that it just confirmed for him that all the volunteering was as much for Buck’s sake as it was for Eddie’s. 

Call it weird, call it codependent, but this is the longest they’ve been apart in months, and on top of everything else happening at the moment, Eddie’s not sure how much longer he can handle it.

Luckily, he hears the squeak of fabric against the door as, he assumes, Buck slides down to sit. “I’m not going anywhere,” Buck says, softly as he can to still be heard through the door. “I promise, I’m not gonna leave you.”

The nerves subside a fraction, only to remind Eddie that it’s still dark and he’s still trapped. He swallows and nods even though Buck can’t see him. “Thank you.”

“Always.” 

Buck’s radio crackles to life, probably Bobby checking in, but Eddie can’t quite make out what he’s saying. Buck's response is quiet, muffled a bit too, like he turned away from the door again so Eddie couldn’t hear. “Cap, I’d really rather stay here, if that’s okay. He needs me.” 

A tangle of relief and guilt crashes through him, because he does need Buck, but he hates that needing Buck means keeping him from the job.

He must have gotten an affirmative, though,  because his voice comes back to it’s normal, still muffled volume. “Okay, everyone’s on their way, just a little bit longer. How you holding up?”

“Fine,” Eddie says, cursing the tremble in his voice.

Buck definitely clocks it, too. “Eddie, come on.”

Eddie takes a breath that catches all the way in and out. “It’s dark,” he says quietly, weighed down in his throat by shame. “The emergency lights don’t work in here.”

Buck whispers something under his breath, probably a curse. There’s tapping and scraping along the door for a minute. “I can’t— there’s really nowhere for me to get light in.”

“It’s okay,” Eddie says, taking another, smoother breath. “I’ll be alright.”

“You will be. I’m making sure of that.” His radio crackles again, another quick, murmured conversation Eddie can’t hear. “Hey,” he says once the radio clicks off, “we’re having a day Saturday, right? Tell me the plan, what does Chris want to do?”

He’s stalling, Eddie can tell. There’s been a delay, Eddie’s going to be in this box for God knows how long, and Buck is trying to get Eddie to talk about Chris to keep him calm. He sees right through it, but he’s also immensely grateful, because really no one but Buck would try something so obvious with him and actually have it work.

“That traveling food exhibit at the science center,” he says. “Apparently they have samples of very smelly cheese he’s going to dare you to try.”

“He knows I’m always up for a challenge,” Buck says, and Eddie knows for a fact he’s smiling. “What else? Dinner?”

“That taco place off 41st, if you think you’ll be up for it.”

“No amount of bad cheese can keep me from tacos.” Buck says it so seriously it actually startles a laugh out of Eddie. Clearly, the panic hadn’t weighed everything down. Or Buck being here really was lightening the load.

“And then what? Game night? Movie night?”

“Probably both,” Eddie says, because he knows his son, and he knows he’ll figure out how to squeeze everything in. “He’s gotten really good at Clue, though, so prepare to lose.”

“As long as I get to be Professor Plum, I don’t mind.”

“And you’ll stay?” He already knows the answer — it hasn’t changed in almost six months — but he’s currently still shrouded in darkness and fear, and he just wants to know for sure.

“I’ll stay, Eds. Of course I will,” Buck says with a solemnity that might be too much for something so trivial, but it loosens the vice on Eddie’s ribs enough to breathe properly. He’s pretty sure Buck isn’t talking about just staying the night.

Before he can finish fully processing that, or the way it warms him from head to toe like he’s been injected with sunshine, there’s unfamiliar loud voices and thumps outside the door. “Okay, Eds, cavalry’s here,” Buck says. “Can you back up from the door for me? It’s gonna get loud.”

Eddie’s already sitting against the back wall, but he makes himself as flat as possible as the team starts to work. There’s sparks and screeching metal and the whole elevator box rattles so hard Eddie’s teeth knock together. The dark shifts around him, like it’s trying to swallow him whole while it still has the chance.

Finally, salvation: Eddie’s blinded momentarily by the bop-and-weave streaks from various headlights, but when his eyes adjust, Buck is there, lit from behind and reaching down to him like a literal guardian angel, his smile brighter than any man made light could even attempt to manage. Eddie returns it, and he knows it’s tired and probably a little dopey with relief, but he can’t bring himself to care.

Getting up is hard — his ankle hurts a little more than he originally thought — but he hobbles to the elevator door and takes Buck’s hand, lets himself be pulled out to safety, to light, the weight of panic finally dissolving around him. He lands on his knees and falls into Buck’s chest and doesn’t try to move, lets himself melt into Buck, his familiar warmth and scent and life. Buck melts too, arms wrapping around Eddie’s shoulders, forehead resting on the crown of his head. They stay like that, and Eddie breathes enough of Buck in that the darkness quickly feels like a distant memory, even though they’re still technically in a blackout.

“Thank you,” he whispers, arms wrapping around Buck’s waist, refusing to let go. “Not— not just for this, for everything with me and Chris and—”

“Hey, hey,” Buck breathes into Eddie’s hair, “I told you, I’m not going anywhere. I’m here, as long as you need me.”

Forever. I think I need you forever. 

Eddie just pulls him closer and holds on tight as the last of the dark fades from his mind.

[ooooo-mcyt]

Yknow what? I'd actually go so far as to say that, as much as ive seen it complained about, it's actually pretty hard to "UwU" or "Woobify" Grian within the context of yhs.

I mean. It's possible if you go really extreme with it, but it's hard.

Grian at his core is actually a primarily decent person most of the timeand is a primarily innocent party in most things. One who goes through a Lot.

If you really think about it Grian's moral compass isn't too far off normal basic human morality. He's often anxious and hesitant when faced with any involvement in criminal activity, he's frequently dismayed and offput by suggestions of violence (the less deserved the more dismay is expressed as well), he's disappointed and frustrated at seeing the people around him do fucked up things, he's almost always polite with a good head on his shoulders when faced with a kind or reasonable person. Even well into ts, long after first coming back to Japan, Grian is still incredibly uneasy and fidgety with the suggestion that he take part in violence, I mean, remember that time he, Taurtis, and Sam were tasked with killing Geode and Grian not only initially tried to refuse outright but then checked in shakily with the other two multiple times just to confirm if they were really going to kill someone. Grian's typically the character most likely in the entire series to be incredibly put off by and very hesitant about doing bad things (especially to people he's not one million percent certain deserve it).

And while one could argue that we can't really praise his moral compass for being hesitant about involving himself in crime/wrongdoing when he often ends up participating anyways. Actions speak louder than words and all. However I disagree. The fact that Grian vocally does not wish to be involved in this kind of thing and has proven to behave on the more reasonable and polite side when acting independently in relation to likewise level headed people....is Very important. In fact, in actual legal cases, oftentimes a factor in trying individuals is the question of whether they would commit the crime in question indepently or under normal circumstances. This is the basis for necessity, duress, and insanity pleas, amoung other's. People who would not act the way they did in a certain scenario under normal circumstances are often liable to be judged favourably in their actions. In fact, speaking of duress pleas, Grian's got a pretty solid one for a lot of his actions. The times Sam or Yuki held a knife to his throat or the times police threatened to kill him if he doesn't comply with orders or any alike incidents. In cases where duress isn't applicable to Grian's behaviour there are oftentimes incidents in which an outright case for violence in self defense can be made. In fact, most of Grian's circumstances leave him very viable to be judged sympathetically on a legal standpoint. The fact that he was a minor, the fact that he had no apparent history of violence or crime, the fact that he was in a severely abusive relationship with a criminal and entering said relationship marked the start of any sort of criminal behaviour from Grian, any criminal behaviour from Grian always being in a group setting never lead by himself, the fact that he always clearly and openly protests when pulled into these group settings, the duress and self defense pleas that are applicable to pretty much all incidents in which he does engage. Which are also all factors that can and should be accounted for on. a moral basis as well, obviously. And like, Grian has a reputation for being arrogant, cynical, and rude or whatever, but he's really not. He very rightfully calls out other people's horrible bullshit and makes snappy remarks towards his abuser but that's the opposite of a problem and Grian's proven himself more than capable of reasonable civility towards reasonable people. Grian just isn't the selfish arrogant disrespectful criminal that he's sometimes implied to be and in fact he's largely innocent- or absolvable, if you'd rather- in most of the things levied against him. Grian's not a literal saint giving to the needy and taking care of orphans in his spare time but he's a decent guy overall???

And hey, speaking of that super abusive relationship Grian landed in. Let's not forget the impact of that situation. Sam was undoubtedly abusive towards Grian. He threatened Grian's life various times, he basically told Grian he was nothing compared to Taurtis, he shoved plastic down Grian's throat and laughed when he choked, he got Grian locked up in solitary confinement through complete lies just because he thought it'd be entertaining I guess, he forced Grian to kiss an abnormally large amount of people against his will (some of these instances sam recorded despite being asked not to), he himself tried to make out with Grian without consent while Grian was sleeping in his own private room, he forcefully dressed Grian up in feminine cosplay meant to be ~attractive~ complete with fake breasts, he lied to Grian about the gender identity of someone Grian dated as a joke (his words) and lightly mocked Grian afterwards, he locked Grian in a basement for three days straight and it's unclear whether or not he was planning to let him out anytime soon, he dragged Grian into a closet with school staff despite Grian's very vocal distress and discomfort then scolded Grian for considering reported it when this staff member made uncomfortable comments on the outfit Sam had forced Grian into, Sam offered to give Grian to another guy who made a similar uncomfortable comment later on as part of some trade, he consistently dragged Grian against his will into criminal activity whether by threatening him, tricking him into participating, or just altogether falsely implicatng him, amoung Many other things. And every step of the way Sam did his best to completely gaslight Grian. He used every gaslighting technique in the book. Telling blatant lies (for example, "i would never stab taurtis", "you are taurtis", "grian's crazy and he stabbed taurtis"), he denies doing shit to Grian that Grian knows damn well he did ("i would never stab taurtis"). He hard projected his bs onto Grian (from blaming grian for 'making' sam do awful shit sam did to claiming grian actually fullstop did the awful shit sam did). He was just constantly trying to turn people against Grian (convincing yuki and taurtis to back him up in calling grian a bad manipulative friend and insisting he needed to apologize for 'making' sam horrifically abuse him. arriving in the police station and instantly without hesitation telling them grian was crazy and dangerous and pinning his own crimes on grian. having taurtis back him up and help scold grian for getting mad about being locked in the basement for days). Telling Grian he's crazy (taurtis incident again, solitary confinement incident, the time sam kissed grian without his consent while he slept and grian got mad). Telling everyone else that Grian's a manipulative liar (taurtis incident again, solitary confinement incident again). Yknow. Gaslighting. Sam was just so unbelievably abusive. In like. Every possible way. Which adds a LOT of trauma to Grian. That on top of his parents abandoning him as a little kid too because we couldn't leave it at severe abuse.

Grian's not a bad person. And he's certainly a very sympathetic person. Which is why it would be hard to woobify yhs Grian. It would be hard to make a very sympathetic very sad character egregiously sympathetic and sad. His whole arc is getting abandoned by his parents, going to visit his friends, and getting violently abused and forced into a multitude of disturbing activities against his will for an extended period of time.

One could argue that sure Grian isn't a bad person and sure Grian's got a pretty sad life, but certainly a lot of people are guilty of making Grian more helpless and scared and generally 'pathetic' than he is in canon.

To which I reply...not really?

Grian already doesn't have half the fight response people ascribe to him throughout the series. That was a whole other post but honestly Grian's response to traumatic situations is very frequently to cave to them and he's got a much stronger submissive streak than people often admit. I mean, Grian was asked to dress up as his best friend who just got stabbed "to make things less awkward and make me feel better" and he did it within ten seconds of being asked without the others even needing to threaten him at all. Grian does express quite a bit of despair, fear, and submissive tendency in canon when faced with dangerous or traumatic situations. And while it's possible to go a bit too far with that if you consistently leave out the token fight entirely, I see people swing way too far un the opposite direction way too often. There's a reason Grian never actually killed Sam in canon. There's a reason Grian never made a serious attempt to get him arrested for his crimes. There's a reason Grian never just left. When Sam found Grian after he ran out of the gym during the Taurtis incident? Grian didn't lunge for Sam. There was no serious altercation between the two. Grian scrambled back and tearfully babbled platitudes while shoving plastic down his own throat on command. And even beyond that, a lot of the interpretations accused of making Grian too helpless/scared/'pathetic' are works that involve Grian processing trauma years after the fact. Which. Even if Grian was the most aggressive on edge fighter in the history of trauma responses during the traumatic events? People don't process their trauma after the fact the same way they instinctively respond in the moment. Even if Grian never shed a tear throughout any of the traumatic ordeals he experienced, it would be far from unrealistic behaviour for him to still process after the fact by panicking and sobbing his eyes out regularly. Which, again, Grian wasn't even all that fight oriented while it was happening so panic and tears isn't even super far removed from his actual in the moment responses let alone processing after-responses. It's just. It's really hard to "UwU" Grian tbh. He's a decent person, he went through hell (his own words actually), and he was never even really very effectively aggressive when he did. And while it's possible to dip too far into that territory, far more often I see things swung egregiously far in the other direction.

[livingbythewords]

I’d like to add my two cents as well.

I also had a problem with writing Scott, at least I though I’m gonna have before I decided to write him - until I really sat down and put myself in his shoes and tried to see the world through his eyes. Then I realized he is actually as far from bland and uninteresting as one can be. On the contrary.

It’s the easiest thing in the world to focus on Stiles with his witty one-liners and over-the-top energy, because in the show he is written with very thick and broad strokes. He is also an extrovert, and they are always easier to write. Same with Derek - there’s nothing more common in fiction than dark, brooding character with traumatic past, which is often put against the extrovert and forced to communicate with him through the “witty” banter. In this matter, Sterek as a dynamic is the most generic thing in fiction and demands almost zero effort, at least in terms of popularity within fandom.

With Scott it’s different, because he is an introvert, and most of his thought process takes place in his inner world. Just because a character doesn’t communicate with banter (which is often a disguise for being openly mean) it doesn’t matter they don’t struggle, or don’t have difficult decisions to make. it’s not true that Scott doesn’t make hard choices; on the contrary, he has to make hard choices in almost every episode, and unlike Stiles, he doesn’t settle for easy solutions - because that’s what thinking in black and white means. If Scott was thinking in black and white, we wouldn’t have a six-season show, because he would either kill or let others kill everyone who was an obstacle to his goals (like his relationship with Allison).

We don’t see much of Scott making decisions or his thought process, because that would involve watching a lot of Scott sitting in his room and thinking, and that wouldn’t make a very good show. But his development and his growth was shown beautifully in seasons 5 and 6, where at first he was desperate and overwhelmed by his world crumbling around him and his friends abandoning him - and STILL did the right thing in the end - and then he grew to be a real leader, with his former antagonists and enemies following him to fight the war which he worked hard to be as bloodless as possible.

To be a good person in a bad world full of evil people will always be much harder and therefore much more interesting than being a villain who only wants to hurt people for their own selfish needs. Especially when a good person questions himself all the time, which Scott often does - it’s a huge part of his personality. Bad people don’t consider themselves bad; Scott always asks himself, did I make the right choice? was it the right thing to do? was it the right decision? what if people get hurt because of me? It’s something that we don’t see with Peter, or Derek, or even Stiles or Sheriff Stilinski.

Scott has also a big sacrificial streak, which we can argue is a trait that can be both good or bad, depending on the perspective. He is always ready to sacrifice his own well-being or even life for the good of his friends, but he has to be careful not to become a martyr. That’s also a great motive to play with when writing Scott.

Scott is a great and complicated character with rich inner life, and to write him one cannot choose an easy path. You need to make an effort - and if you do and manage to give his character justice, it means you are a good writer.

Genuinely struggling to write Scott. He's just such a bland character like a piece of white bread. An unseasoned chicken breast. Pisses me off

I found every character's voice except Scott's. Every time I write him speak I immediately want to reach through my screen and bonk him on the head like shut UP. Maybe that's because he's an antagonist (who's actually a protagonist bc of the unreliable narrator and the moral greyness of the plot) but still, he's so frustrating.

Fellow writers, how do you write Scott? What's he like in your fics? How do you like to portray him? Or how do you like to read him?

[wildfey]

It punches me emotionally that Phoenix either doesn't have motivation on his own or that he lets motivations inspired by other people push away things he likes, like his art degree. There's so much issues to unttangle there, like lacking direction in his life, depression, self-worth issues, identity, and so on. Also, for Kristoph's trap, it's possible that Phoenix just. Wasn't surprised that it happened. Even without potentially disassociating, he's eeriely calm.

(continued) Like Phoenix seemed to expect it could happen that he was set up. It would have been possible to prove his innocence. He didn't. Did he fear only more attacks against him would follow?

ooh, now this is a deeply fun ask to get on my day off, thank you very much anon.

I'm gonna assume this is a reference to this post where I did some tag rambling, so I'll continue some thoughts from there.

100% agree in regards to motivation. Trilogy Phoenix is fascinating to me, I know Takumi said that Phoenix tends to be something of a self-insert for the player, as the "detective" in a mystery plot he's there to solve, not act. But when you take away that doylist perspective, and go inside the text to look at him as a character, things get interesting.

The way I always saw it, the Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney games aren't really about Phoenix Wright. AA1 dedicates its largest and most significant character arc to Edgeworth, AA2 mostly has Phoenix being pushed through cases by others (all the games do this but it's really noticable in AA2) and AA3 finishes the Fey family's 3-game arc, which is more about Mia and Maya. Phoenix has very little backstory, and very few personal goals, but that's complemented by the fact that Phoenix's characterisation explains why. His motivations, his sense of self, identity, etc. all seem to exist as projections from other people. He's Edgeworth & Larry's friend because they saved him, he becomes a defence attorney because of Edgeworth's childhood beliefs, and the turnabout terror because he's emulating Mia (this is so obvious that Godot points it out). He dates Dahlia because she tells him he's her boyfriend now, his friendship with Maya begins because Mia told her to take care of him, he's Trucy's father because she casts him in the role... this is a repeated pattern for pre 7yg Phoenix. Even in terms of one of his strongest trilogy motivations - saving Edgeworth - he's still to some extent repeating the pattern that Edgeworth unknowingly set at 9 years old.

And when there aren't people around... well that's when the inverse kicks in. When Maya isn't around, Phoenix won't take cases for months (this... has always sounded like depression to me, and I think there's a really good argument for Phoenix having some form of depression. It's how I tend to write him.) He talks about Trucy "being his light", and implies that without her, he would have given up post-disbarment. Phoenix has a VERY obvious savior complex, and it's repeatedly taken advantage of; he defines his worth by how good he is at rescuing others. Examples of this off the top of my head include apologising to Lana for not fully aquiting her when she very much did commit a crime, how upset he is during AA2 because he tried to save Edgeworth and couldn't (even though it's clear that Edgeworth needed to save himself), and wanting to defend Iris even though for all he knows, she's his evil ex (at the point he decides to defend her, he has 0 evidence this isn't the same woman who tried to kill him.) But when it comes to himself? Well, he can get injured or threatened (and he does! a lot!) but Phoenix will NEVER defend himself in the same way he does other people (there's a whole tangent I could go into about how he's a very non-violent character and the few instances in the series where he's physically violent are extremly indicative of this protective streak. But I digress).

So we come to the Zak Gramarye case - Why doesn't Phoenix react? Well, he does. But to defend Zak, not himself. I think this case would have been different if any assistant had been there, whether Maya, Ema, or Pearl, because they wouldn't have accepted it, would have taken it as a challenge to themselves, and by extention motivated Phoenix. But with Phoenix alone... he's only fighting for his client. And when his client disappears... well then, he'll take it passively (If Zak had stayed, would Phoenix have pulled a turnabout? Possibly, there may have been some way to fix the situation if he'd been motivated to do so. He's arguably fought worse.)

This is why the 7yg is deeply, deeeeeeply interesting to me as someone who loves to fill in character development, because the character development that happens in the 7yg changes basically all of this. By the time we see Phoenix again in 4-1, he has gained a decidedly selfish streak, he's out for... something, whether justice, vengeance or just stopping Kristoph from hurting people, Phoenix is finally has his own goals, and he's willing to do whatever it takes to succeed. (Thus comes the reversal, Phoenix is to Apollo in AA4 what other people were to Phoenix in the trilogy, though I'd argue that Apollo has a far better developed sense of self)

Would love to hear other peoples opinions on this one though (anon you are very welcome to come back and talk more, would love to hear ur opinions on Phoenix expecting to be set-up)

[plsimsuchasimp]

i’m sorry (ft: sugawara).

by request: “Hi!!!! Okay im so glad your requests are open - could I please request some angst with Sugawara? Where the reader is his best friend and secretly loves him but he doesn’t know? Then maybe the reader and Suga fight and then reader gets hurt or something (maybe a car accident) and when the Karasuno team finds out, Suga is devastated and goes to the hospital and tell the reader that he loves them?? Thank you!! ❤️” -anon

yes anon i’m happy to do this- i kinda changed up the prompt a lil bit so i’m sorry about that but i hope this measures up to your standards! (i’m ridiculously soft for suga so this makes sense)

genre: sadness (literal tears were shed in the process of making this)

ft: sugawara koushi x reader

warnings: car crash, fighting, cursing, hospitalization, death

wc: 2k

“Y/n, why are you so upset? I get that you’re concerned, and I’m grateful for that, but she’s genuinely a good person and I’m serious about her!” Suga walks away from you, his back turned, shoulders raised slightly in his sweater. You can sense his frustration, his confusion, but you don’t care. His face is pouty, lip sticking out ever so slightly, and you know you can’t look at him or you won’t be able to keep yourself from kissing him right then and there.

The thing is, you know she’s a good person. And that’s what hurts. See, you’ve been in love with Sugawara Koushi since the day you met him at the bus stop five years ago, on a hot summer day with a butterfly in his hair.

You can’t stop him from getting a new girlfriend, and you know it’s selfish of you to hope he likes you the way you like him, to hold on to him for all these years.

Sometimes when it’s late, you let yourself drift into your memories. The spring days when he would take you hiking, out into the mountains to show you his favorite spots, the times when your stomachs hurt from laughing at the dirty jokes he found off of random places on the internet, the rainy moments and baking cookies when it just seemed calm. With Suga, you felt at home like nowhere else. 

Now, your eyes sting unfairly, and you turn away from him as he glares towards you, brow furrowed. Struggling to keep your voice even, you say, “I know, okay Kou? I just- I don’t know, she gives me bad vibes.”

You know he doesn’t mean to be rude, but when he scoffs, your heart squeezes just a bit and tears prick your eyes. “You’re telling me to call off a whole relationship because she gives you bad vibes? You did this with all of my exes, too!” Suga sighs, hands on his hips. “You know you’re my best friend, but honestly, y/n, this has to stop. You can’t control my life!” 

He’s right. You know he’s right, and that’s the harsh thing about it. You want him all to yourself- everything about him is entrancing, intoxicating, familiar. Jealousy is a bitch.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

At this point, his jaw drops open at the sheer audacity of your remark. “I can’t do this with you today.” He throws up his hands and sits on the bed, making it clear he doesn’t really want to talk anymore.

Suga never really fights with you. He teases endlessly, but he always stops himself before he really hurts you, and the fights between the two of you are always calmer on his side. He’s usually the first to apologize, but it seems this is a sticking point for the two of you.

“Well? Go!” As soon as the words are out of his mouth, he regrets it. You flinch backwards at his words, and he doesn’t miss the unmistakable glint of tears in your eyes as you walk out of the room.

“Fine, I guess I will!” As soon as you’re outside, you cover your mouth with your hand, your vision blurred from large drops threatening to spill from your eyelashes. You muffle your sobs with the sleeve of a sweatshirt Suga lent you, and it just makes you cry harder when you breathe in his slight cologne. 

He wasn’t going to let her go this time. You missed your chance.

You’re running, but where to? As soon as your thoughts stop spinning, your feet freeze, and you glance around you. Shaky breaths escape you as you duck your head and attempt to cross the street, questioning looks from passerby making your cheeks heat up. 

All of a sudden, you hear a car horn and freeze to see a car speeding towards you, out of control. The last thing you see before everything goes black is a child pointing at you, and you almost laugh at the incredulity of the situation. Then you black out on impact.

Back at Suga’s home, he sits in his bed, running his fingers through his silky hair. He curses under his breath, already hating the feeling. 

He hates when the only person he’s ever truly loved is mad at him. 

Honestly, Koushi can’t fathom why he keeps getting other people to date him, momentary distractions from his everlasting affection for you. You, the only person who’s there for him when he’s hurting, the only real friend to stay near him through everything, the only person he fell in love with on first sight. He wanted to be with you, but he didn’t want to ruin this was. 

Better to be certain friends with you and never get what he truly wanted than to try and lose you completely.

Suga picks up the phone to text you when he receives a call from an unfamiliar number, marked as the hospital of your district.

“Hello?"

“Is this Sugawara Koushi?” The female voice on the other end of the line asks.

“Yes, is everything okay?” He responds, curious as to why the hospital is calling him in the middle of the day.

“Well, we have Y/N L/N here, and you’re listed as one of their emergency contacts. Would you mind coming to the hospital to fill out some paperwork?”

Immediately, his world freezes. “W-what did you say?”

“I said, Y/N L/N is in the hospital and we need you to come in and see them.” She’s patient with him, voice even and calm, clearly used to people in shock from news of their loved ones. “They were involved in a car accident.”

He nods, momentarily forgetting she can’t see him. “Yeah, I’m on my way.” 

The line clicks, and he sits there for only a minute before hurrying down to his car, grabbing the keys and starting the car. He seems to forget basic movements, mind consumed only with thoughts of you. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered, edging above the speed limit on the road. He was tempted to honk at someone, but refrains from it, knowing it won’t help with the turmoil of emotions he was feeling.

Then, it hit him. This was his fault. He almost stopped the car in the middle of the road, throat closing as guilt washed over him. Koushi didn’t know you’d take it so hard, didn’t mean for it to come off that harshly.

He arrived at the hospital, and as he walked in, the receptionist looked up at him.

“Sugawara Koushi?” 

“Yes,” he said, and watched the smile slowly fade from her face. He noticed she tried to hide it, ducking her head, but it was too late. “Are they- are they going to be okay?” he gulped as she didn’t respond.

“Room 208,” she said curtly, “You should probably go in.”

The lights seemed to blur into each other as Suga practically ran to your room. Every footstep seemed to take forever, travel only a few centimeters forward. He couldn’t get there fast enough, accidentally bumping into the wall and muttering a hushed “sorry” to it.

He arrived. The door was almost too heavy, or maybe it was just the fear making his limbs heavy as lead.

There you lay, and it was worse than he thought.  Tubes of all sorts trailed from your body to things around the bed, crowding and seeming to close you in. Scratches ran down your cheek and there was dried blood on your hairline, streaking down your face. The breath fell from his throat and he stood in the doorway, paralyzed. 

This could not be happening. 

One look and he could tell you weren’t going to be okay. An IV drip led into your left arm, and you were unconscious, so fragile, so angelic. It looked as if you were only sleeping, like the countless times you’d snuggled into Suga’s shoulder in the warm summer nights, staring at the blanket of glittering stars far above. The ones in your eyes, though, outshone them all. 

When you slept, you always seemed so peaceful, so comforted, but now your brow was slightly furrowed, your lips drained of color and slightly parted. Even in this state, you were still the most beautiful person he’d ever seen.

Shakily, he made his way to the chair and sat down in it. He tried to swallow, but his throat was dry, and tears were dripping down his face before he could wipe them away. A choked sob escaped him as he reached out his hand, hovering over your limp one. 

He took your hand, and he hunched over to feel how cold it was. Your hands were always colder than his, which made him a perfect match for you. Never before, though, had he felt this ice. 

Suga’s shoulders began to shake, and he clutched your hand, silently begging you not to leave, please please please don’t leave me, i don’t know if i can survive without you. Of course, there was no response but the steady beep of the heart monitor, the only thing reassuring him that you were still there. 

Shaking, he brought your hand to his lips, barely brushing them against your knuckles. 

“Y/n, I’m so sorry.” Whispered words fell gently from his lips, trying to stay composed for you. “Please stay with me. Please don’t leave.” His tone rises, voice breaking in desperation. “P-please.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” He rocked back and forth, holding your hand as if it was the only thing tying him down. “I-I love you.”

There. He said it, those three words he’d wanted to say since the day he saw you smile for the first time. Hopelessly, madly, endlessly in love with you, only you. 

When you didn’t respond, he let himself sob, let the pain overtake him. Hot, salty tears spilled onto your hand, and he silently wished for a sign, a movement, anything to show that you weren’t gone just yet.

In that moment, he whispered everything he wanted to say to you, a thousand words choking him and clogging his throat to the point where he couldn’t breathe anymore.

The doctor came in, shutting the door silently behind him. “Sugawara-”

“Call me Suga.” His voice was quiet, reserved, threatening to break.

“I’m afraid y/n isn’t going to make it.” The doctor sighed, mercifully pretending not to notice Suga’s muffled cry. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“You’re joking, right?” Suga raised his head, puffy, red eyes desperate. “Please- tell me you’re joking.” The silence from the doctor told him otherwise, and Suga felt his heart shatter in that instant.

He squeezed your hand, and just as he did, the heart monitor stopped beeping, a flat tone emitting from it. He couldn’t stop the heartbroken cry from spilling from his mouth, his breath stolen by the endless constriction of guilt and grief in his chest. 

He stayed there for another two hours, crying over your hand limp in his grasp. When Daichi arrived at the hospital to drive him home, he didn’t want to leave. 

Suga stared out of the car window, numb. It was impossible- the world couldn’t be this cruel. 

It’s your fault, your fault, your fault, the voice in his head whispered. The broken sobs that spilled out of him hurt, stabbed at his breathing, but he didn’t care. It was his fault that you were gone, forever. 

The rest of the day passed in a haze, the sun setting with flared colors that you would have loved. The stars were brilliant, but Suga couldn’t look at them. His pillow smelled like you, and everywhere he looked had some imprint, some memory of you. You were the only person he’d ever love, and you had been stolen from the world in an instant.

In the months afterwards, nothing was the same. He saw you everywhere, expecting to see your texts pop up on his phone, accidentally ordered your drink at the boba place you would always go to. 

At the funeral, his stiff black suit seemed awkward, but you always said he looked handsome in one. That was the last time he got to see your face besides pictures, the fading memory of the person who loved him for who he was.

the person who he would love for the rest of his life.

you’re an angel in my eyes.

a/n: tbh this is probably one of the most painful things i’ve written so far suga im so sorry also THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH FOR 50 FOLLOWERS ITS CRAZY i finished this at 2am i’m going to be so sad if it flops <\3

[silvermoongirl10swfics]

A selfish, guilt-ridden choice

For @codywanweek 2021 Day 1: Fix-it.

You can also read this fic here on A03.

Warnings for mentions of blood, injured characters, mentions of mind control and a non-graphic character death (it is a fix-it, so two guesses who dies.)

Cody felt his face twist into a snarl when he watched Palpatine throw Fox against the wall of his office, without thinking, Cody ran across the room, ignoring the sounds of lightsabers clashing as his cyare and his fellow Jedi tried to defeat Palpatine. The Sith Lord. The thought lodged in Cody’s throat, his brothers and the Jedi had been pawns in a Sith Lord’s plan, a Sith Lord who Fox had had to face every day and a Sith Lord who had made Fox connect with the wall with a sickening crack. When Cody skidded to a stop on his knees beside Fox’s crumpled form, he slowly took off his brother’s helmet and looked down at Fox’s slack face. Part of his curly hair had been shaved away so they could take out his chip (same as Cody), but there was now a bleeding cut on his forehead from the force of his helmet hitting the wall. Blood was now coating the left side of Fox’s face and it made Cody’s stomach twist unpleasantly. He turned for a moment, checking to see that Obi-Wan was still alive, he wanted to help his cyare, the thought of losing his Jedi when they were so close to winning the war was not a thought he wanted to think about. But helping Obi-Wan now, would mean leaving Fox lying unconscious, vulnerable, and that was not something Cody was willing to do. Fox was one of his batchmates, he was the youngest of their batch and Cody had spent three years thinking Fox was as safe as he could be on Coruscant, to find out Fox’s mind had been tampered with by Palpatine, a Sith Lord, filled Cody with unbridled rage.

He turned back to Fox and leaned over his vod’ika, gently cradling his slack face. “Fox?” There was no answer, panicking Cody felt for a pulse and was relieved to find one. “Fox’ika?”

Fox’s face twisted in a grimace. “Don’t call me that,” frowned Fox, his voice gravelly with a faint slur.

A relieved breath whooshed out of Cody’s lungs. “Then don’t scare me like that. Do you have any idea what Wolffe would do to me if I let anything happen to you?” Fox just stared up at him with an unimpressed glare and raised eyebrows. As much as Fox liked to argue that he wasn’t the ik’aad of the batch, it fell on deaf ears, and Wolffe, the third oldest of the batch, always wanted to look out for and protect Fox.

They both flinched at the sound of cackling laughter. Fox tried to twist his head on the plush carpet to look, but Cody made him keep his head still, while he turned to look himself. Generals Windu and Skywalker were on the floor, Palpatine towering over them, Obi-Wan was pushing himself up off the floor and forcing himself to rush to his former Padawan and friend’s sides. Cody tensed, knowing Obi-Wan would not fare well if he faced the Sith Lord alone. A hand gripped his arm and pushed him onto his hands and knees.

Turning back to look down at Fox, whose eyes looked glazed, a definite sign of a concussion, his brother glared up at him. “What are you waiting for?!” Fox growled threateningly, Cody nodded and then picked up his fallen blaster and rushed closer to the action, wanting to put some distance between Fox and what was happening. He knelt, his knee digging into the plush purple carpet, and aimed his blaster at the back of Palpatine’s head. But the Sith Lord could sense the danger, and with a creepy smirk just batted the blaster bolt away with a swish of his hand. The blue bolt streaked through the air and struck the wall above where Fox was lying, causing Cody to hastily push himself back up on his feet. Some plaster debris fell onto Fox who just started glaring hatred at the Sith Lord as dust settled into his dark curls.

Suddenly, in a flurry of red and blue lightsabers, Palpatine used Cody’s lack of focus on the fight to throw Obi-Wan to the floor, while his yellow eyes turned to look at Fox who was struggling to sit up. His cyare landed with a heavy thump and didn’t move, Cody’s heart seized in terror, he couldn’t even be sure whether or not if Obi-Wan had been struck by the Sith’s lightsaber.

Cody was torn. He was stood in the middle of the Chancellor's office, stood an equal distance away from two people he loved dearly, while the Sith Lord swung his deadly, blood red lightsaber, cackling as he nearly caught General Windu's shoulder. General Windu who had quickly stepped forwards and was valiantly standing in front of Obi-Wan, who was lying on the floor, his face turned away from Cody's sight. Cody didn't know if his cyare was badly injured, but if Cody ran to Obi-Wan, his brother who, clearly had a concussion and was still lying crumpled on the floor as he tried to force himself to sit up. Would be left vulnerable.

As he stared between his love and his vod'ika, everything slowed down. Cody's breaths echoed in his ears; his eyes darted from his injured love to his injured vod'ika. Knowing if he chose one over the other, he was leaving the other to potentially die because he didn't choose them. It was a heavy burden placed on his shoulders. A burden he couldn't alleviate by saving them both.

He had to choose.

Time was running out.

Obi-Wan continued to lie still, Windu and now Skywalker trying to protect him. As the Sith Lord tried to court Skywalker to his side. Cody flinched and inched towards his cyare, but then his breath caught as his gaze skittered over to Fox. His vod'ika who had suffered enough having to serve with Palpatine as his Commanding Officer. If Cody chose Obi-Wan now, Palpatine might well kill Fox, his vod'ika injured with a concussion after being Force-thrown against the wall.

If Cody chose Fox. He might live out the rest of his life knowing his choice killed Obi-Wan. That his choice would make him break the promise he made to himself. The promise that he would do whatever it took to get Obi-Wan to survive the war. To save Fox, Cody would have to lose his cyare.

If Cody chose Obi-Wan. He would live knowing he willingly sacrificed his vod'ika to save his cyare. Sacrifice the brother who had never relaxed in three years, who ran himself into the ground to protect his Guard. If he chose Obi-Wan, Fox would never live a free and happy life. Cody would be forced to look his batchmates in the eye and tell them Fox was dead because he was selfish. That he valued his cyare above his vod'ika. If he chose his little brother, he would lose his cyare.

For the first time in his life, Cody didn't know what to do.

Then Fox lifted his head and stared Cody down with a firm, but glazed look. And Cody's heart sank. Fox didn't have to say anything, Cody could read his vod'ika. He had spent his Cadet years protecting Fox from the trainers, had promised Fox that one day everything would be alright. Silently promised himself that he would rather die than hurt Fox.

Fox shook his head and frowned at him. His glazed hazel eyes shone with anger and disappointment. He had listened to Cody talk non-stop about his cyare, about how much he loved him, how he wanted to spend his life after the war with Obi-Wan. Fox knew what Cody would lose if he chose Fox over Obi-Wan. And he knew Fox would never forgive him for giving up his happiness. Cody felt tears prick the backs of his eyes, as Fox mouthed one order that broke Cody's heart. “Go.”

And so, Cody made his choice. He hated himself as he turned away from his vod'ika, hated the choice he had just made. Screamed inside his head as he raised his blaster, screamed and cried how choosing was wrong. But as he raised his blaster and those cold, calculating, yellow eyes locked onto him. Cody wondered if he didn't really have to choose. Perhaps he could save both his cyare and vod'ika. He would just need to be the one lost in this battle. This was an easier choice to make.

Palpatine twisted his arms and made Skywalker and Windu stumble against each other as they hurried to avoid the red lightsaber striking at them. Cody stepped towards the Sith Lord, neither moving closer to Fox or Obi-Wan, making himself a target. Then Cody felt an invisible hand start to tighten around his throat, Cody growled at the Sith Lord, trying to raise his blaster once again, but another invisible hand kept his arm pointing downwards. Palpatine sneered at him, his yellow eyes promising death. The way he had looked at Fox, it made Cody furious and he tried to fight the Force hold that was holding him, he was prepared to die for his cyare and brother, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to fight back, he wasn’t going to let Palpatine have the opportunity to still win even if Cody died fighting. He wouldn’t go down that easily. Not when those he loved still needed to survive this fight.

While he was prepared to sacrifice himself for the greater good, he wasn’t going to give Palpatine an inch of success. Not only were Obi-Wan and Fox at risk, but the rest of his brothers were as well. They were de-chipping every single brother, but it wasn’t fast enough if Palpatine decided to reach for a commlink. He tried to struggle in the invisible grip, gasping slightly when the hold around his neck tightened a little more.

As Cody stared down the Sith Lord, he recalled the first time he met Obi-Wan, how he had been immediately impressed with the Jedi General’s care and devotion to the men under his command. Very quickly Cody came to trust Obi-Wan and from there they became very good friends. Every hurt the Jedi took on hurt Cody, he hated to see his General hurt especially when he got hurt protecting the 212th. Cody felt it was his job to protect his General, not the other way around. When the war had been going on for a year, one day Cody looked at his friend and realised that his heart pounded harder at every shared look, his hand or arm would tingle after Obi-Wan touched him there and soon enough he realised that he had fallen in love with his friend. There had been no grand revelation, just a quiet conversation that led to a gentle kiss and Cody silently promising himself that he and Obi-Wan would survive the war and live a peaceful life together.

Seeing Obi-Wan’s blatant terror at the revelation that Palpatine was the Sith Lord they were looking for, how Palpatine had been trying to Turn Obi-Wan’s former Padawan to the Darkside, led Cody’s protective urges to ramp up into hyper drive. Cody had used his rank of Marshall Commander to get his chip out first, Fox a close second. Cody had wanted to keep Fox away from the impending fight, but the determined fire in his vod’ika’s hazel eyes made Cody aware that he couldn’t stop Fox from coming with them. And so, Cody had to just try and breathe, his vod’ika and cyare were in harm’s way, as they all tried to stop a vicious Sith Lord from gaining control of the galaxy. But as those evil yellow eyes stared at him, Cody was filled with fear, what if it wasn’t enough? What if Palpatine still won? What would he do to the Jedi? To Cody’s brothers? As he stared death in the face, Cody could only hope his sacrifice would be enough to at least buy his cyare and his fellow Jedi enough time to permanently stop Palpatine.

Cody didn’t close his eyes as he braced himself, knowing that Palpatine intended to kill him. That was clear from the look in the yellow eyes staring at him with complete and utter contempt and hatred. But while his eyes remained open, not wanting to physically demonstrate his fear, Cody’s sight was instead filled with memories. The first time Obi-Wan smiled at him. The time Cody dragged a young Cadet Rex to his barracks. The time Cadet Fox gave Alpha a run around in the vents for three hours, the proud smirk on his face. The time Ponds, Cody and Wolffe met up with Fox in 79’s and dumped beer all over him. So many happy memories passed through his mind, and while Cody knew he was going to die, he at least died with the smiling faces of his cyare and brothers in front of him.

“No!” cried a voice, and just as Cody felt his feet begin to lift from the floor, he was bodily slammed back down to the plush carpet. Windu and Skywalker rushed Palpatine, distracting him away from Cody and whoever saved him. “Cody? Are you alright? Cody?!” snapped the voice worriedly.

Turning his head up, Cody felt his helmet pulled off his head and blinked blearily up at the face of the person leaning over him. He blinked and was surprised to find Obi-Wan was the one leaning over him. Bruises and cuts lining his face, Cody was shocked, just moments ago he had thought Obi-Wan was badly injured, as he lay unmoving on the floor. Raising a shaking hand, Cody cupped the side of Obi-Wan’s face. “You’re alright,” he stated in confusion, sure that he had almost lost his cyare.

Obi-Wan smiled slightly at him, but there was a slight bitter twist to it. “I was until I saw you prepared to sacrifice yourself,” frowned his cyare, his hands shaking as he helped Cody up to his feet. Heart still pounding at the image of Obi-Wan unmoving in his head, Cody grasped tightly onto one of Obi-Wan’s arms. Not yet prepared to watch his cyare yet again fight the Sith Lord.

Cody’s attention was caught on a shadowed figure who was creeping around Palpatine, who was still too busy trying to recruit Skywalker to his cause as he fought Skywalker and Windu. Between one mad cackle and the next, a blaster was fired, the bolt striking Palpatine in the back of his head, causing the Sith Lord to gasp and collapse face forwards into his plush purple carpet. All eyes slowly drifted up from the body to Fox, who was leaning on the Chancellor’s desk for support, his blaster starting to shake in his grasp as he lowered his arm. “I’ve always wanted to do that,” he murmured, his voice hoarse. Cody then watched as his brother swayed on his feet, further demonstrating that Fox must have a concussion, when suddenly Fox’s legs gave out. Cody released his grip on Obi-Wan’s arm and once again ran to Fox’s side. Part of him panicked at leaving Obi-Wan’s side, the Force knew how much of a trouble magnet his Jedi was, but another part of him needed to make sure Fox was alright. The guilt at choosing Obi-Wan first starting to eat at him, despite the fact it was Fox who told him to choose Obi-Wan.

Once he reached Fox, kneeling beside his brother, he ignored Fox’s hands trying to bat him away and instead leaned Fox’s back against the side of the Chancellor’s desk. He knew his eyes were wide as he stared at his vod’ika, he knew his hands were shaking but he didn’t care right now. He was too busy trying to fight against the tightness of his throat as he recalled how easily he had followed Fox’s order and chose his cyare over his vod’ika. He distantly heard his cyare talking with Windu and Skywalker, they were probably planning what they were going to tell the rest of the Senate. But Cody only had eyes for Fox, and noted how his vod’ika was fighting to keep his eyes open.

“FOX!” bellowed a voice. Fox jerked and reached up to grasp onto Cody’s shoulders.

“Oh no,” Fox faintly mumbled. Cody turned towards the footsteps running towards them and found himself looking at Manner, the Senior Medical Officer in charge of the Guard’s medical care. The medic with his buzz cut black hair and permanent scowl on his face was well-known throughout the entire GAR. Many medics were feared by their men, but Manner, named for his gruff, no nonsense personality and non-existent bedside manner, was one of the scariest medics. Manner had actually been voted in as that year’s scariest medic in the GAR, despite the fact Manner had never left Coruscant in the three years they were at war. And the battle of wills fought between Fox and Manner, two of the most stubborn brothers in the GAR, during the war was a well-documented series sent via commlink to brothers in the GAR courtesy of Thorn and Thire, leading to Cody and the rest of his batchmates’ never-ending amusement. As Fox’s situation on Coruscant became more known, Cody and their batch were at least mollified that Fox had Manner looking out for him. Not that Fox ever saw it that way.

Manner came to kneel beside Cody and took one look at Fox and his bloodied face and non-responding pupils. “Another concussion then,” Manner drawled with a roll of his eyes.

Fox tensed and it was only Cody keeping him where he was that stopped him from moving. “It’s not like I intend to get concussions Manner,” bitched Fox. “They just happen.” Leading to Cody wanting to know just how many karking concussions Fox had had and not told him about.

Ignoring his Commander, Manner grabbed a hypo spray and jabbed it into Fox’s neck. His look to Cody told him to brace himself, Cody frowned in confusion until he remembered, that for some reason, Fox and a handful of other brothers were far more affected from the pain relief hypos than the rest of their brothers. Within moments, the tension bled out of Fox and his head drooped, leading to Cody having to hold his head up so he didn’t hurt his neck. Fox then blinked up at him and Manner, a dopey smile beginning to form on his face.

Manner smirked as he placed a bacta patch on the cut marring Fox’s forehead, “so care to tell me what happened Commander?”

Fox’s body flopped uselessly as he tried to nod, instead jerking his entire body, his dark curls falling into his eyes. “Sith Lord threwww meee. I fleeew. Then I hit the waaaaall. That wasn’t good… Cody my head hurts,” he added pitifully, with wide eyes reminiscent of the Junior Cadet Fox used to be.

Ignoring Manner’s amused snorts, Cody took pity on his vod’ika and hugged Fox against his chest. Successfully hiding his grin in Fox’s mess of dark curls. He turned his head slightly and met Obi-Wan’s amused look, as Fox continued to babble nonsense. But any good humour Cody had, it drained away as he held his vod’ika against him and looked at his cyare. Once again reminded how willingly he was prepared to potentially lose Fox in order to try and save Obi-Wan. His Jedi must have noticed the look on his face, but before Obi-Wan could approach him, Windu was needing to talk to Obi-Wan as some distressed Senators barged their way into the office. Knowing it would be best to get Fox out of sight of Senators he knew his little brother didn’t like when his tongue was loose, Cody lifted Fox into his arms and with Manner’s help, got to his feet carrying Fox bridal style. Leaving Manner to collect his medical supplies, along with Fox’s helmet.

“Cooodyyyy,” complained Fox, waving his hands in the air and gently smacking his hands against Cody’s face. “Coodyyy, I can walkkk,” whined Fox. Despite the situation and his own guilt, Cody couldn’t help but smile. Fox’s whining reminding him of when Fox was a two-year-old Junior Cadet who had been told he wasn’t allowed to vent crawl by Alpha-17.

“No, you can’t vod’ika,” he corrected gently. “You won’t be steady on your feet.”

“Who needs feet, when you can flyyyy,” grinned Fox, clearly out of it as he looked up at Cody with unfocused eyes.

Cody shook his head and left it to Manner to explain why it was not a good idea for Fox to try flying again. Instead, he looked over to Obi-Wan, his cyare already looking at him and signing for Cody to meet him in his Temple quarters. Cody nodded his agreement and with one more look at his Jedi, he left the office with his vod’ika held securely in his arms. His guilt still weighing heavily on his shoulders.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

After leaving Fox in the Guard’s Medbay in Manner’s capable hands and after comming Wolffe that he was going to be needed to babysit Fox and stop him from wandering off on a pain-relief-hypo-high. Cody made his way to Obi-Wan’s quarters and found he had beaten his cyare there, he sat down heavily on the sofa and just buried his face in his hands, continuingly berating himself for daring to choose between his cyare and his brother. He didn’t know how long he sat like that for, but when the front door of the quarters opened, Cody looked up and found Obi-Wan looking at him seriously as he placed Cody’s helmet on the kitchen table.

“You seem awfully grave for someone who has just helped rid the galaxy of a Sith Lord,” Obi-Wan stated mildly, his hip leaning against the kitchen table.

Cody just shrugged, finding it difficult to voice his thoughts. How could he tell Obi-Wan, the man he loved, that he felt guilty for choosing him? How could he explain the guilt of willingly risking Fox’s life to save Obi-Wan’s? It wasn’t exactly an easy conversation to have.

Hearing a soft sigh, Cody brought his focus back to Obi-Wan, and just watched as his cyare approached him. Obi-Wan slowly sat beside him on the sofa, his body sinking into the cushions. Cody’s throat convulsed as he tried to think of something to say, but his guilt constricted this throat and he could not force any words out. Obi-Wan laid a gentle hand on his shoulder and once Cody felt himself calm down, he watched as his cyare began to remove his armour pieces with practiced ease. Once Cody was left in his blacks, he looked down at his hands in his lap, his hands pressed firmly together, his nails cutting crescent moon shapes into his palms. He jumped when his cyare’s calloused hands came to rest over his own. Cody slowly raised his eyes and found his cyare’s caring, ocean blue eyes looking back at him.

“Cody, what is wrong?” asked Obi-Wan in a quiet voice.

After a pause, the silence heavy in the quarters. “I’m sorry,” mumbled Cody, turning his face away in shame.

A hand came to rest under his chin, and gently turned his face back towards Obi-Wan. “What could you possibly be sorry about?” questioned Obi-Wan with a frown. “You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“But I do,” Cody retorted, his voice gruff as his guilt and shame for his guilt and horror at his shame rose up within him. He felt guilty for choosing Obi-Wan, he felt shame for even daring to feel guilty about choosing to help Obi-Wan and then he felt horror at how readily he seemed to be prepared to leave Fox to be possibly killed by Palpatine.

“Cody, cyar’ika. I cannot help you if you do not tell me what is wrong,” commented Obi-Wan, his hands now resting against each of Cody’s cheeks, his blue eyes wide in concern.

Sucking in a shaky breath, Cody lifted his hands up to lightly grip Obi-Wan’s wrists, finding the contact comforting. “I’m just a mess right now,” he stated, seeing if that would mollify Obi-Wan. One look at his Jedi told him that was not the case. Heaving a steadying breath, Cody found his eyes trailing away from Obi-Wan, unable to look his cyare in the eye as he confessed his feelings. “I chose to help you. I chose to turn my back on Fox. It doesn’t matter if Fox told me to go to you, I still willingly turned away from my vod’ika who needed my help… and now I feel guilty and then that makes it worse. It’s worse because how could I ever feel guilty for trying to save you?” Cody’s voice cracked on the last words, and he felt tears begin to sting the backs of his eyes.

“Oh, Cody,” sighed Obi-Wan. Cody clenched his eyes shut and forced himself not to lean against Obi-Wan and take comfort in his cyare’s presence. “Cyar’ika, you do not need to apologise to me for those feelings.”

Opening his eyes, Cody stared at Obi-Wan, not comprehending how his Jedi seemed fine with part of him regretting trying to help him. “But you are my cyare! I should not feel guilty for trying to help save you!” he protested. He only realised he was crying when he saw and felt Obi-Wan brush away his tears.

Obi-Wan smiled sadly at him. “A heavy burden was placed on your shoulders and you are a good man, Cody. No matter which one of us you tried to save, you would have felt guilty either way because that just tells me how good you are.” Cody wanted to refute his cyare’s words, and he began to shake his head. It couldn’t be that easy. But Obi-Wan pressed a thumb against Cody’s lips, silencing him before he could even speak. “Cody, I love how much you care for your brothers and I would be surprised if you weren’t feeling guilty about how the events in the office played out. And I will tell you now. If you had chosen to help Fox instead of me, I would not be angry. You have a big heart Cody and it is in your nature to protect everyone you care about.”

Cody bowed his head as his shoulders began to shake. “It just felt so wrong having to choose between you like that.”

“Choices like that are awful things,” agreed Obi-Wan as he pulled Cody against him. Allowing Cody to tuck his face into the crook of Obi-Wan’s neck, while the Jedi began to tangle his fingers in Cody’s dark curls. “As a Jedi I have faced many similar choices and whichever person you try to save, there is no right or wrong answer. Sometimes you just have to make the choice you feel you could live with. But you faced a most terrible choice, Cody. There was no right choice for you and I wish I could lift that burden from you, but you have to understand. Fox and I are both alive and in Fox’s case, mostly unharmed.” Obi-Wan then leaned back slightly, causing Cody to grumble a complaint, but he did look up to meet Obi-Wan’s eyes, once again the blue depths looked at him seriously. “But if you ever are faced with a similar choice again Cody, please do not feel sacrificing yourself is the better option. Committing selfless acts is one thing, but needlessly sacrificing yourself is a completely different matter.”

Seeing the barely hidden terror in the ocean blue depths, led Cody to wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan’s neck and push their foreheads together. Knowing how he would feel if Obi-Wan had been in his place, made Cody readily agree to never do that again. “Depending on the situation, I promise never to sacrifice myself like that again.”

Obi-Wan smiled and nodded, keeping their foreheads pressed together. “I know it is not easy keeping a promise like that. There may be many situations to come that might require a little self-sacrifice, I am a Jedi after all, so I know this quite well. But thank you. We have now won the war; I do not want to lose you so soon.” If Cody had not known his cyare so well, he would not have heard Obi-Wan’s voice tremble slightly on his last words.

“We survived,” comforted Cody, his guilt starting to ease. He knew his guilt would not be fully lifted until he spoke with Fox when he was not on a pain relief high, but he also knew that conversation would lead to Fox smacking him upside the head, so he was fine to leave the conversation a little longer. He felt Obi-Wan’s shoulders drop in relief and then press his face into the crook of Cody’s neck.

“It’s really over,” stated Obi-Wan, his voice filled with exhaustion and disbelief. Cody tightened his arms around his cyare’s middle and nuzzled the copper hair that tickled his cheek.

“Yes, cyare. It is really over,” Cody found himself grinning as he looked up at the bland ceiling of his cyare’s quarters. Never had a blank ceiling looked so good to him. It was proof that they were safe. They were not on the Negotiator heading to another campaign, they weren’t on some distant planet trying to hold back the Separatists, they weren’t in a Medbay recovering from injuries and they were not still in the Chancellor’s office trying to defeat the Sith Lord. Everything was alright. Cody knew it would take some time for that to sink in, but everyone he cared about. Obi-Wan, Rex, Fives, Echo, Fox, Wolffe, Boil, Waxer, Ponds, Bly, Monnk, Grey and the rest of their brothers and friends in the Jedi were all alive and safe. (Even if Rex and Echo were blocking out Fives’ declarations that he had helped save the day by finding out about the chips. Apparently, that made Fives and Tup’s love of conspiracy theories not so crazy.)

For the first time in his life, Cody allowed his faint hopes to bloom into reality. During his training on Kamino and fighting the war, he had hoped that one day he would be able to live a peaceful life with Obi-Wan. Able to watch his brothers be happy, able to go on Jedi missions with his cyare and just get to live in a galaxy in peacetime. While Obi-Wan had never outright said anything to him, Cody knew that for the past six months, Obi-Wan, Plo Koon, Mace Windu, Shaak Ti, Depa Billaba and Yoda were all working together to achieve citizenship and rights for all of Cody and his brothers. It was everything Cody had ever hoped for and now it was all in touching distance. The war was over, he would not need to helplessly watch as he lost brothers to the war. Also, his cyare’s friendship with Bail Organa and other Senators filled Cody with anticipation for the Clone Rights Citizenship Bill passing soon.

Which would hopefully mean, Cody would never be faced with a choice like he had in the Chancellor’s office. With peace restored and the chips taken out of his brothers’ heads, Cody would never be forced to make a selfish or guilt-ridden choice again.

Feeling much better, Cody let himself fall onto his back, sinking into the sofa cushions and pulling Obi-Wan with him, so his cyare was lying on his chest. They smiled at each other, their elation at the war’s ending evident in their eyes. Cody wasn’t sure who moved first, but he didn’t care, because soon their lips were pressed together and Cody could prove to himself that this wasn’t a dream, he was awake and this really was happening. They had gotten a happy ending, which he hoped would soon transform into a happy beginning.

End note:

My brain wanted to add a scene of Fox in the Medbay, but as this is a Codywan fic, this scene did not make into this fic. So, if anyone is interested I might post a fic with two missing scenes from this fic, so let me know if this is something you would want to see/read. The first being Cody dropping Fox off at the Medbay and Wolffe coming to babysit Fox and the second being Cody and Fox's conversation about Cody feeling guilty for choosing Obi-Wan.

[krakensmaw]

𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐏𝐀𝐒𝐒. 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐀𝐋𝐖𝐀𝐘𝐒 𝐁𝐄. 𝐀 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐀𝐒 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆. the sun would continue its ever present trek across the sky, the tides would continue their constant ebb and flow, and jack rackham would always love him. the certainty of that knowledge settled into their marrow and made its home. if nothing else, it made some long hollowed out part of him feel complete.

they heard jack's RATIONALES, knew the sense in them, but couldn't bring himself to respond. maybe because he knew that to open their mouth would be to deny him. deny jack. and they weren't quite ready to do it. " jack ... " it was all he could muster from a raw throat. and then he heard it. the shift in the other's tone ; the understanding. two puzzle pieces finally slotting into place just in time for the table to be overturned.

ed couldn't help but laugh, soft and breathy, as jack took hold of their hand. the left one. the one where stede's ring shone so bright and beautiful in the midday sun against a hand streaked in blood. lips curved to a slow smile, BITTERSWEET. they couldn't look up at jack. could only look down at their joined hands and stede's ring. he finally got it right. " i really did, huh? who would've thought i had it in me. " light and airy. breathless.

he and jack's relationship was strung up by a series of almosts. OF WHAT IFS.

" you did, though ... get it right. up 'til that day in the skiff - i wouldn't have changed a thing. " they meant it too. all the fights and the lies and the struggle. it was a part of them. and edward could hardly begrudge that. not when it helped to forge them both, alone and TOGETHER, into who they were today. " promise me you'll come to the wedding, jack. i - i need you there. " he wasn't sure why the request had slipped from their tongue ; wasn't sure why he NEEDED jack that day. but it felt as though the world might end if he didn't see that stupid fucking mustache on his wedding day.

" stede would like you, y'know. if you weren't bein' such an asshole on purpose ... just your regular level of asshole. you an' anne an' mary, you could come visit whenever. " they knew it wasn't FAIR to offer or expect. maybe even less so than the wedding invitation. to expect jack to visit and watch he and stede in marital bliss, soft and domestic as they so oft tended toward. but ed had always been selfish.

with a squeeze to the other's hand, they leaned in and pressed a sweet kiss to the apple of his cheek. right against the salt of tears. " i can't be your husband, jack ... but you an' i are gonna be partners 'til they put us in the fuckin' ground. "

It'll pass.

Oh, oh that burned. It hurt more than any burn, more than any whip, more than anything he'd experienced before. That set fire to the air in his lungs, kept him stunned and silent long enough for Ed to kiss him - for him to kiss back, even now, even with a single tear managing to slip out his eye - long enough for Ed to tell him what he already knew - love you too. A shake of his head, denial, because no. Ed was wrong.

Jack let out a laugh of his own, wet with more tears he wouldn't let fall, just glistening brightly in hazel eyes, "It won't pass, you idiot. You think I've never tried? Over and over again, I tried to let it go. It never passes, Edward. It's always been there. Always will be." Years of pulling away, years of turning to violence, trying to scare the other man off, it never stuck. No matter how much he had always wanted it to. No matter how he tried to run away, no matter how long they spent apart, the feelings always stayed the same.

"Too late? Says who?" A shake of his head, a stubborn denial, a desperate cling to something that was quickly rushing passed, "Why? Because you're engaged? I've been married for years." But then, Stede Bonnet was no Anne Bonny, had no love for Jack like Annie did for Ed, would probably disapprove, wouldn't want anything to happen, would fight the idea of Jack tooth and nail.

And holy fuck. Jack realized with a startling sort of horrified clarity that he'd allow it, that he'd step back without a fight, that even though he'd hold onto these feelings, this love, the rest of his life, he'd let Ed go.

Ed was happy.

That had been obvious, the moment he spotted him on this ship - that moment before he noticed Jack. Even preparing for battle, cutting down navy men, Ed had sported a lightness to him that Jack hadn't seen for decades, not since he was the new kid on board, the world his oyster, his whole life in front of him.

Stede Bonnet had done that. Brought that sweetness, that light, that happiness back.

And even when Jack had made Ed happy, it was never for good, never for long.

Another one of those sneaky little fucking tears snuck out, trailing down his face to get lost in bristles of facial hair, and another laugh, a touch bitter this time, a slight shake of his head, "Fuck me, man. I never can get it right." A rough clearing of his throat, glancing down, picking up the hand with that big, awful, gaudy looking thing on their wedding finger, a huff, "But you did, I think...I really think you got it right this time."

[attack-on-kiwi]

I wanted to make sure before i asked- soo ^-^

Would you be willing to do the fluff alphabet for Porco? Honestly i don't see many fics of him! Pf course it's entirely up to you! :)

I’m glad I get to pay tribute to him on his birthday(11/11) :)

Porco Galliard:

A ctivities - What do they like to do with their s/o? How do they spend their free time with them?

Spending time together in general is highly valued by Porco. He doesn’t get too much free time, so any time he’s able to splice maong his family and his s/o is important to him. When they’re together, he wants to make the most of it, but he’s tired from his excursions. This means the two usually get a meal or his s/o accompanies him while he tries to sleep. The feeling of their fingers raking through his short hair has become something of a guilty pleasure for him.

When he’s got the energy, Porco lets them drag him around the marketplace so they can run errands. He enjoys the domesticity of it. If they can enjoy a calm boat ride, he’s going to plan a small picnic for them.

B eauty - What do they admire about their s/o? What do they think is beautiful about them?

Their loyalty and perseverance is what draws his to them. Porco is in awe of their stubbornness to stay with him, their stubbornness to get their work done, and their stubbornness to believe that there’s more to life than the violence that wrecks the land. The way they find joy in the little things and how they want to share those little loves with him is more entrancing than it should be. 

On a physical standpoint, he thinks their hands are beautiful. It’s cheesy, but the way their fingers are shaped to lock with his in such a perfect way only justifies that they were made for one another. He’s always pressing small kisses to them as he bids them farewell or lulls them to sleep. It’s not uncommon that Porco will mindlessly stroke across their palms just to take in the dips and curves of each line.

C omfort - How would they help their s/o when they feel down/have a panic attack etc.?

Hugs. Porco needs to keep his mouth shut because he knows he’s going to make it worse. He relies on holding his s/o tightly, engulfing them in his arms. No matter their size, they always feel so tiny and fragile in his arms. He’ll kiss the top of their heads and rock them. He doesn’t care how long he needs to stay there--he won’t let go until he’s sure they’ve calmed down. 

He’ll try to talk to them about what upset them when he believes they can speak and tries to get to the bottom of the issue. It frustrates him to no end that he can’t do more than he should be able to.

D reams - How do they picture their future with their s/o?

He tries not to picture a future because of his ticking clock, but he can’t help but fantasize about hwat life would be if the two got married. What if they worked together? Or had kids? What if they traveled the world once he was granted permission and everything was safe? Thoughts like these keep Porco from losing his mind during the notably difficult times. 

E qual - Are they the dominant one in the relationship, or rather passive?

At first, Porco is rather passive, letting his s/o guide him in how they like to maneuver through a relationship. However, as he gets used to them and their habits, he starts taking initiative and cultivates a dominant streak. He enjoys the looks of surprise his s/o gives him as he starts really asserting himself, which inspires him to take charge more often. 

He does let his s/o take charge if they want to. There's something about being told what to do or how to behave that ignites a mischievous fire in him, and, hey, it makes for some really good entertainment on his part. 

F ight - Would they be easy to forgive their s/o? How are they fighting?

Oh, man. Porco is ruthless when he and his s/o fight. He doesn’t hold back and can say some pretty upsetting stuff, and if the situation is dire enough, he will violently jab at their insecurities. It only hits him after, and the regret sits deep in his stomach, making him feel like he’ll throw up. He’s always ready for his s/o to leave him during these fights, and he’ll steel himself. He’s stubborn, and believes he’s in the right, which causes problems in the relationship. 

If he’s in it for the long term, he’s willing to try and be more compassionate, though, it’s a long journey. He doesn’t even care about grudges, honestly, he just wants to be right. Unless his s/o or he have their loyalty questioned, his main priority is winning. 

G ratitude - How grateful are they in general? Are they aware of what their s/o is doing for them?

Porco has his qualms with the relationship. One one hand, he’s ecstatic about someone wanting to be with him even though he’s rough around the edges, but on the other hand, he feels selfish for getting into a relationship when he and his s/o are aware of what will happen to a warrior at the end of their ‘term’. He gives his s/o outs and is always shocked at their resilience to his doubts. His s.o promising that they’ll deal with the grief when it comes and that they want to enjoy his love while they can brings him to tears more often than he’d admit (of course, he’s in the privacy of his quarters during these moments). He has no way of expressing how grateful he is in reality, so he uses whatever perks he has to make their life secure and enjoyable, even thinking in the long term about how to get them a home in a safer area or how he can send a portion of the funds that go to his family to his s/o once he’s finished.

H onesty - Do they have secrets they hide from their s/o? Or do they share everything?

Porco is pretty cut and dry. He doesn’t do anything that needs to be kept a secret, and aside from warrior and military information, he’s transparent with his s/o. Now, he won’t go out of his way to share every single thought of his, but if his s/o asks him questions, he’s more than happy to answer. He’s never pondered whether he’s honest to his s/o or not. It comes naturally to him, and he just hopes he’s doing the whole communication thing correctly. Honest as he is, he’s just as blunt. His s/o must be prepared for some harsh truths if they pry.

Porco will ask questions, as well. He does his best to make sure his s/o has nothing heavy on their mind. Sadly, he’s not the best at articulating himself in an emotionally vulnerable situation. He will ask them how they’re doing multiple times a day just to give them the green light that they can share with him if and when they want to.

I nspiration - Did their s/o change them somehow, or the other way around? Like trying out new things or helped them overcome personal problems?

The biggest way his s/o changed him is by encouraging him to be free with himself. Porco may seem rather arrogant, and he is, but he is also a stickler for the rules. His s/o reminds him it’s okay to think for himself and to do things just for the hell of it. He won’t always have the answer, and that’s nothing to be scared of. He learns he can share burdens and pain without fear of being ridiculed, and that’s one of the most important lessons his s/o has taught him. 

J ealousy - Do they get jealous easily? How do they deal with it?

Porco says he’s not the jealous type, but catch him calling out anyone who so much as breathes at a different wavelength around his s/o. He will be quick to act and gets extremely protective, even if his s/o could knock the assailant onto their ass.

K iss - Are they a good kisser? What was the first kiss like?

Porco’s kisses range from being shy and sweet to desperate and erratic. It all depends on his mood. Usually, he’s composed and likes to give his s/o cheeky kisses that he leans into, holding their entire being against him. He knows this makes them dizzy and loves to take advantage. Other times, he’s on an adrenaline rush and needs to see his s/o as soon as he can. The possibility of losing them or not seeing another day becomes much too apparent after battles, and he wants to ravish his s/o while he can. He does get a little embarrassed by his behavior if they bring it up later.

His first kiss was nothing phenomenal. It was after he asked if they wanted to be his partner, and he just followed the motions, bringing them in for a simple, sweet kiss. His lips are softer than one would expect, so it was all too easy to melt against him in the moment. Even now, it feels surreal. 

L ove Confession - How would they confess to their s/o?

Porco’s confession is abrupt. He comes home from the battlefield in the evening to find his s/o had left him a letter, telling him they were thinking of him and have been hoping for his safe return. “Safe” he scoffs to himself and folds the letter into the inner pocket of his jacket. Without really understanding why, he finds himself quickly pacing down the streets until he gets to his s/o’s residence. As soon as they’re in front of him, he doesn’t give them a chance to welcome him home as he grabs them by their arms and leaves them dazed with a rough kiss. He’d pull back and sternly glare at them, though, they know he’s not mad--he’s thinking. When he finally says what’s on his mind, they’re all too relieved that it’s a confession and not a signal to end the relationship. He ends up staying the night, and when the realization of what he said dawns on him, he’s going to try sleeping with his back to them. It doesn’t take much for his s/o to coax him to turn around. In fact, all it takes is them echoing the words back to him.

M arriage - Do they want to get married? How do they propose? What would the marriage be like?

He entertains the idea of bonding with someone for life, but unfortunately, his fate as a titan shifter holds him back from thinking too much on it. He doesn’t want to get his hopes up, and much less, get his s/o’s hopes up. In the end, he’s aware he’s going to have to leave his s/o, and being with them at all has already locked in the fact that they’re going to be devastated over what’s to come. Porco doesn’t want to hurt them more than he will.

When Porco thinks about marriage, he thinks about his s/o and him waking up in the early afternoon, chatting over tea, and getting ready for a day of lazing about. He sees his brother, though he shouldn’t, coming over sometimes to tell the two to wake up since all they do is sleep daylight away. He wants two kids running around. Maybe one is shy and the other is outgoing. They’re best friends. He knows his s/o would look sweet with them. He wants to hold all three of them in his solid embrace and whisper ghost stories to them only to get swatted by his s/o for terrorizing the children. If you ever see Porco grinning to himself, he’s probably thinking of that.

N icknames - What do they call their s/o?

Ooh, Porco thinks nicknames are SO stupid, so no he definitely won’t be calling his s/o “Babe”, or “Baby”, or “Lame-ass dork” nope!! And don’t expect him to whisper little sweet nothings at night, calling them “Beloved”, or “Darling” as they fall asleep just so he can experience how the words would sound as they roll of his tongue! Nope! Porco would NEVER!! 

(all of that was a joke, for those of you who have a hard time getting sarcasm over text. He calls them all that :) )

O n Cloud Nine - What are they like when they are in love? Is it obvious for others? How do they express their feelings?

Actually the cutest. Porco acts all big and unbothered, but seeing his s/o turns him into a puppy. He’ll follow them around as they run errands and ask if they want him to carry their stuff. He always insists on paying--it’s a pride thing for him. Don’t worry too much, with his warrior salary, he’s able to afford your basics. His way of showing love is to help his s/o in any way he can and to build them up. Porco is sensitive with them and tries not to be a huge dick, but that passive-aggressive behavior can rear its ugly head at time. 

One way to tell he’s in love is that he won’t be too pessimistic around his s/o. There’s a glint of hope as he speaks to them, and he’s always got a hint of a joyous smile on his face. It’s hard for him to pretend to be angry around them, so imagine the scene other’s who see him on a daily basis are treated to as they witness Porco displaying human kindness. Unfathomable.

P DA - Are they upfront about their relationship? Do they brag with their s/o in front of others? Or are they rather shy to kiss etc. when others are watching?

Porco’s the guys that just says, “Man, fuck all of you. I miss my s/o, I’m leaving.” And that’s how most people find out the two are in a relationship. If they’re with people he’s comfortable with, he’ll have an art around their shoulders and pull them closer. Aside from that, public displays are limited. 

Q uirk - Some random ability they have that’s beneficial in a relationship.

Porco is so goddamn confrontational and outspoken, which can be bad at times, but honestly, it makes for great entertainment. Seeing him call people out and come up with insults that his s/o would never have thought up in their lifetime is truly one of the most educational experiences they have ever had. Though they do feel bad for Porco’s victims, they find the entire display funny, and when they’re upset they just remember Porco calling someone out. It’s also fun for them to quote these outbursts and watch Porco feign ignorance and hide from them.

R omance - How romantic are they? What would they do to make their s/o happy? Cliché or rather creative?

He tries, he really does… his execution can be sloppy since he gets excited about the entire thing. His skills are limited as he’s got a barren idea of how to be romantic in the first place. It’s important to him that his s/o doesn’t make too much fun of him as he figures all of this out. It’s easy to fluster him, and any romantic gestures will leave him speechless. He does take his s/o by example and will try to give them gifts every now and then or sneak them off for an early morning or late evening date. Strolls in the marketplace where he indulges the two on ice cream or a particular sweet come and go as they can. Again, he has no baseline for romantic displays, so he’s learning as he goes. 

S upport - Are they helping their s/o achieve their goals? Do they believe in them?

Porco holds his loved ones to high standards. If his s/o has a goal, he’s going to make sure they’re serious about it. He can sometimes get more excited about them reaching any milestones than they are for themselves. He’s their biggest fan, and that comes with the price of tough love. He’s not going to pull strings or coddle them. He truly believes if they want to get something done, they will, and he’ll be there to act as their support whenever they need him. 

T hrill - Do they need to try out new things to spice out your relationship? Or do they prefer a certain routine?

Yes! He loves trying out new foods and activities! Especially the ones he doesn’t get to have or do very often in Liberio. He’s always looking for something to share with his s/o, and he will drag them into a small adventure at a moment’s notice. 

In an intimate sense, he’s apprehensive to try out something new, especially if it involves potentially hurting his s/o, so it’s up to his s/o to bring up anything they want to try. Most times, he’s receptive and willing to do something at least once. 

U nderstanding - How good do they know their partner? Are they empathetic?

At first, it’s hard for Porco to get to know his s.o. It’s likely they’re his first partner, and it’s not like intimate relationships have a guidebook. He’s never sure what he wants to ask his s/o and sometimes his words get jumbled and come out much more rude than he anticipated. As he gets used to the motions of a relationship, he encourages them to talk to him. He wants to be a safe space for them, and it always makes his heart full when his s/o confides to him during vulnerable times. He knows most things about them, from their childhood to their favorite type of officials to make fun of. 

Porco tries- he really does- but empathy doesn’t come easy to him. He’s stuck in his ways and that makes it difficult to see a situation from another’s point of view. He tries his best not to get snippy at his s/o, but there are times where he can’t help but lash out because he thinks their problem can’t really be THAT bad, can it? (He does have a slight guilty conscious when it comes to his s/o, though, so he will feel like shit and try to figure out how to approach them without setting off a beast, lol).

V alue - How important is the relationship to them? What is it’s worth in comparison to other things in their life?

Porco’s relationship means more than his life to him. Sure, he’s got his mission as a warrior, but he justifies fighting hard as a way to protect his loved ones and eradicate the world of devils who want to see his people burn. He takes his relationship seriously, especially since he IS a warrior, and he’s on a clock. To be his s/o means he’s acknowledged he has strong feelings and that he’s willing to at least have some hope in a better world by risking his s/o’s happiness. He knows they’ll be hurt when he’s gone, so it really takes a lot for him to get with his s/o. This means that the two work hard for one another, and Porco won’t be spitting bull shit at them. He doesn’t have many things that mean much to him, so it’s natural for his s/o to rank pretty high in his priorities.

W ild Card - A random Fluff Headcanon.

Porco! Cannot! Take! Compliments! 

His face will be blank for a few seconds and once he realizes what his s/o said, he’ll start heating up as he denies their claims. It’s a sure fire way of getting him to sputter off excuses and tell his s/o to stop messing with him. He presses his knuckles to his cheeks, hoping that his hands are cold enough to soothe the fluster in his face. It’s one of the cutest ways to see him, and he’ll be a little grumpy for the rest of the day. Grumpy Porco means Pouty Porco, so his s/o is going to have fun teasing him about it.

X OXO - Are they very affectionate? Do they love to kiss and cuddle?

Porco takes every opportunity he can to hold his s/o. It’s an unspoken taboo to display too much affection in public where he’s from, so in the beginning, he was shy. His s/o made his heart beat too fast and his hands would get clammy, so he tried to keep his distance. With some encouragement, Porco learned he rather enjoys being cuddled. Yes, he loves to be held and it’s comforting. Relaxing in their embrace helps him sort out his thoughts and calm down from a day of deliberating over whatever the next move against Paradis is.

As he gets used to affection, Porco is number one in constricting his s/o by the waist or laying on top of them so that they have a few more minutes of private time before they’re separated for the day. He enjoys these little wrestling matches with them more than his s/o will never know. 

He absolutely loves kisses. His favorite is to receive a smooch on the tip of his nose. He lashes out and tells them to stop treating him like a child, but he’s going to be thinking about it all day, so please, keep on keeping on. 

Y earning - How will they cope when they’re missing their partner?

Ooh, this man is irritable beyond comprehension. Any little mishappening will set him off. Those close to him (namely, the other warriors, since he’s not exactly close to him) have adapted to this shift of his and have taken a liking to teasing him. He tries to keep to himself, but he can’t control that hot head of his which gets him into even hotter water at times if the wrong person is caught in his onslaught.

Z eal - Are they willing to go to great lengths for the relationship? If so, what kind of?

Porco’s headstrong and sure of himself in every way. His loyalty knows no bounds, so being sure that his s/o is an important figure in his life means that he’s willing to risk his life for them if need be. He’s limited to the hold of his duty as a warrior, but make no mistake-- he is going to come up with a way to get around policies to ensure his s/o is safe. He takes risks when it comes to his s/o, because he’s desperately protective of one of the few goods things he has going on in his life. 

[blasphemous-tiefling]

I think part of the reason why there’s so much discord in the MCU fandom has something to do with the varying directors for TFA, The Avengers, Winter Soldier, AOU, Civil War, Infinity War, and Endgame. And really, the backbone of the issue is how the different directors and how the audience interprets Steve’s character. Strap in. Because this is a long rant on a topic that normal people really don’t care about.

Joe Johnston created a Steve Rogers that was eager, begging to go to war. I absolutely adored the line in AOU when Steve says, “What kind of monster would let a German scientist experiment on them to protect their country?” Because I feel that sums up Steve in TFA pretty well. He’s anti-bully. He wants to fight. But his whole life he’s been put down, stomped on. Steve repeatedly enlisting is both selfish and selfless. His conversation with Bucky in TFA is a great example of this. Steve says, “There are men laying down their lives. I got no right to do any less than them. That’s what you don’t understand. This isn’t about me.” And Bucky says, “Right. Because you’ve got nothing to prove.” And that’s it. Yes, Steve wants to fight because he’s always been bullied and doesn’t want anyone else to feel that way. Yes, Steve wants to fight because he wants to defend his country. But also Steve wants to fight because no one has ever given him a chance. Steve wants to fight because he wants his life to mean something. Steve wants to die in battle because he thinks it’s honorable. He wants to prove himself. Steve wants it so desperately for both selfless and selfish reasons, which is why he was so willing to take the serum despite the fact that Erskine told him about past failures. There’s even a certain selfishness to his sacrifice at the end of TFA. Many stories that involve sacrifice ride the line of selfishness and selflessness. By sacrificing himself, you could argue Steve is taking “the easy way out.” He’s distraught over Bucky’s death. He’s won the battle he’s been fighting since getting the super soldier serum. By sacrificing himself, Steve can effectively end the troubles caused by the Tesseract and leave without dealing with the consequences of his sacrifice. This point is a bit of a stretch, and not something that I personally agree with, but the thought it there.

Joss Whedon takes that selflessness and turns it into irrefutable righteousness, and it’s disgusting. Steve has a few goofy lines in The Avengers and AOU that I’ll laugh at, but ultimately, everything he does seems so out of character for him. His constant nagging and arguing with Tony is so unnecessary and doesn’t build friendship. His desire to do everything S.H.I.E.L.D. tells him to do is completely incorrect because Steve went against the military and broke the 107th out of the Hydra facility without permission and repeatedly did whatever he wanted without asking. His incessant need to have all the Avengers do as he says is totalitarian and unbearable to watch. Truthfully, this is where I think people misunderstand Steve the most because not everyone watches every solo movie. The Avengers movies are the biggies that most people won’t miss. So general audiences only see this righteous, dictator Steve Rogers and that really pisses me off.

This is one of the only times you’ll hear me praise the Russos, so get ready- Thank goodness Winter Soldier and Civil War follow Joe Johnston’s characterization of Steve. They even dig into his selfishness and rebellious streak, which I adore. Steve isn’t one to just blindly follow orders. Hello? Does “not a perfect solider but a good man” ring any bells? Perfect soldiers follow orders. Good men fight for what’s right even when the world is telling them not to. That’s who Steve Rogers is. What I adore about Winter Soldier so much is that we see Steve attempting to be this perfect soldier, but it’s just not sitting well with him. Something is fishy and weird. He talks to Peggy about her life. She says her only regret is that Steve didn’t get to live his. Steve talks to Sam about possibly getting out of government work. Sam is that representation for Steve- having a hard time finding out why he’s really in it to begin with. The entire film is about Steve going against the government, military, and S.H.I.E.L.D. with both selfish and selfless desires. He knows he needs to do something because Hydra is growing in S.H.I.E.L.D. but he also doesn’t want anything to do with it anyway, so why not tear it all down? Once Bucky is revealed as the Winter Soldier, Steve puts his life on the line to try to get him back. It’s selfish really. When Steve takes off his helmet and drops his shield, he made the decision to die because he wasn’t gonna continue to live without Bucky. Despite the fact that Steve made friends with Natasha and Sam, he didn’t care. All that mattered to him in that moment was James Bucky Barnes. This is very reminiscent of TFA when Steve breaks Bucky out of the Hydra lab. As the world’s only successful super soldier, Steve could’ve been very valuable to the American government and military. He was even doing mild good by helping sell bonds. But that didn’t matter. His country and his military was no longer priority number one. When it comes to Steve Rogers, nothing and no one means more to him than Bucky. Steve and Sam’s conversation that I previously mentioned also parallels this. After Sam lost Riley, he didn’t want to be in the military anymore. He said he felt like he was up there just to watch, nothing he could do. This is a direct parallel to how Steve feels about Bucky.

Civil War, while a trash movie, sticks with Steve’s selfish yet selfless motivations. “What if this panel sends us somewhere we don’t think we should go? What if there is somewhere we need to go and they don’t let us?” Not wanting to surrender his right to choose is Steve Rogers. He just put down S.H.I.E.L.D.- an organization that was giving him demands. Why would he sign his life away to the American government again? Corporations can be run by greed and corruption- something Steve doesn’t want the world to be full of but also something he doesn’t want his world to be ruled by. When Bucky is framed for killing King T’Chaka, Steve knows the Accords will bring Bucky in and possibly execute him. He can’t let that happen. And he asks Natasha not to get in his way because he doesn’t want anyone else to get hurt. He knows how dangerous Bucky can be, but he doesn’t want Bucky or anyone else getting hurt or in trouble due to this sticky Accords situation. Both selfish and selfless. I don’t even want to get into later in the film, but I guess I will. Guys, there’s no world, no universe, no place in time that Steve wouldn’t try to stop Zemo. Tony never even gave him the chance to explain himself. It was either, “Come with us or we fight.” Steve gathered that team together- not to fight Tony but to fight Zemo. It was never his intention to fight with Tony. He was just trying to stop Zemo. Now, when Tony learns about his parents’ death, anger is a valid emotion. Physically fighting and attacking Steve and Bucky to the point of death? Not valid or even remotely reasonable. It makes no sense as to why Tony would be that angry at Bucky- someone who was tortured and brainwashed to do what he did. Steve had his reasons for not telling Tony considering that when it comes to Steve Rogers, nothing and no one means more to him than Bucky. Of course, Steve was going to hide the truth from Tony in an effort to protect Tony, Bucky, and himself. Selfish yet selfless.

Infinity War gives us the glorious lines of “I’m not looking for forgiveness. And I’m way past asking permission. Earth just lost her best defender. So we’re here to fight. And if you wanna stand in our way, we’ll fight you too.” and “We don’t trade lives.” These lines beautifully sum up Steve’s rebelliousness and need to fight while also not risking others’ lives. He’ll always risk himself first. There’s not much to say about this film considering it’s mostly action and Steve shares the screen with just about every other superhero, so we’re not given a lot of time. But overall, the Russos kept that same Steve Rogers.

And then Endgame does a complete 180 and decides to serve us Joss Whedon’s Steve with a conservative, pro-military, unbelievably illogical twist. Steve’s obsession with Peggy in this film is so out of place. She would’ve died seven years prior in the MCU. Steve’s been living in the present with Natasha, Sam, Bucky, Wanda, Vision, and T’Challa. That was his family. He lost Sam, Bucky, Wanda, Vision, and T’Challa in the Infinity War. It only makes sense that he would be fighting for them in Endgame. Yet he’s not. We’re beat over the head about how much he misses Peggy and it’s so unbelievably weird. Steve is never allowed to mourn Sam and Bucky specifically despite the fact that they were his number one companions. He never mentions them. Never has a touching reunion with Bucky. Barely has any reaction to Natasha’s death. It’s disgusting honestly. This is not “I will fight to my death for the people I love” Steve Rogers. And the ending is the most pathetic of all. There’s no world, no universe, no place in time that Steve would willingly go almost a hundred years away from Bucky and Sam, somewhere he wouldn’t fight for others. “Pretending you could live without a war.” I mean, come on. He’s Steven Grant Rogers. It’s disgusting to paint him as this man who would throw away his friendships and a world that is being bullied all for some girl he kissed once and barely knew. No. No, no. Not my Steve Rogers.

I give the directors a little too much crap. I’m fully aware that a whole team of people make these movies, but you can’t deny that Steve changes from movie to movie depending on the director. Endgame is the exception in which the directors were the same, yet they diverged completely from their original interpretation of the character. I’ve heard people say that it had to be an anti-gay agenda- that ending Steve’s story with Bucky would’ve been too gay even if they weren’t romantically involved, but I still think that’s pathetic. Honestly, I would’ve rather seen Steve die than have his character trashed and pooped on like this. From a narrative perspective, what happened in Endgame is not okay. Marvel Studios’ treatment towards “sideline” characters like Natasha, Rhodey, Sam, and Bucky- particularly in Infinity War and Endgame- is not okay. Yeah, I’m aware I get too heated over this fictional universe. But the characters are the only reason I stick around. The stories are lackluster for me. I’ve never been one to watch movies for action sequences. But I’ve always been in love with Steve Rogers as a character- complicatedly riding the line of selflessness and selfishness, dedicating himself wholeheartedly to a cause and to the people he loves. When in the end that character was completely scrapped and shredded in the garbage disposal like crust on bread or the skin of an apple, I’m gonna be angry for a long time.

[scullydubois]

baby, in your kingdom (for valentine’s <3)

read on ao3   tagging: @today-in-fic @iusedtoknowwhatawishwasfor @scullllaaaaayyyy

Mulder proposes to Scully during the Requiem bed scene.

So you may have seen the text post I wrote imagining a version of Requiem where Mulder proposed and didn’t go off to Oregon at the end...I couldn’t stop thinking about that, so it turned into this. This is my favorite prose that I’ve written for a fic, and it might turn into a series someday because this concept is just so rich and worth diving into. Happy Valentine’s Day, and enjoy a treat on me to numb the pain hehe. 

T, 1.7k, more angst than fluff (oops) but the tenderness is there too 

----------------------------

He needs to tell her one thing and ask her another. Should be simple enough, except it never is when it comes to words passing between them. It's in both their natures to leave the sweetest sentiments unsaid lest they lose their luster when voice meets air. And what he has in mind is not exactly the easiest of utterances, neither the former nor the latter. One is the kind of admittance we fear when the phone rings unexpectedly, the other a declaration the unluckiest people go to their graves without getting. Delivering both at the same time is a sin if he’s ever committed one. And for once, he cares what count God has against him. What if he isn’t able to see her again, even in the afterlife? 

He’s been weighing one decision for awhile, looking for the balance between his conviction and her virtue. He could have done it when she came back to him with her baby-faced blush, accepting the cross he clung to in lieu of her. Or when she showed him the x-rays, and they spelled out no hope. When he cried by her bedside and she didn’t stir--he could have done it then, she wouldn’t have known. But it means nothing unless it means everything to both of them, and she wouldn’t have--no, couldn’t have--given him the answer he wants back then. He holds this as the sacred truth that governed him then and will govern him now. He has no room for regrets.

The scuff of their shoes against the baseball diamond was the first time he realized that maybe, maybe this manic impulse of his had some basis in reality. Not a solid one, nothing they could cross a canyon with, but in time…

And then he was inside her brain, privy to her thoughts, and what was an unsound bridge had become a stairway to Heaven only they could climb. Fuck a safety net, he wouldn’t be needing that anymore.

Then he got the call from Billy Miles, and he thought of her ouroboros, and isn’t that what they’ve been doing this whole time? Circling some greater truth that they’ve always known? 

Every circle ends where it begins and begins where it ended. This is what he’s thinking when he spots Billy’s badge, and they glide over the X he painted when they didn’t yet trust each other (but so badly wanted to), and when he lays eyes on Teresa Nemmans and she is not Nemmans but Hoese, and there is a child in her arms. 

Seven years. And what do they have to show for it? What they mean to each other has changed, but it’s not like anyone can tell. He called Scully his partner then, and he calls her his partner now. Oh, the time they have wasted.

But it will be wasted no more. Seeing her with the Hoese baby, cooing a lullaby into its precious ear…seven years ago, he told her of the government’s conspiracy and how nothing else mattered to him. That is no longer the truth.

There is a truth they both know that is stronger than anything. When she appears at his door, flushed and shivering like a puppy left out in the cold, his head and his heart finally hit the same wavelength. He will shy away from fate no longer.

She doesn’t wait to be invited in, she knows his bed is hers for the taking. He lifts her shoes off her feet like he’s kneeling at an altar, wraps his arms around her as if it’s what he was put on this Earth to do. Contrary to popular belief, he has quite a reverence for domestic bliss. He’s been searching for it since his own reflection of it was shattered at twelve years old, and it has finally come to him.

He is scared to death that he’ll fuck it up, but not so scared that he’ll back away. In other words, his approach to everything in his life. It occurs to him then, with his lips on her temple, that he would set his own flame to the office and every X-File in it if she asked him to. If that’s what she wanted. He wouldn’t even have stepped foot back in that haunted place after its first burning if she’d given him an indication that it was not her desire.

“Scully,” he starts, nuzzling her neck, “I was thinking about when you asked me if I ever wanted to stop...if I ever wanted to get out of the car.”

“Uh-huh,” she breathes so faintly that he wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t felt it in her lungs. 

“Well, I do want that. I’ve always wanted that. Remember when we were in Home and I said I’d like to settle someplace like that?”

Scully chuckles against him.

“Obviously not in Home, but you know, some place with the small-town sentiment without the, uh, familial connection.”

“Mm-hm,” Scully murmurs, sensing a larger point that he has strayed from.

“I just never knew how to get to it--I never thought that I could get to it, because I grew up thinking my parents had that, and then I saw they never did at all.”

Scully tucks his open palm under her chin, listening contentedly. 

“So I spent my time chasing apparitions,” he continues, “things I couldn’t see, because I stopped believing in the things that I could. It’s like…the invisible things could surpass my expectations easily, but the visible ones could only disappoint.”

Scully feels cocooned, protected, and warm. She latches her attention to Mulder’s voice to keep from drifting off, kissing his knuckle to show that she’s listening.

“And I’ve realized, Scully,” he says, an edge in his voice, “that it’s a fucking waste of time to live like that. Like doing laps on a lazy susan and wondering why you’re never getting anywhere.” 

“I know,” Scully says, her voice quiet but certain. 

Mulder laughs lightly. “I know you do, that’s what you’ve been saying all this time...I just didn’t see it before.” He kisses her shoulder, lingering in the final moments before doing what cannot be undone. “And so I have something to ask you, but there’s something I have to tell you first.” Rawness permeates his voice. 

At the sound of this, Scully cranes her neck, her gaze falling upon his face for the first time since they laid down. She can barely see his hazel irises through the reflecting pool in his eyes. 

“What is it, Mulder?” she asks, concern pressing up against her urgent need to know.

He closes his eyes, the sight of her too much for him in this moment. What he wouldn’t give to feel like he could live with himself if he kept this a secret.

“I’ve seen a neurologist, I’ve had MRIs, it’s all conclusive. My brain is diseased from whatever Cigarette Smoking Man did to me. Fatal, my neurologist says.”

“Mulder…” Scully sits up, her whole being gravitating toward him. She runs her fingers along the space where she knows he bears his scar. 

“Who told you this? And when? Have you had symptoms…?”

Clearly, she does not want to believe him, and he understands.

“I’ve been going back and forth to appointments for a few weeks. It was just confirmed the other day, I didn’t want to worry you until I knew more.”

“And your symptoms?” 

He recognizes the darkness in her eyes and pucker in her forehead that forewarns tears. “Disorientation, dizziness, memory loss...sometimes I feel like I sleepwalked right through my day. “

‘Why didn’t you tell me?” her voice crackles.

He kisses her hand. “I thought you might go to some dark places if you tried to diagnose me.”

“Well, you’ve just turned the lights out on me with no warning!”

“Shit. I’m sorry, I’m sorry...I didn’t know how best to approach it, I just knew I wanted to cause you the least pain possible.”

“You wanted it to be nothing so you wouldn’t have to tell me,” she notes, not accusing, just speaking plainly.

“Well, yes. That would have been ideal.”

She swallows back tears, wrapping her arms around his neck with grave sincerity. “But now I’m here to fight right alongside you.”

This is what they do--have done, for years. Make his pain her pain and vice versa. Hurt hurts less when shared.

Mulder pulls away first, and it feels like peeling off a layer of his skin. Still, this is as necessary as anything he has ever known. 

“That’s why I was wondering--and listening to it now, I realize this is probably the most selfish thing I’ve ever done, but I don’t know, I thought you might understand...will you marry me, Scully?”

Her breath catches and before she can think of anything else, she is careening toward his t-shirt to cover her tears. She clutches at the material, pulling it from his midsection to her face.

As far as Mulder’s concerned, there’s an elephant stuck in his throat. “I really don’t know what that means,” he stammers.

Scully lets him see her, tear-stained skin and all. “Yes, Mulder, my god yes! Do you honestly think I’d say no to you?”

“I would, especially in this situation.” 

It’s a classic Mulder comment, but Scully’s not laughing. She pulls him in again, just wanting to feel his skin against hers. Their breaths slow in time with each other’s, their heartbeats matching pace. Scully’s lips brush his mole.

She speaks into his skin. “You saved me when it was impossible. I will do the same for you.”

Mulder thought he might hold it together until those words slipped from her lips. The elephant in his throat turns to stifled sobs. 

With silent tears still streaking down her cheeks, Scully runs her thumbs along his lips. Just as she did when they thought his brain was getting better. The love in her eyes is equal to then too.

“My constant, my touchstone, remember?” she professes. “Then, now, and always.” She presses her lips to his forehead, and he thinks she must be healing him.

[theseshipsshallsail]

There’s a new club in the Village - Infinity emblazoned in bright, neon letters - and naturally, the building is jam-packed with society’s outcasts on its opening weekend. Oliver grimaces, pressing his third beer to the side of his face, yet the condensation does nothing to soothe his overheated skin. It’s like a furnace of writhing bodies, and with every bead of sweat that bisects his neck to soak into his collar, he can’t help but wonder why he ever agreed to come in the first place.  

“Drink up,” Vanessa says, brandishing a bright amber concoction as she slides into the booth opposite him. “You look like you need something a little stronger.”  

Oliver raises an eyebrow as he returns the bottle to the table, then plucks the wedge of orange peel from the rim of the proffered glass. It’s been three years since he tasted a negroni, and the potent combination of gin, Campari, and vermouth sends his mind reeling in directions he usually fights tooth and nail to avoid. 

“Remind me again why you brought me here?” he asks, trying not to wince at the bitter aftertaste. “This isn’t exactly my scene.”

Vanessa scoffs. “Well, if you ever left your study...”

“I’m up for promotion!”

“You’ll be up for an ulcer if you don’t slow down. Besides, you deserve to let loose after... you know.”

You know, meaning his divorce, and the eighteen month shit-storm that preceded it.

Vanessa has the office next to his, and in between general grousing about University politics they’ve become close friends. It helps, of course, that she understands his situation all too well, and even though her parents never tried to strong-arm her to the altar, she and her girlfriend still have to hide their relationship from the rest of their colleagues.

Oliver sighs as he takes a second sip of his drink. “It’ll take more than a one night stand to loosen me up,” he tells her, and the filthy smirk that curls Vanessa’s lips has him tempted to bang his forehead against the table.

“Whatever tickles your pickle, Professor.”

“Why do I put up with you?”

“Hell if I know.” Slurring somewhat, she taps their cocktails together, and Oliver laughs as she leans forward, poking him in the chest. “Listen, Ollie, you and Micol did a spectacular job of making yourselves miserable, but at least you stayed faithful ‘til the end. Why not enjoy yourself, yeah?” 

“Why not indeed?” 

He’s aiming for sarcastic, yet his tone falls somewhere short of exhausted. She’s right, he realises, but Oliver hasn’t had much interest in men or women for a while. He’s not so deep in denial to admit his heart still belongs to another, and being hopelessly in love with someone he can’t have has done a real number on his libido.

“Damn! This place is heaving!” Simone says, slumping in her seat when she returns from the bathroom. Slinging an arm around Vanessa’s shoulder she drops a quick kiss to her cheek, and Oliver averts his eyes, the casual intimacy leaving him yearning for the impossible. “A few too many student-types for my liking, though. Makes me feel like I’m back in the theatre department.”

“Makes me feel like I’m pushing thirty,” Oliver mutters, painfully aware of the significantly younger crowd as he tugs at the cheap material of his shirt. Too many curries and not enough exercise has made him self-conscious of the few extra pounds at his waistline, and depressingly, twenty-eight feels ancient in comparison. 

“You wanna call it a night?” Vanessa asks, and Oliver nods absently as his gaze catches on a couple in the middle of the dancefloor. 

Caught in a world of their own, they make a striking picture. The taller of the pair is bleached-blond and athletic, his arms wrapped tightly around the slim waist of the man in front of him in a surprisingly protective gesture. Oliver can’t see his partner clearly from this angle, but his skin is pale and shimmering as they move to the beat, dark curls falling in a tousled mess. Whether it’s by artful design or sweat-damp from dancing, he can’t quite tell, yet Oliver is hypnotized by the way they bounce as he loses himself to the music, obscuring his vision until the other man reaches forward, gently brushing them away.  

The bass pounds in his rib cage, and Oliver’s throat feels constricted as he watches the brunette link his hands behind his lover's neck. Profile half in shadows, he raises up on tiptoes to whisper in the shell of his ear, and Oliver experiences a crisis of tenderness when he butts their temples together. Something squirms in his stomach. Something raw and envious. Memories flare, unfair and brutal, and he immediately blames the burning of his retinas on the relentless assault of the strobe lights surrounding them. 

“Oliver? You okay?”

No. 

Definitely not.

The jostling crowd causes the blond to alter their position, and Oliver’s head spins from more than just the alcohol as his blood runs cold in his veins. 

“Elio…” he murmurs, vaguely aware of Vanessa’s stifled gasp when she tries to get a better look.

“Your Elio?”

He wants it not to be - wants his eyes to be deceiving him - yet there’s no denying the truth. All that he’s forgotten - all that he’s clung to - coalesces in a rush of unslaked longing, and between one blink and the next, Oliver remembers everything. 

“Not anymore,” he whispers, but then, why would he be? 

Elio was seventeen when they first met, and Oliver isn’t naive enough to think he hasn’t fallen in and out of love many times since then. He’s beautiful, intelligent, talented beyond measure. Was he really so arrogant to imagine he would still be single? Pining for him, maybe? Saving himself? And for what? A six week romance one too-hot Italian summer? Something his cowardice cut short with a long-distance phone call?

He was, wasn’t he?

Arrogant. 

And so very stupid.

“Of all the gay bars in all the world…” Vanessa takes a swig of her piña colada as he continues to spiral. “I thought you said he lived in Italy?” 

“He did,” Oliver replies, picking at his thumbnail. “He moved here for school.”

“And you didn't contact him?”

“To say what?” His ears ring from the shrillness of her tone. “Hey, Elio. Remember that time I broke both our hearts ‘cause I’m a gutless schmuck? How about I buy you a coffee to make up for it?”

“It would’ve been a start.”

“It would’ve been selfish,” he says, tearing his eyes away. “He has enough on his plate with Juilliard. I’d only get in the  -”

“Juilliard?” Simone’s low whistle interrupts his self-reproach. “Impressive.”

“Son of a professor,” Oliver explains. “I always knew he was a genius.” He gathers himself with a quiet huff. “Though he’ll probably say he knows nothing.” The spark of nostalgia is crippling, and it takes everything he has not to break down on the spot. “I should go,” he says, draining the remains of his drink as he rises to his feet. 

“Oliver -”

“Why don’t you come back to ours?” Vanessa offers, making to follow, but whatever expression is on his face causes Simone to catch her by the wrist.

“We’re here if you need us, alright?”

“I know,” he says, eternally grateful for their support as he pushes some cab money into her hand. “Get home safe. I’ll call you in the morning, okay?”

“You’d better,” Vanessa tells him, obstinate in her concern, yet all he can focus on right now is leaving.

The swirling thoughts inside his head are all-consuming, but Oliver is determined to reign in his emotions for a little while longer. Ignoring the way his shoes stick to the tacky vinyl flooring, he grits his teeth as he snakes his way through the crush of humanity. He needs space. Fresh air. Hell, a damn time machine wouldn’t go amiss. He has nobody to blame but himself, and he’s halfway to the exit sign when his pace grinds to a halt, his masochistic streak unable to resist one last glimpse. 

A flash of irrational panic makes him breathe in deep - hold it for a count of three - and when he turns to scan the roiling bodies that fill up the dance floor, he finds them immediately. The shock doesn’t lessen, and if Oliver thought his heart had broken when they’d clung to one another on a train station platform, it’s naught compared to when Elio tips the other man’s chin up with the same fingers that used to play his body like a finely tuned instrument. White noise fills his ears as he ghosts a kiss to his lips - two chaste pecks at first - and then harder. Hungry. Mouths open. Tongues swirling. Deep and dirty. 

Just the way he likes it.

Fool that he is, Oliver doesn’t turn away. But he’s not the only one. Their bawdy display has garnered a small audience of the jealous and horny, and when the cat-calls eventually die down he notices a clearly disappointed red-head stalk past them on route to her table of friends. 

Time has not domesticated him, it seems, and Oliver feels like crying as the world returns frame by frame - the oscillating pulse of the dance track. The lightning burst of colour from the laser system above. An innate sense of powerlessness floods through him - the depths of which he hasn’t experienced since Elio sobbed against his chest in an attic bedroom - and a heavy weight settles in his belly as he recognises the cues and rituals that were once directed at him alone. 

Elio has obviously flourished in his absence. His body language is looser, more relaxed, assured in a way his younger self could only dream of, and Oliver allows an almost-smile as the couple laugh for a moment before turning to walk away. 

His fingers itch for a cigarette - a habit he’s struggling to waive - and the next thing he knows he’s taking a seat at the bar, a double shot of bourbon in his hand he doesn’t remember ordering, and a screaming admonishment from his better judgement to not do anything stupid. 

All I had to do was find the courage to reach out and touch, Elio said once, rife with self-mockery, and Oliver’s advice was to try again later. Was this it? Their later? And if not now, when? Because whatever his feelings of bitterness - whatever his misguided envy - if he lets this opportunity pass him by, he will always wonder. Always look. 

In truth, he already does. 

Ever since Samuel mentioned Elio was moving to the States, he’s carried the idle fantasy of crossing paths in some random book store, eyes locking across a busy street, a name - his, theirs, both - shouted across a bustling coffee shop. Of all eventualities, though, he hasn’t prepared for an Elio who might not be happy to see him. Who might dismiss him. Cast him aside like some ill-fitting chapter in the editing process. The context is all wrong, and for it to happen like this is akin to being plunged into the icy waters of the berm.

“Accidenti!” an achingly familiar voice says from somewhere behind him. “Are all Americans incapable of taking a hint? Or is it just an East Coast thing?”

“It’s the accent, mio amico. Fries their brains.”

“Never mind their brains,” Elio replies in the same lazy drawl. “I think you’ve sprained my tonsils.”

There’s a snicker to his left, and like a moth to a flame, Oliver peers up into the mirror behind the bar, only to find his living nightmare mere meters away, sharing a cigarette. Elio’s still wearing the same bracelets he did that summer, and three years of sleepwalking collapses around him as Oliver hunches over, palms sweating. 

“Seriously though,” the blond continues. “Look at this place! Wall-to-wall entreés, and you won’t so much as skim the menu. You’re spoiled for choice, compagno.”

Elio scoffs as he brings the filter to his lips. “Didn’t I tell you choice is an illusion?”

“As is time, according to Adams.” The man slings an arm over his shoulders. “And here you are, free as a bird, wasting the perfect opportunity.” 

Elio flips him the middle finger. “Stronzo,” he says, leaving Oliver more confused than ever as he studies him over the rim of his glass. “It’s a curse.”

“Self-inflicted, maybe.”

“So what’s the answer? And don’t say forty-two.”

The guy chuckles. “Variety,” he says, signalling the harried bartender. “Things didn’t work out with the violinist - I get it. È la vita! You’re not in the mood for pushy red-heads? Fine. But don’t sell yourself short. Trust Fund Tina’s not the only one checking you out.”

“Perhaps.”

“What perhaps?” A knowing smirk shoots in Oliver’s direction. “See for yourself.”

It’s like experiencing the first tremor of an earthquake. Elio was always a force of nature, and bracing for disaster, Oliver feels the fault lines buckle beneath him. He thought he was done letting fear and shame dictate his life, yet even now, at peace with his true self, he can’t bear to witness the seismic shift between past and present. Instead, he falls back on avoidance, tearing strips off a frayed beer mat until the hair prickles at his nape.

He can feel it - the instant his fate is sealed - and taking a deep breath Oliver returns his eyes to the mirror, meeting Elio’s stunned features. Dark brows climb towards his hairline as the happiness on his face shifts into something else. Something measured. Unrecognisable. A blank slate, almost. For a moment, Oliver fears he’s going to ignore him completely, but then Elio straightens his spine, offers the half-smoked cigarette to his friend, and with a few whispered words strides forward with purpose.

His daring is a law unto himself, but the look he’s giving him now exudes superiority - omniscience, almost - as if he can read every thought that’s going on inside Oliver’s mind, and has already deemed them wanting. It shouldn’t be such a turn on, yet his heart skips a beat regardless. Then another. Every instinct in his body tells him to reach out, to hold Elio’s hand, tuck those wild curls behind his ear, but it’s no longer his place - if it ever really was to begin with - so Oliver takes a deliberate sip of his whiskey, scared and aroused simultaneously, before swivelling towards him.

“Oliver.” His name on Elio’s lips - three smooth syllables - and he feels reborn. “Long time no see.” Hesitating, he offers up a pack of Luckies. “Fumo?”

“I shouldn’t,” he says, dragging trembling fingers through his hair. “I told myself I’d quit. God knows it won't take much to -” 

“Tempt you?” 

Heat rises to Oliver’s cheeks. “Yes,” he admits, and Elio’s smile is a shallow, brittle thing. 

“Well, you know yourself,” he says, returning the cigarette carton to his pocket. “Don’t let me ruin your good intentions.”

His flippancy is like a red rag to a bull, and Oliver’s hackles rise as he sets his drink on the counter, irritated enough by Elio’s calm exterior to try and provoke a reaction. “Is your boyfriend not the jealous type?” 

All he receives is an eye roll. “Bruno’s not my boyfriend.”

“Could’ve fooled me. From what I saw earlier.”

“You saw nothing,” Elio replies, defensive. “We’re friends. Roommates.”

“Roommates?” Rising from his stool, Oliver takes a step towards him. “That kiss -” 

“Is none of your business. Not anymore.” 

It hits him like a punch to the gut. Oliver’s lips part, but no sound passes between them. He’s being irrational, he’ll accept, but old habits die hard, and through sheer force of will he quashes down his guilt, knowing better than to use it as a weapon. 

“Of course,” he says, chastened. “You’re right.” 

“I usually am.” 

“Elio…” This isn’t how he wants the conversation to go. “I know it’s too much to expect your forgiveness, but please don’t be angry with me. We were friends, once. Before anything else.”

“I’m not angry.” A beat. “Not anymore.” Tipping his chin, Elio folds his arms in front of him. One more barrier despite the brush-off. “I’m processing.“

“Processing?”

“Yes, processing. Originates from the Old French proces. Related to the Latin processus, and from the verb procedere in Middle English.”

“Wise ass.”

“Sempre.” Elio shrugs, watching him openly. “What are you doing here, Oliver?”

“My friends saw the flyers,” he says, bypassing the here, specifically, when Elio’s attention drops a few inches lower, and he realises he’s staring at his ring finger.

At the white line that’s all but vanished since he signed his way to freedom.

“You’re…”

Oliver clears his throat. “Divorced,” he manages, shuffling his feet. “Almost three months now.”

“Divorced?” Elio’s mask slams back into place, the distress in his voice palpable. “Why?”

And there are so many things he could say to that - the stress of his job, money, differing expectations - but this is Elio. His first love. His forever love. He, above anyone, deserves the truth. 

“I think you know why.”

“Do I?” That same phony indifference. “What the eyes see, and the ears hear, the mind believes.” 

“The truth is never that simple.”

“Not for us, it seems. Not in this world.” Elio gives his head a small but firm shake, blowing out a frustrated breath. “You know, tonight was supposed to lower my stress levels, not raise them,” he says, granting them a temporary reprieve. “But then, you always were hazardous to my blood pressure.”

“Trust me. The feeling’s mutual,” Oliver tells him wryly. “Might I recommend some deep breaths?”

“Deep breaths?” Elio rocks back on his heels. “If I had any peaches I’d be using my right hand.”

It catches him unawares, and Oliver can't help it. He snorts. Overcome by relief. Then he laughs - a weak sound, and damn near helpless - but a laugh, nonetheless. Cupping a palm to his mouth. Moving it to his eyes. Feeling the tears he’s been fighting since this whole debacle began.

“My God you’re incorrigible,” he mutters, the sharp stab of regret cutting him to the core as he glances over his shoulder, and the blond - Bruno - shoots him a wink. “When you said I saw nothing...”

The hesitant curve of Elio’s smile lights a fire in his chest. “There was a girl on the dance floor who wouldn’t take no for an answer. Lucky for me, Bruno’s never been shy about putting on a convincing performance.” 

Oliver winces. “Well, I bought it.”

“Mission accomplished, then.” Elio edges closer. “I could’ve said the same for you, once upon a time.” The air between them grows charged. “Do you ever miss it?” he asks. “Italy, I mean?”

“Every single day.” Oliver finds himself captivated by the smattering of stubble along Elio’s jawline. The touch of smudged kohl beneath his lashes that turns his gaze smouldering. “Do you?”

“In a way.”

“Just a way?” He’s not entirely certain they’re talking about the same thing, and Vanessa’s advice seems all the more pertinent. “Let me buy you a coffee?” Oliver asks, and Elio frowns.

“What? Now?”

“If you like.” 

“It’s gone midnight!” 

“Tomorrow, then. Whenever you’re available.” Suddenly desperate, he closes the gap between them. “I can’t excuse my actions, Elio - I know I can’t - but at the very least I owe you an explanation.”

“Oliver...” This time it’s Elio who reaches out, his usually steady hands uncertain as they entwine with his. “I was young, not stupid. What’s there to forgive? You left because you had to. You married because -”

“I was weak.”

“Cazatte!” The tension in Elio’s body snaps back like a coil. “My father would have carted me off to a correctional facility,” he murmurs, squeezing his fingers tightly. “I’ll never forget those words.” 

“I’m sorry...”

“Don’t be!” Elio sounds furious on his behalf. “Weak, you say? No. Control over others is the true weakness. Coercion. Conformity. All it does is breed hatred. And that’s not you. Not my Oliver.” 

“Am I still?” he asks, laying his cards out on the table. “Your Oliver?”

“I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” 

Oliver swallows thickly. “I guess we will,” he says, dropping his forehead to Elio’s crown.

He’s braver at twenty-one than Oliver could have dared imagine, and for the first time in years the dull ache beneath his ribs is replaced by a different sort of craving. The way they fit together so easily, like no time has passed, fans the banked passions within him - the desire to press his lips against Elio’s neck, to nip his way along countless freckles until he can fist those unruly curls and guide his mouth back to where it belongs. 

Flush against his. 

Devouring.

But not yet.

This isn’t leading to sex. Not tonight. This is about reconciliation. Reassurance. Redemption.

“There’s a late-night diner on the corner…”

It’s a whisper against his cheek - so quiet he barely hears it - and Oliver leans down, pressing his face to Elio’s collarbone, breathing him in. He knows this won’t be easy - knows there will be dark clouds before the dawn - yet here they are, older and wiser, and three years might as well be yesterday as the parting crowds provide a temporary island in which to weather the storm.

[breaddowrites]

Fresh Start | Draco Malfoy x Reader

hey, this was inspired partially by someones shifting experience. pls let me know if you want me to continue this, and share ideas if you have. also let me know if any of it is kinda bad. critique me!

words: 2.3k

warnings: violence n mean draco

You were a very popular Gryffindor in year 6. You had managed to befriend all the right people from the other houses, and most of the teachers adored you and how much you reminded them of your mother. Everyone loved you.

Everyone except one.

“Oi! L/N!” Draco shouted, chasing after you as you ran out of potions class.

You were fuming, your eyes narrowed to angry slits and your lips pursed. The entire school knew to stay out of your way when you had that look on your face. Except Draco Malfoy. “Look at me when I talk to you!” Draco grabbed your arm, pulling you to face him.

You had just reached the top of the stairs as he spun you around, and you almost tripped down them. You glared fiercely at Draco, and snapped your arm out of his grasp. “Do I look like I’m in the mood to talk to you, Malfoy?!”

“I don’t give a bloody damn if you’re in the mood to talk to me.” He glared back at you with equal fire. “You screwed up my grade, you stupid wench. Screw up like that again and the whomping willow will have do with you!”

An uncontrollable rage grew in your stomach, and you grit your teeth. “Damn the whomping willow!” You shouted, fists balled at your side. “And damn you, Malfoy! All you care about is yourself. I’m so tired of dealing with you, bloody selfish prick! Can’t you just find someone else to piss off for once, you BRAT!”

You were screaming by the end of your rant, and a crowd of students had formed to watch you two argue. This wasn’t a rare occurrence, but it got worse with every passing day.

Draco was enraged by your words and shrilling voice, he reached his hands out to grab your shoulders and push you down the stairs behind you. You gasped at your sudden loss of balance, and grabbed Draco’s wrist. The stairs began to move to the other side of the hall as you stumbled, and you two went tumbling to the landing on the other side of the hall. You cried out of pain, you had definitely received a lot of new bruises and as Draco landed on you, you thought you broke a few ribs.

With the unresolved anger issues you possessed, you rolled to be on top of Draco and began throwing the punches your mother had taught you in case of situations like this. “I’m gonna kill you, Malfoy!” You screamed, your hands wrapped around his throat. 

Draco spun you over and punched you with his right fist. You gasped at the feeling of his cold metal rings colliding with your skin. “Not if I kill you first, L/N!”

The fight became more violent as the seconds passed, neither of you remembering you had magic powers. None of the students watching dared get between the feral teenagers. 

Finally, McGonagall and Snape appeared, tearing the two apart. “What on EARTH is going on here?!” Snape boomed, bringing the pair back to reality. 

“He pushed me-”

“She punched me-”

“SILENCE!” McGonagall exclaimed, her grip on you tightening. “I don’t even know where I’m going to start with you two!”

In McGonagall’s classroom, Draco and you sat in two chairs next to each other. Your uniforms were ruffed, and both of you had blood pooling from various parts of your faces. You had your tie shoved to your bloody nose, and Draco was holding his black eye. 

Snape and McGonagall were shouting.

When they had finally released you to the infirmary, your task was to walk together in a civilized manner. Your adrenaline had worn off, and you weren’t that angry anymore. The exhaustion and dizziness made you realize you probably had a concussion.

“You’re such an idiot, L/N.” Draco, on the other hand, was still fuming.

You rolled your eyes, shoving your hands into your pockets. “Merlin, just shut up for once, Malfoy. My head is spinning enough, I don’t need your bloody voice ringing in my ears anymore.”

Draco grit his teeth. “You’re not so innocent, and everyone knows now. Everyone knows the monster you really are.”

Your eyes snapped up to glare at him. “Shut it, daddy’s boy. Just because you don’t get enough attention at home doesn’t mean you can go searching for it everywhere else. I’m just as tired of you as your parents are.” You paused, raising a hand to your eyes. “Shit,”

Draco stared at you, wondering how the hell you had the nerve to keep saying stuff like that to him. He was still fuming, and hardly noticed your paling face. “At least my father loves me enough to stick around, can’t say the same for yours. Wasn’t he declared dead a few days ago?

“Draco-” You tried interrupting, your vision going fuzzy. You struggled to move. 

“Must be a shame to be known as the girl with a dead father and a crazy bitch of a mother.”

You shoved your arm out to grab his sleeve. “I-”

With a short start to a sentence, you were down. Draco hardly managed to catch you as your legs gave out. “L/N?” He questioned, watching your eyes roll back and your mouth fall open. He bent his ear to your mouth, feeling you breathing ever so softly. “Bloody hell,” he sighed, wincing as he tossed you over his sprained shoulder.

Madame Pomfrey exclaimed when she saw Draco rush in with you. “Set her there!” She pointed to the closest empty bed. Draco set you down as gently as he could. “Draco, what happened?!”

“W-We were doing fine, just walking. Well, we got into a fight, obviously. We also fell down the stairs.” A tinge of guilt pang through him as he watched Pomfrey dab the welts on your face from his rings. “She just collapsed. I think she said something about being dizzy.”

“She must be concussed,” Pomfrey furrowed her brows with worry. “This is very bad. She might not wake up.” 

Draco’s eyes widened and he took a step back. “What do you mean she might not wake up?” 

“It’s very risky to fall asleep with a concussion, and if she just collapsed, that’s a very bad sign. She may have slipped into a coma.” Pomfrey sighed, beginning to take your vitals. “All I can do right now is examine her until she wakes up.”

Draco turned and sprinted out of the room, the overwhelming feeling to get away from your unconscious body was uncontrollable. “Draco!” Pomfrey yelled. “I still need to patch you up!”

Everyone had gone to visit you in bed, everyone except Draco Malfoy. 

One day, late in the afternoon, Draco walked into the infirmary. He almost had to walk back out. He never thought he could hold so much guilt for someone he once despised to the core.

Your bruises had almost healed, they were just yellow spots littering your pale skin. He sat in the chair that was always besides your bed, and glanced over your still figure. You hadn’t moved in weeks. It was completely his fault. “L/N…” He began softly, shifting his gaze to his bruised knuckles. “I’m sorry.” He’d spent days trying to justify his actions, trying to shift the blame to you, but he just couldn’t anymore.

Madame Pomfrey was alerted by a crash in the main room. She raced out of her office to see that the bed which occupied you for two weeks was empty. “Y/N?” Pomfrey called out, rushing over to find you curled fearfully on the floor and Draco stepping away from you.

Tears streaking down your cheeks, you looked up. “W-Where am I? Where’s my mother?!” You cried, scooting yourself against the wall. “Who are you people?! MOTHER!” You cried out, sinking in on yourself. 

“Y/N, Y/N, my dear!” Madame Pomfrey crouched down a few feet in front of you. “My name is Madame Pomfrey, I’m the matron at Hogwarts. You recognize Hogwarts, don’t you, darling?”

“H-Hogwarts?” You questioned, lowering your hands from your face. Your gaze flickered between Pomfrey and Draco. “Am I at Hogwarts?”

“Yes, sweetheart. You had an incident and fell into a concussion coma for a few weeks. It seems you have a bit of amnesia as well.” Pomfrey frowned at you and stood back up. “Can I examine you, my dear?”

“Who is he?” You asked, pointing at Draco.

“That’s Draco Malfoy. He was just visiting you, a lot of people have been visiting you since your accident.” Pomfrey motioned Draco toward you. “Be useful and help her up.”

You looked at Draco suspiciously, but allowed him to help you stand up. Your legs were incredibly weak after not being used for two weeks, and he did most of the work getting you back onto the bed. 

Madame Pomfrey immediately began to examine you. You continued to stare at Draco, who’s eyes were pinned to the floor. “We must be friends, if you were visiting me.” You stated, watching him shift nervously. “Go get me something to eat, my stomach hurts.”

Draco’s eyes shot up at you, and he started to back away from your bed. “I don’t think-”

“Please,” You cut him off, grasping his hand to keep him from leaving. Your eyes begged him. “Can you please get me something to eat?”

Draco nodded, continuing to avoid your eyes. “What would you like?”

“Something soft, easy to chew. Maybe even soup.”

“Soup would be the best choice.” Pomfrey pitched in, peering into your throat. 

“Okay, I’ll be back soon.” Draco cleared his throat and swiftly left the room. As he walked to the dining hall, his mind was running a mile a minute. 

How can she not remember me? Does she not remember anything about the fight? Does she not remember anything about our relationship, or lack thereof? Does she remember anything about Hogwarts? Did I really muck up this bad?

“My mother, she’s still traveling, right?” You questioned Madame Pomfrey. “I’m starting to remember a little. She taught here at some point, correct?”

“Yes, Y/N.” Madame Pomfrey smiled, peering over your stoic expressions. “She taught in your third year. Do you recall which class it was?”

“Herbology, I remember taking it with Harry and Ron, and this other girl… I don’t fully remember.” 

After a few more questions, Madame Pomfrey came to a conclusion. “Well, it seems your amnesia is only temporary. Once I release you, Y/N, you must return if you find yourself unable to recall certain things, or have lasting pain.” She placed a hand on your shoulder and rubbed gently. “You seem to be healing well, but you’ll need to stretch carefully, you haven’t moved in over two weeks.”

Draco returned to the room, looking incredibly suspicious. He exposed a thermos with soup from under his robe. “Here,” He handed you the thermos and a spoon. “It’s mushroom.”

You lit up with joy. “I love mushrooms! Thank you, Draco.” You beamed at him, quickly taking the cup from his hands. 

Draco was shocked to see you smile at him like that, you had never done it before. You’d been enemies from the moment you met. “Y-Yeah, whatever.” He plopped into the chair next to your bed to contemplate on telling you the truth.

Madame Pomfrey came around with a wheelchair. “Draco, if she needs to go anywhere, you’ll take her in this. She’s not quite ready to walk long distances on her own yet.”

Draco shot up from his seat, brows furrowed. “Why do I have to take her around. Can’t the mudblood do it?!”

Pomfrey glared at Draco. “It is part of your punishment for the incident. Do you want to take care of the girl you hurt so badly or do you want three months of detention? It’s your decision, Draco.” 

Pomfrey walked off, leaving Draco and you alone. You looked up at him, a tinge of anger in your eyes. “Huh, so it’s your fault I was in a coma.” You fisted his robe and yanked him toward you. “I think you owe me some explanations, right now.”

“Serves you right to have to babysit me.” You laughed, leaning into the pillows behind you. “You almost killed me, you psychopath. You need some community service.”

“It wasn’t like that, Y/N. You were psychotic too!” Draco exclaimed, laughing softly with you. “Oh, if a teacher had heard the things you said to me, you would’ve been forced to write lines until your hands bled.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re still the one that shoved me down the stairs!”

“You threw the first punch!”

“You slapped me with your dumb metal rings!”

“You gave me a black eye!”

You narrowed your eyes at him, disregarding everything you just said. “Anyway, I only forgive you because you’re hot.” 

Draco gaped at you. “You are a completely different person without your memories.”

You laughed, “that’s kind of how it works, Draco.”

“I-I mean, we were enemies. We loathe each other. You would’ve eaten dirt before ever calling me hot.” He stared at you suspiciously. “There’s no way you don’t remember.”

“I really don’t. I only really remember two other people in all of Hogwarts so far. Pomfrey said I should be regaining my memories… So we’ll see if I still like you in a few days. But for now, I guess we get a fresh start.”

[trashdeviant]

Chapter 2

Venom/Eddie x Reader

Tw: cussing

Your fists are trembling before you realize that you were clenching them enough to dig into the palm of your hands. As much as you considered laying your hands down flat to calm down, you could only unclench them in a gesture of stress before balling them up again. You had barely made it outside of the building when you rested your back against the wall.

“Fuck…” You rasp.

It was so infuriating when he decided to come at you with this passive-aggressive shit. Almost like he saw you as the problem. He loved Jessie and really missed having that shit-faced motherfucker in your life. Raf acts as if you betrayed him when you decide that you never wanted to come in contact with that childish low-life. You had plenty of names for Jess, but you really needed to shake them out of your head for now. This is about Raf stepping out of line with you.

Good. Great. Wonderful.

You felt like so much shit at the moment. Whenever things got rough you would always storm into the apartment to hug him and cuddle until he helped you calm down. A searing hot tear glided down your cheek, although your face was emotionless. It hurts.

Hurts to know that you couldn’t go to him this time. This is what you get when you refuse to spend time outside of your home. You’re not really sure how long this was going to last either. But you were as stubborn as you were torn between apologizing and finding another place to sleep tonight.

Finally your brows invert in anguish and you look up in a poor attempt to stop the tears from pouring. Your arms felt as heavy as your chest. It’s times like these that make you wonder if Raf even liked being your friend.

“You don’t get to fucking call me that…” It was more of a breath than a whisper, but it was an effort to try to keep youself from spiralling into thoughts that degraded you into thinking this was all your fault and that you were a terrible person.

Maybe you were, but at the moment you weren’t in the mood to hear it from yourself. Growing up you had to teach yourself to keep out of that spiral or you would do something drastic. It doesn’t always succeed and yet it was at least an effort being made.

This time your brows furrow as you aggressively wipe away tears on either side of your face before cracking your knuckles. You need to try to ground yourself and shake off some bad thoughts before you could hear them. That sounded weird. Now you rush out of the area to keep your mind running just as you were rather than focus on the bad thoughts. Sometimes you would pace around the apartment when you were alone just to think of things to defend yourself or think up whatever you could for a distraction. The latter being less useful than the first.

Right now you were jogging across the street to head to whatever seemed familiar. You had to be careful as you had the tendency to get side tracked and get a little lost in a street you rarely traveled.

Raf had no place to guilt trip you into even being friends with someone that cheated on you. Jess could never gather enough humanity to even acknowledge what you had gone through in that relationship. ‘Yeah I understand your decision…’ you scoff at the thought. Raf told you all sorts of shit like that after the break up. A few months later and Raf develops this little habit of scaring off anyone you would bring around him and later talk up your ex like a car salesman. You still haven’t felt like you needed to talk to Jess. As a matter of fact, you owed neither of them anything. Regardless of the fact that you three used to be an inseparable trio.

You grit your teeth.

Rafael is a selfish naive piece of shit if he thinks he will ever get you to crack and open up your life to that whore. You are not obligated to talk to them; that is that. If Raf can’t come to peace with you cutting a whole motherfucker out of your life then that was his own problem.

Fuck.

“Fuck!” You grunted silently to yourself-punching a nearby surface that seemed to be a wall.

The mere voice in your head that reminded you of his constant excuse made you cringe in a sudden wave of anger. ‘I’m stuck in the middle’, was short for, “You’re not being fair! Stop being the problem and make up with Jess so I can enjoy myself in the presence of both of you!”

First of all-Raf isn’t in the middle of anything! He is a grown man and can go see Jessie whenever he wants to or even invite him in while you’re out! He is the only one making everything such a big deal. ‘News flash, Raffie, you’re no peacemaker here!’, your blood boils at the fact that he couldn’t treat you two as separate friends. Even Jess was able to understand you wanted no part of them!

You cut people out of your life for a reason! Not only did they cheat on you, but was generally an asshole too! Just because Raf can’t gather the strength to end something completely does not mean you had to adapt to what he wanted! It is not illegal to cut someone out of your life and it could be perfectly healthy for you, even! Regardless if your circle has only gotten smaller and smaller over the years...

“I don’t need any of that shit! If I have to I’ll move, Raf!” Your voice hissing his nickname,”If you can’t live without that bitch and me then I’ll do you the fucking favor of cutting myself out of your life! Who the fuck says I need either of you!?”

You stop dead in your tracks and look down at your shoes. There was guilt and suffering swelling inside of you. You had only said that because you couldn’t think of any other way out of it than having him hate you. Hot streaks of tears return as you lower yourself into a crouch and hold your head. You don’t bother to fight the urge to pull your hair.

‘I do-I need you…’

A pathetic plea that lands on nobody’s ears. This was going to be the death of you if you keep going down this path. The sun was beginning to set. Orange and pink flourishes across the skies. Sobs rake through your body as you hide yourself into the alleyway. What the literal fuck? You could knock a man into a coma and here you were weeping like a lonely child. ‘You’re a selfish piece of shit-go to hell-he tries hard for you and here you are talking shit-what kind of friend are you-what kind of a sibling-a waste of a contact-a waste of a life-a bastard-motherfucking piece of-’

Your heart was stuck in a traffic of emotions. The selfish asshole doesn’t realize how badly you wish it could go back to the way it was too if it made things any easier. But like hell if you were going to ruin yourself again for the sake of his comfort. ‘Be the bigger person’ was such a load of bullshit. A ticket for the other to avoid consequence if he asked you.

A nervous hand is offered to your trembling form before you even realize there was anyone walking towards you, “What are you doing in here?”, he begins his question with your name, which was enough for you to snap your head up at him. ‘Eddie?’ You had forgotten how burnt up your eyes must have looked. Dropping your head in embarrassment you hide your bruised up features and take his hand. “Not having a good night.” Your own voice repulses you and you have to stop yourself at choking up as another wave of self-loathing thoughts creep up on you.

There was no lying to him considering you couldn’t think of a good cover story for crying in an alley in the dark. The least you could do was keep it vague to spare him from listening to you gripe about something so irrelevant to him.

“Need me to walk you home?” Panic surges through you for less than a second at his question.

“No! No-thank you. Uh…” You mentally shake yourself before you continue, ”Um, do you mind if we just walk to your place?”

A sigh leaves you when you relish in his nod. You fail to notice how he had helped you up and draped his jacket over your still trembling body as you walked. Eddie most likely thought you were shaking from the cold rather than your little meltdown. How cute.

After a moment of nothingness that leaked into you like acid, you decide to open your mouth despite how your sore throat protests, “Thank you, Eddie.”

“It’s no problem.” He says it so casually it almost makes you nauseated with guilt.

There was another silent pause, “So…” You began, “How did you… find me?” That insinuated that he was looking for you, but you didn’t know what else to say after half of that question had already left your mouth.

He purses his lips for a second. Then proceeded to do something that finally had you smile at him and even muffle the wrenching ache in your heart. Eddie stammers and stumbles over a word or two as visual warmth creeps up his ears. You ponder what he was hiding before he is able to speak again, “We-I-I forgot our-my tater tots and I ran back to your place and your brother answered and told us to come find you here…”

“Okay…” that made you stare wide eyed. He was kind of a shitty liar considering Raf doesn’t know where you are.

He stirs at your silence and leaves your gaze about forty times in the matter of two seconds. To his shock you begin giggling. Then you began to chuckle. Followed by some laughing that was hard enough that you had to hold your stomach. He holds you still as you take a moment to recover. ‘Damn, wouldn’t it be crazy if he was some psycho stalking me or whatever?’

Maybe your laughter was contagious or you just looked stupid, but he begins to cackle along with you. You both probably looked pretty stupid. With a careful step you continue the journey back to his place the moment your laughter slowly dies down.

“You’re weird” You wheezed through a last few fits of giggling that left you breathless.

Eddie was just as bad as he wipes away some water building up in his eye, “You don’t know the half of it.”

The bad thoughts push at your neck and build a little pressure in your chest as a harsh reminder that you shouldn’t be enjoying yourself. You smile through the pain, yet he asks you if you’re alright and if you’re hurting somewhere. His voice goes soft with an undertone of concern. You couldn’t swat at the butterflies that shift in your organs.

“I’m fine. Just shit hit the fan back at my place.” You wince in disgust when you reveal that little detail. Eddie notices and offers implied choices, “Want to talk about it?”

You could either walk in more awkward silence or you could awkwardly blow up on him. Much to your own displeasure you settle for the latter.

“Do you believe in shit like ‘being the bigger person’?” You curl your fingers to make air quotes around your words as you speak. You didn’t want to be talking to a brick wall of morals after all.

Unsure of what you were expecting, you turn to look at him, “Not really. I mean… Past experiences makes that kind of complicated to answer, but… not really.”

Sighing, you look forward to avoid eye contact; naturally as the coward you were, “Raf only blew up on you because he thinks you would ruin the chances of me focusing on a friendship with an ex of mine.” He scoffs, but you continue before he could say anything, “But Jess is kind of a shitty person and I really don’t care about bringing that fucker back into my life for his sake-uh since me Raf and Jess were all friends once…” You stopped there deciding last minute to keep a lid on it.

“Does Raf know you don’t want to be friends again?” You didn’t expect him to actually say anything after that. Nobody really ever did aside from Rafael.

“Yeah, it’s been almost a year already, but it still comes up.”

“Wait-why does he care? Can’t he still be friends with Jess and be your brother?”

Eddie seemed genuinely confused which was actually kind of adorable, but you ignored that thought, “Because he feels like he’s stuck in the middle of us. He wants it to go back to how it was when all three of us were together and tearing shit up.”

“So it’s really about him then?” More of a statement than a question. It made you look up at him in realization. The only feeling that lingered from your meltdown was the guilt of being a selfish asshole. You almost forgot to be a little pissed at him by the time you were mostly out of it.

He takes note of your reaction and speaks carefully, “I’m starting to think you two have really different feelings going around about different parts of this situation.” You nod in affirmation.

“So that’s probably why you two haven’t figured a way around any of this. Like you both rely on one of you just clicking and finally getting it so one of you can have it your way. But if you don’t then it’ll just come back up again later, right?”

You nod again, mostly in a daze. He was actually making sense to you somehow.

“That is so unfair...”

That actually makes you huff out a bit of laughter, “Tell me about it.”

You two finally make it to his apartment complex. By the time you two make it to the door of his apartment he’s already pushing you inside. Playfully of course. In his defense you were acting like a vampire that needed to verbally be invited in.

You stand politely next to his couch before you hear him scoff jokingly, “Do I look like the Queen of England?” When you don’t respond he steps into your view to hold your arms comfortingly, “Relax. Sit.”

Offering an apologetic smile you add onto you nervous behavior, “I’m sorry I’m just kind of… It’s been a while since I’ve…” You didn’t want to sound all that depressing, “Look I’ll try to…” Jesus fuck this was a disaster, “Ugh… I-I’m…” You wish you hadn’t said anything at all at this point. Huffing in defeat you finish your thought, “I’m just tired. I’m sorry.”

Eddie looks at you closely as if to inspect you.

The silence was always weird. What was he thinking and why did it always take this long? Was he thinking of a way to kick you out? Your internal stress was rudely interrupted when he places something in front of you. The smell of cupped noodles pushes your embarrassment down your throat; almost forgotten. You didn’t seem to understand right away. Did you look hungry? Was your stomach making weird noises? Enough!

You took a forkful and hummed thankfully.

He takes his place next to you with a cup of his own. Perhaps he could sense that you were still bothered by your situation, or maybe he was just curious, you weren’t sure which as he begins to inquire, “Does Jess know you don’t want to be friends?”

Nodding, you swallow whatever is left in your mouth, “Yeah. I mean sometimes I hear from Raf that Jess would rather talk it out and I don’t know. Explain what happened that night maybe. Raf tells me that things have changed and how Jess changed, but I don’t… I don’t actually want to find that out for myself.” You couldn’t help but shrink at how horrible you were beginning to sound now that it was all being said out loud.

More silence.

“Should you really have to?”

There was a second before you choke up dryly at your next thought, “If I don’t then I’m just a coward and Raf is going to give up on me and won’t talk to me and-” Scorching tears return at full force by the time you feel yourself shaking against someone’s chest, “-I’ll be alone and I don’t want to be-not like this-I don’t want to be-” Arms tightening around you never made you feel so small. Your voice was growing less and less coherent and yet you pretended otherwise as you kept babbling on about fearing yourself. Does Rafael really think you don’t care enough about him if you don’t go back to being friends with your own fucking ex? You ball yourself up and cling to his jacket as if you would slip into the void if you let go.

‘Back at square one’ your mind jested. How would he ever talk to you again after this? Eddie was probably thinking ‘What have I gotten myself into?’ right about now. You were a wreck basically the first day you’ve met him! At least Raf didn’t have to worry anymore considering you ruined this poor dude’s night. A devastated smile tugs at your lips. His seriousness wavers at the feeling.

“What?” He has to pull away to look at you.

Your eyes were puffy, skin slick with tears, bruises still evident. Not only were you disgusting, but tears had soaked through his jacket, much to your embarrassment. You naturally avoid his gaze for the millionth time that night, “I’m sorry for fucking up your night.”

For a minute he seems to be at a loss for words. You mentally slap yourself for even saying anything and putting him in such an awkward position. Just as you were about to fill in the gap with more gibberish and half baked thoughts, he retorts, “You didn’t fuck anything up.”

You blink up at him to see that he was smiling down at you.

“Okay, sure, you’re crying on my couch and I don’t really know what to do with my hands-” His face almost beams when you snort weakly at his comment, “-but I would rather have you here than crying alone in some ditch-or alley in the dark.”

Then suddenly, something hit you. You wouldn’t be crying in his arms tonight if you just kept your conversation light. If you didn’t blurt out each and every little detail. Mostly because it was weird to do to a stranger you met just that day. Even most friends would look for distractions as an answer. He asked about your situation and kept prying. He was looking for the smaller details. Because he’s a reporter.

Or maybe he was just that nice of a person.

You move one hand to hold your side as you begin another contagious wave of laughter that resulted in you hiding your face in his shoulder. It was more down-played than the last, but still unrelenting. You weren’t sure why, but it all just seemed weird enough to you to be laughable. Not too long after were there strings of laughter rumbling throughout his body. For some reason, the bouncing of your head against his quaking shoulder was automatically hysterical to you. Your laughter grew by the second. This had to stop.

“What’s so funny?” Eddie snickered.

Only after a humiliating snort or two did you answer, “You!” the mirth finally dives back into calmness as you provide some clarity, “You’re just,” your words were broken by a lingering breath of laughter, “so weird…”

A nervous chuckle draws your attention, “Weird good or weird bad?”

“I don’t know,” a bit of mischief teases your lips when you see his reaction, “You go looking for me in an alley after the shitty breakfast I gave you and let me into your apartment all ugly with tears.”

Slowly, joy kicked at his lungs. His laugh was cute. Man, if this dude turns out to be a murderer just lurring you in, you were going to be pissed.

“Yeah… I think you’re a good weird.” You didn’t realize how close Eddie was to you until you sneak a peak of his deep smile.

He seemed to realize it too as he takes the opportunity to lean a little closer and wipe away any lingering tears off of your face, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Your voice was coated in honey when you decide you want to meet him halfway. You begin slow. He was so close to you; his breath easily warming your skin and sending goosebumps up your arms. Suddenly you were cold.

You blink at the view of him continuing to eat his leftovers.

“Your soups gettin’ cold.” The shit-eating grin that he bares was enough to light a fire under your ass.

Shock was written all over your face, nevertheless, you grab your soup and continue to eat. There was some silence that weighted the atmosphere. Maybe he was expecting a different reaction out of you, you weren’t sure, but nobody was about to be playing hard to get with you right now. You cackle internally.

“So do you-”

A smile that could sell for innocence graces your features.

He swipes his tongue over the corner of his lips slowly to catch the drop of soup from the small corn you had flung at him. It catches your gaze through the corner of your eye. Feeling like you’ve won, you continue to eat.

Unfortunately you only had half a minute to mentally brag. A lukewarm piece of noodle smacks lamely into your jawline before falling into the remainder of your soup. You gasp and shoot an infamous glare which slowly falters beneath the playful grin that surfaces.

With a flick of your index finger you move another piece of food on the tip of your fork. In a flash, you bring a fist down on the handle and launch a small piece of partially soaked chicken right into what would have been his chest.

What happened instead was actually quite impressive. Your eyes widen to see Eddie lunge forward and catch the food in his mouth. For a second you swear you see his teeth sharpen, but dismiss it as a mere exaggeration of his action. You raise your hands to defend your face as he chuckles and flicks another one at you.

You cry out in laughter and launch it back at him; hitting his nose. Another one flies at you, but you slap it out of your way. It splashes into your soup and further dirties your hoodie. At the moment you didn’t really care. That being said, a few more minutes into your little warfare and your hoodie was as bad as your crying face was a few moments ago. Eddie wasn’t as bad after catching two more when they were just a little too overhead.

“You want me to wash your hoodie for you?” He gestures to the filth that caked the fabric. He looked smug albeit a little apologetic.

“Nah it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” An eyebrow raises and you cave, “Uh… I would take it off, but I didn’t bring a shirt…”

Humiliation manifests on your face just as Eddie raises a brow. There’s no issue when it came to Raf seeing you shirtless, but with someone so new? It was weird. You can’t help but be a little insecure. He scratches the back of his neck in thought before offering another option, “I could give you a shirt, no problem.”

You were going to decline, but you could feel something slick and cold sticking to your stomach. Shivering you nod gratefully, “Please?”

Keeping close to him you follow towards a closet full of clothing. Eddie pulls his shirt over his head. Your eyes immediately trace the muscles that flex and contour his back. Fuck, it actually makes you want to cry. You play it off as a sigh and peel your eyes away from him as he slips into a clean shirt. Were you making things weird? No he probably didn’t notice anything. He hasn’t made a sound yet anyways. Yeah-no it’s nothing. He can’t possibly see that look on your face! Did you see those tattoos? Wipe that drool off your face, he’s turning around!

He places a soft fabric into your hands and points to the bathroom. You were still too ashamed to meet his eyes and notice his smug expression. Instead, here you were in his kind-of-gross bathroom. Stripping off your hoodie you pull the shirt over your top half. If you were being honest, you wish you were out there in front of him. Your mind went into the gutter while you imagine trying to show off your muscles and whatnot.

“Everything okay in there?” You jump and reflexively grab your hoodie off of the sink.

“Y-yeah. I’ll be right out.”

Anxiously, you pull at the collar of the shirt. You couldn’t stop yourself. Pulling it closely to your lips, you inhale lightly. His scent was almost like its own spice. A sweet musk with enough zest you sweep you off your feet.

You hear him shuffling around in his living room and quickly make your way out. The shirt was an easy fit on you, actually. Eddie was a pretty big guy anyways so you were grateful for the size. Your eyes glaze upon the shirt he wears now. Imagine tearing into such thin fabric… You catch yourself before getting lost in the figuration again.

“Thanks. I’ll give it back-”

“Don’t worry about it. Looks better on you.”

‘Smooth Criminal’ was written all over him, “Not as good as you look right now.”

“You think I look good?” He stalks up to you and you feel your heart flutter.

“Didn’t realize I stuttered.” You hum, amused.

Before things could escalate, Eddie clears his throat. He seemed to be keeping himself back. It was absolutely annoying…

“You stayin’ the night?”

“Only if you’ll let me.” There’s some hopefulness in your words.

He catches it and feeds you a promising grin, “Guess you’re stayin’.”

The rest of that night was a blur. But much to your displeasure you two didn’t do much of anything. You could tell because you were both leaning against each other on his couch with the TV on. The urge to kick something in frustration was strong enough to pick Eddie as a target. Not that you didn’t have a nice time, but you would rather be walking off a pair of sore legs right about now. He stirs next to you and leans his back against the couch; taking some weight off of you.

You desperately want to move, but not off of the couch. You wanted to lay your head in the crook of his neck and you weren’t even sure why. That was weird. He literally met you yesterday…

‘What the fuck.’

Your head was comfortably tucked against his toned thighs. Too busy being stuck in your thoughts you fail to notice you were slowly being pushed into his lap. You really needed to stop daydreaming because you are doing things you basically tell yourself not to do.

Eddie was already waking up before you could fix your mistake! Quickly shutting your eyes, you pretend to be asleep. A moment later and Eddie was shifting beneath you in contempt of trying to control your breathing. Were you being elevated? You refused to face the music by opening your eyes just yet. Not even when you felt his seemingly huge hand caress the back of your head.

He does lean down to you though. Your heart comes to a screeching halt in hopes of him leaning down to kiss you. However that does not happen. You could feel him. Eddie was taking in your scent, greedily. You miss the chance to stop yourself from shuddering. This almost made you feel vulnerable. But worst comes to worst, you could take a hit and dish one out too.

There was an animalistic rumble that has you peek through your lashes. It was horrifyingly good and ran up your spine better than any man’s “lower” voice. The subtle clicking was weird but did wonders to your core. In spite of peeking, it was just Eddie’s nervous face.

The jig is up.

You squint at him-as if you were just waking up-appearing tired and disoriented, “Dude,” You couldn’t help throwing in a drowsy chuckle before continuing, “are you sniffing me?”

Mentally jumping for joy at the fact that it took the attention off of you for sleeping on his lap, you watch in amazement as he stammers with an excuse and chokes up on nothing. He was as nervous and messy as you were.

In the end he comes up with nothing short of, “I just… thought you smelt nice… is all…”

As nice as it was to see him sweat over anything, you crack a smile and offer some honesty, “Thanks. I think you smell nice too.”

Shit was so awkward it was just easier to laugh at each other at this point. You sit up and make a bit of a show at stretching. With your arms raised, you make sure to flex. The shirt was a little on the thinner side which made it easier to tease your little audience as it left almost no secrets and gave just enough details. You finish with a scripted yawn that flows into a soft moan and rest your hands behind your neck. Lasty, you blink away your bedroom eyes to see him still staring. You almost laugh at him when he opens his mouth to close it again.

‘How pathetic is that?’ You chuckle to yourself.

He looked frazzled and scared to say anything. You feel a surge of energy and confidence the moment he practically turns around to run away. There was no way in hell you didn’t just hear him whimper.

Laughing only when he makes it into the safety of his bathroom, your phone nearly vibrates off of the table.

[R: Aye call me or get over here]

[R: Cause I just got you a fight]

[R: Its flashin’ big money]

[Y: How big?]

You two may be fighting, but when it came to you fighting other people, it was an implied compromise that you two still work together.

[R: Call me or smthng]

Eddie was just coming out of the bathroom. His bed head looking more like it was on purpose than an accident.

[Y: Can’t rn… I’ll be over in ten]

[Y: Ttyl]

Pocketing your phone you look at Eddie bashfully, “Hey… big guy?” oh god-no awkward…

“Big guy?” His grin was already talking dirty.

“Careful-I know where you sleep.” You point at him accusingly before laughing it off, “Anyways…” ‘You’re stalling…’

“This was fun… and you’re really nice. So thank you…” He at least seemed pleased by your words so far, “But, Raf texted me so…” Until now. His face was weirdly disappointed. All you could do was sigh mentally, ‘I don’t want to go either…’.

“Are we going to see you again sometime or?” You gave it some thought. You didn’t actually have a job with your winnings mainly covering the rent. Not to mention, Raf was the one working at the bakery on 24th street. Memories flash you with images of you lounging on the couch or working out. You had all the free time in the world.

For a second, you twist from side to side indecisively. You kind of wish for a way to attach him to you hip. You liked him and despite all the teasing and whatnot, he seemed as shy and weird as you were. Just as lost.

“Hm… What are you doing tonight?” The smile he answers with was rewarding.

“Don’t know yet… You tell me…” Jesus fuck, did your heart just float away?

Keeping your cool you place your palm against his bicep, “I know a cute little place we could meet up.”

You give him the location of a sweet little cafe that was open in the late hours. He was familiar with it and called it a date. A swift hand grabs your hoodie. You quickly toss it onto your shoulder and poke some fun at how you may just keep the shirt. It felt softer than any of your shirts. Everything felt like it was lingering, “You want me to walk you home?”

“I’ll be fine.” Punctuating your words with a shameless flex of your bicep. You really didn’t want to go, nonetheless, you bid him farewell after a bittersweet chuckle, “Anyways-Got to bounce. Ciao.”

He waves you off and closes the door behind you. Your heart needs a moment to deal with the loss of company. As you move down the hall to exit the building you hear Eddie’s muffled voice, “Wh-God shut up V.”

He seemed irritated, but he was chuckling. Strange. Who was he talking to?

You pay it no mind for now and focus on your journey back home.